When I met my wife, and by Rule, her Family, I knew I was blessed. This is a fun group of people. Diverse in age and demeanor, yet so Family-centric that every dust-up comes with an apology soon after, and a few drinks and/or laughs. And then a "But you know I'm right," then a quick hang-up. The Anchor of the Family was a title bestowed upon Granny Vic, or Great-Grandma Victoria, officially.
With love, sadness, and prayers, Granny Vic passed away early this morning, at home, with her husband Grandpa Stan and daughter Pam near. She had been fiercely fighting the after-effects of some health issues that befell her a few weeks ago. Her determined spirit kept her going for two weeks, even after her body would no longer allow her to take food or water. I imagine she's got some questions for the loved ones now surrounding her in the Great White Forever.
My favorite memories of Granny Vic are when she told me that she, too, could tell funny stories, and when she was convinced I had broken her TV. First, she told my wife and I of the time she had a root in the garden she was trying to yank out, but it wouldn't budge. So she pulled, and pulled, and chopped at it, and pulled, and chopped some more, then pulled (and this is where she starts laughing too hard to finish) really hard... (more laughing)... and fell right back on her keister. Imagine a tiny white-haired woman waving her hands and trying to say "Keister."
The TV Incident happened like this. Vic & Stan bought a new TV but there was a mix-up of the wires in the back, and the picture was all screwy when they tried to get the DVD player to work. So I did the right thing after a couple of beers and got behind the TV. Just as I re-wired the DVD player and cable hook-up, the TV BLIPPED for a second... and oddly enough, the cable went out. It was rainy and windy, and FSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS nothin'.
Granny Vic, her back to the living room while she was in the kitchen, wanted to know if I'd fixed it. We said "Yes" but that the cable was out. So she told me to hook the cable up. I said it was hooked up, but the cable was out. She wanted to know why I didn't hook it back up if it's not working. I said I thought it was working, but the cable was probably out so even it it was hooked up (I have to scream this, she's a bit hard of hearing) IT WOULDN'T BE WORKING. She told me to go check it a-gain. So after 5 minutes of haranguing and a couple of calls to neighbors, confirming that the cable was indeed out, she apologized to me.
"Sorry, Geoff." I told her "No good, Victoria! This won't cut it!"
She laughed it off, and I said "I ain't kiddin', I know home electronics, Granny!" We settled it over some pie.
My love and thoughts go out to all the Family, Stan, Pam, Stacy, Carol, Mitzi, Don, Casey, Larry, Lettie, and anybody else I may have missed. You guys have made it fun to be an In-Law, and Granny Vic will always be a part of some great memories for me.
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Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Saturday, March 14, 2009
New Open Mic In Culver City
If somebody wants to express themselves, publicly, loudly, amplifi-edly... great.
And thus, with all compassion and encouragement due a child of God...
What the bag o' farts is going on here?
I'll tell you what's going on here...
This is the parking lot of a business across the street.
They've been holding some sort of A) Fund raiser, or B) Contest For World's Worst SwapMeet all day.
About an hour ago, this lady started setting up shop. In a totally-velvet cape and hat combo.
She's got a laptop pumpin' tunes into the PA, while she sings.
The black t-shirt guy works at the 'cross the street biz. The other 2 folks are haggling deals to purchase items found and fumigation-needed.
I.
Loves.
It.
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And thus, with all compassion and encouragement due a child of God...
What the bag o' farts is going on here?
I'll tell you what's going on here...
This is the parking lot of a business across the street.
They've been holding some sort of A) Fund raiser, or B) Contest For World's Worst SwapMeet all day.
About an hour ago, this lady started setting up shop. In a totally-velvet cape and hat combo.
She's got a laptop pumpin' tunes into the PA, while she sings.
The black t-shirt guy works at the 'cross the street biz. The other 2 folks are haggling deals to purchase items found and fumigation-needed.
I.
Loves.
It.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Bad Reception - Cell Phone Attack!
I despise 2 things in this world, and the 2nd one is people who yammer away loudly on their mobile phones in public places as if they are in a place that 1) Anybody gives a plop 'bout they talkin's, and/or 2) is acceptable to do so. I do it, time to time, to make sure I don't bring home "catsup" instead of "ketchup," because life would go into upheaval. But I try to stay outside with the smokers and other banished persons before nailing down the convo. This story has a totally different path than most of mine, and I'm linking it for 2 reasons.
1) I deplore loud talkers, we already know this. I do think they need to be publicly shamed and have some sort of penalty levied against them, because laws are take over where common sense stops being used.
2) READ THE COMMENTS of the article. I think they say a lot about the citizenry concerned about their community, as well as their feelings about other cultures. There's such a thing as bigotry and hate. But, what if your ill feelings about a group of people come solely from your interactions with them and their behavior? What Is, Is.
====================================
CELLPHONE SCOLDER SUFFERS A YAK ATTACK
It started with a simple request: Stop talking so loud (sic) on your cellphone.
We are all to blame for people talking loudly in public on their cell phones.
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1) I deplore loud talkers, we already know this. I do think they need to be publicly shamed and have some sort of penalty levied against them, because laws are take over where common sense stops being used.
2) READ THE COMMENTS of the article. I think they say a lot about the citizenry concerned about their community, as well as their feelings about other cultures. There's such a thing as bigotry and hate. But, what if your ill feelings about a group of people come solely from your interactions with them and their behavior? What Is, Is.
====================================
CELLPHONE SCOLDER SUFFERS A YAK ATTACK
It started with a simple request: Stop talking so loud (sic) on your cellphone.
But what happened next in a Borough Park bodega nearly put the woman who made the request in the hospital - with bruises to her body, coffee burns to her face and stiletto-heel injuries to her legs, police said yesterday
The victim, whose name is being withheld, was standing in line Wednesday morning at the store on Ditmas Avenue near McDonald Avenue, paying for her purchases, when Berta Rakhamimov, 21, started blabbing away on her cellphone.
The victim asked Rakhamimov to lower her voice, then walked outside. But Rakhamimov came after her, spurring a yapper-versus-scolder battle of epic proportions, police said.
First, the yapper pushed the scolder with two hands to the chest. Then the yapper threw her newly purchased coffee into the scolder's face, police said.
The yapper allegedly started boxing the scalded scolder, biting her on the finger and kicking her thigh with her high heels.
When the shaken woman said she would notify the police - and pulled out her own cellphone to make the call - Rakhamimov ran toward a bus that had just pulled into the nearby stop, police said.
The victim shouted to the bus driver not to let Rakhamimov on the bus, and Rakhamimov then fled down the stairs to a nearby subway station. The victim gave chase.
When police arrived, the victim pointed out Rakhamimov, and the cops told the conductor to hold the train.
Rakhamimov was arrested on charges of assault, menacing and criminal possession of a weapon the coffee, not the cellphone.
========
Whether you want to say it's immigration, immigrants, corruption, asshole-ishness, crime, or just plain stupidity, we all have to agree on one thing...We are all to blame for people talking loudly in public on their cell phones.
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Sunday, March 01, 2009
I Seek, And Therefore, I Find
From C.S. Lewis in his book "Letters To Malcolm, Chiefly On Prayer:"
(Lewis was a close friend of J. R. R. Tolkien, the author of The Lord of the Rings. Both authors were leading figures in the English faculty at Oxford University and in the informal Oxford literary group known as the "Inklings". )
"It seems to me that we often, almost sulkily, reject the good that God offers us because, at that moment, we expected some other good... On Every level of our life - in our religious experience, in our gastronomic, erotic, aesthetic, and social experience - we are always harking back to some occasion which seemed to us to reach perfection, setting THAT up as the norm... But these other occasions, I now suspect, are often full of their own new blessing, if only we weould lay ourselves open to it. God shows us a new facet of the glory, and we refuse to look at it becaus we're still looking for the old one. And of course we don't get that. You can't, at the twentieth reading, get again the experience of reading Lycides for the first time. But what you do get can be in its own way as good."
In the past 6 months, I have thrown every comfort of my life to the wind.
Last August, my wife Alicia and I left our jobs and rented out our home in the Kirkland, WA township, busting South to California. Every time I asked of God, "What will I do?", I FELT an answer in my gut, not my head...
"Go. I will take care of the rest."
I read religious, philosophical, economic, and historical accounts all the time. The progress of the Mind in all societal progressions enthralls me. I f*cking DIG IT, the evolution of society, pushed ahead by the grind-it-out mentality and passion of a few folks who, in a quantum push, shoved us through a door into a new way of living. iPhone. Facebook. Stem-cells. Eight Varied Baby Plops. Space vacations. Can we PLEASE feed the Hungry, worldwide, however? Yes, we can.
In these days since arriving in California, Alicia has worked hard at 2 companies now (contact me if you need promotional products for your events!, and I have worked at writing and getting my life in the groove of comedy and writing and commercial acting... the first 2 being The Things which I Am To Do. It's a tough rope to grab when you question the validity of your passion, but that's for a totally different wine-fueled jag.
As ever I have been, I am grateful, humble, thankful, and understanding of Why we moved here. My wife, that amazing gift of a woman and partner, deserves The Best.
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(Lewis was a close friend of J. R. R. Tolkien, the author of The Lord of the Rings. Both authors were leading figures in the English faculty at Oxford University and in the informal Oxford literary group known as the "Inklings". )
"It seems to me that we often, almost sulkily, reject the good that God offers us because, at that moment, we expected some other good... On Every level of our life - in our religious experience, in our gastronomic, erotic, aesthetic, and social experience - we are always harking back to some occasion which seemed to us to reach perfection, setting THAT up as the norm... But these other occasions, I now suspect, are often full of their own new blessing, if only we weould lay ourselves open to it. God shows us a new facet of the glory, and we refuse to look at it becaus we're still looking for the old one. And of course we don't get that. You can't, at the twentieth reading, get again the experience of reading Lycides for the first time. But what you do get can be in its own way as good."
In the past 6 months, I have thrown every comfort of my life to the wind.
Last August, my wife Alicia and I left our jobs and rented out our home in the Kirkland, WA township, busting South to California. Every time I asked of God, "What will I do?", I FELT an answer in my gut, not my head...
"Go. I will take care of the rest."
I read religious, philosophical, economic, and historical accounts all the time. The progress of the Mind in all societal progressions enthralls me. I f*cking DIG IT, the evolution of society, pushed ahead by the grind-it-out mentality and passion of a few folks who, in a quantum push, shoved us through a door into a new way of living. iPhone. Facebook. Stem-cells. Eight Varied Baby Plops. Space vacations. Can we PLEASE feed the Hungry, worldwide, however? Yes, we can.
In these days since arriving in California, Alicia has worked hard at 2 companies now (contact me if you need promotional products for your events!, and I have worked at writing and getting my life in the groove of comedy and writing and commercial acting... the first 2 being The Things which I Am To Do. It's a tough rope to grab when you question the validity of your passion, but that's for a totally different wine-fueled jag.
As ever I have been, I am grateful, humble, thankful, and understanding of Why we moved here. My wife, that amazing gift of a woman and partner, deserves The Best.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Lent Me A Hand
It is Lent, for those that know what I'm judging you for, and I had to give something up for it. I figured I'd look at what I'm doing, vice-wise, and drop one of the top 3 things. I'm pretty lame, when it comes down to "serious partying" these days. I don't drink enough, smoke enough, eat enough, wank enough, or go roof-shooting nearly often enough to warrant any of them to be dropped.
And I figured if I had to give up something that I wouldn't have to trot out an explanation for at a party, that's the best way to go. If everyone's throwin' down like Kennedy's at a 90th birthday party, or carb-loading on their way to an emotional crossing of the English Channel... and I'm sitting there with tepid water and a cracker, well COME ON, I'm gonna be the 8-baby-bearing Ut'rus Jackson at the party. Ev'a'body gonna wanna know. If nobody's doing the thing I gave up for Lent, then it's my secret and I won't have to say a thing about why I'm not joining in at the Mitzvah.
Then a circle jerk broke out... Damn it.
Next year, I'm giving up Attrition.
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And I figured if I had to give up something that I wouldn't have to trot out an explanation for at a party, that's the best way to go. If everyone's throwin' down like Kennedy's at a 90th birthday party, or carb-loading on their way to an emotional crossing of the English Channel... and I'm sitting there with tepid water and a cracker, well COME ON, I'm gonna be the 8-baby-bearing Ut'rus Jackson at the party. Ev'a'body gonna wanna know. If nobody's doing the thing I gave up for Lent, then it's my secret and I won't have to say a thing about why I'm not joining in at the Mitzvah.
Then a circle jerk broke out... Damn it.
Next year, I'm giving up Attrition.
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Experts Wanted... Recruiters Needed!
I keep getting job search results wherein companies are looking for "A-Players," "First Teamers," "Expert Minds," and "People Who Rock and Are Irreplaceable."
Because the Smartest, Most-Expert, First-Team, 2 MBA-having people are, of course, looking for jobs right now. They were all released by their companies after Jan1'09. They will take a pay-cut. They can't wait to go through 3 interviews with snooty recruiters who are likely "making busy" while their company isn't hiring anyway, yet HR has to look like they have a LOT going on. That would never happen! Even though I had 4 recruiters tell me that frequently happens in between margaritas.
Hey, look, I've applied for a LOT of jobs in Los Angeles. From Branch Manager of a Financial Planning firm (Underqualified) to General Mister Stocker Help at a grocery store (Overqualified), I haven't seen what's-what for me here. I know what I really SHOULD be doing here; full-time comedy and writing and entertaining us through the recession and on-up. But in the meantime, as that keeps gaining momentum, I apply for jobs as a Business Analyst on a regular basis. And ain't shit coming back.
When I have talked with recruiters, they say one of two things:
1) Great resume! Looks really good, but this company isn't really hiring right now.
2) I'm not sure you want to drive to Ontario, CA every day for $19/hour.
So look, the A-List Business Analysts aren't really available. I quit a job to get down here to make things happen, and it's happening more quickly (this town moves pretty slowly, unless you're a Judd Apatow project or protege). I'm no B-Teamer, and I'm willing to work.
I'd ask you to contact me if you're looking to hire an intelligent, white, English-speaking, responsible, educated, teachable gentleman, but why should I? That's what led me here.
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Because the Smartest, Most-Expert, First-Team, 2 MBA-having people are, of course, looking for jobs right now. They were all released by their companies after Jan1'09. They will take a pay-cut. They can't wait to go through 3 interviews with snooty recruiters who are likely "making busy" while their company isn't hiring anyway, yet HR has to look like they have a LOT going on. That would never happen! Even though I had 4 recruiters tell me that frequently happens in between margaritas.
Hey, look, I've applied for a LOT of jobs in Los Angeles. From Branch Manager of a Financial Planning firm (Underqualified) to General Mister Stocker Help at a grocery store (Overqualified), I haven't seen what's-what for me here. I know what I really SHOULD be doing here; full-time comedy and writing and entertaining us through the recession and on-up. But in the meantime, as that keeps gaining momentum, I apply for jobs as a Business Analyst on a regular basis. And ain't shit coming back.
When I have talked with recruiters, they say one of two things:
1) Great resume! Looks really good, but this company isn't really hiring right now.
2) I'm not sure you want to drive to Ontario, CA every day for $19/hour.
So look, the A-List Business Analysts aren't really available. I quit a job to get down here to make things happen, and it's happening more quickly (this town moves pretty slowly, unless you're a Judd Apatow project or protege). I'm no B-Teamer, and I'm willing to work.
I'd ask you to contact me if you're looking to hire an intelligent, white, English-speaking, responsible, educated, teachable gentleman, but why should I? That's what led me here.
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Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Lawbreaking ASSessor Gets DUI Investigationated!
HA HA HA HA HA HA!
I am very thankful that nobody got hurt in this accident, after Fartbag Noble U-Turned on I-5 and went face-to-face with a Jeep Liberty and 2 young ladies. Very happy they are okay.
Here's why Noble's a mid-Summer's night bag of catshit on feet.
Home values in King County are down to lowest levels in 4 years.
Yet he raised the "assessed value" of properties, raising property taxes for the year.
In an already heavily-taxed state.
Therefore the Free Market is not in control, Capitalism is not in control. One office is in control. "We think it should cost X Amount."
If I could get somebody to buy it for X, then Y haven't I sold it yet? Because Zhit's sits for too long and ain't nobody looking to buy a condo in Kirkland. Yet. Again, a man with some shit to bury got hisself into a bad situation. Makes me hope my skeletons are in order.
It's very likely that he is right in some bylaw, but I know what's right.
And if I can, I will directly say it to Noble's face; "You murderous drunken sot, I was the one who shat-painted the inside of your mailbox. Shalom, dickeyes."
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Noble, county assessor, under investigation after car wreck
King County Assessor Scott Noble is under investigation for vehicular assault after a serious accident last month on Interstate 5 that may have been caused by driving under the influence, according to a Washington State Patrol report obtained Tuesday.
========I am very thankful that nobody got hurt in this accident, after Fartbag Noble U-Turned on I-5 and went face-to-face with a Jeep Liberty and 2 young ladies. Very happy they are okay.
Here's why Noble's a mid-Summer's night bag of catshit on feet.
Home values in King County are down to lowest levels in 4 years.
Yet he raised the "assessed value" of properties, raising property taxes for the year.
In an already heavily-taxed state.
Therefore the Free Market is not in control, Capitalism is not in control. One office is in control. "We think it should cost X Amount."
If I could get somebody to buy it for X, then Y haven't I sold it yet? Because Zhit's sits for too long and ain't nobody looking to buy a condo in Kirkland. Yet. Again, a man with some shit to bury got hisself into a bad situation. Makes me hope my skeletons are in order.
It's very likely that he is right in some bylaw, but I know what's right.
And if I can, I will directly say it to Noble's face; "You murderous drunken sot, I was the one who shat-painted the inside of your mailbox. Shalom, dickeyes."
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Sunday, February 22, 2009
DECLARATION
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Freedom Does Not Mean "Without Consequence"
We have the Freedom of Speech here in America, and from what I can tell, people cannot talk to save their lives. Luckily, long ago in our history, we defected from England, then beat the British to overcome many of their rules and laws. Otherwise we'd all be speaking English right now.
Having the protected right documented by the Government in the first Harry Potter book means you can stand on the corner and shout your brains out about how awful the neighborhood's cops, mayor, and bus service are and not be punished. As long as you're not swearing. Or lying. Or disrupting traffic. There are rules, after all, to complete freedom.
And that's where the system goes schizophrenic. The moment something is written down to "make it official," it gets mashed into molds to fit people's sensibilities. I appreciate we have the right to speak freely in this nation, but rarely do I speak as freely as I ought to, especially against people abusing Free Speech.
A girl, early 20's, in a laundromat, on her cell phone. Ending every sentence with "an' sheeit," or "like a bitch." Dropping F-bombs like they be NaPalm on the last run through Kai San. (That was kind of a phat rhyme) Ignorant yammering, but I'm the only one really paying attention to the language because, well, it's a laundromat in Southern California... I'M THE ONLY WHITE PERSON IN THE JOINT, if I have to spell it out for you.
Eventually, when I had heard enough of the F-laced tirade about she ain't be wantin' to go to no gay-ass party at Dontell's, we made eye contact for about 2 seconds. I just sighed and shook my head and said "Classy." She made some head motion and stomped away as if I were invading her privacy. Handled with aplomb, young lady. Kudos 'n' sheeit. Daymn.
We do have a protected freedom in our Speech in this country. It's time to start taking that away from people, at least in a public-shaming way. Just because it's okay, doesn't make it Right.
America is a really wonderful idea. Too bad it's full of shit.
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Having the protected right documented by the Government in the first Harry Potter book means you can stand on the corner and shout your brains out about how awful the neighborhood's cops, mayor, and bus service are and not be punished. As long as you're not swearing. Or lying. Or disrupting traffic. There are rules, after all, to complete freedom.
And that's where the system goes schizophrenic. The moment something is written down to "make it official," it gets mashed into molds to fit people's sensibilities. I appreciate we have the right to speak freely in this nation, but rarely do I speak as freely as I ought to, especially against people abusing Free Speech.
A girl, early 20's, in a laundromat, on her cell phone. Ending every sentence with "an' sheeit," or "like a bitch." Dropping F-bombs like they be NaPalm on the last run through Kai San. (That was kind of a phat rhyme) Ignorant yammering, but I'm the only one really paying attention to the language because, well, it's a laundromat in Southern California... I'M THE ONLY WHITE PERSON IN THE JOINT, if I have to spell it out for you.
Eventually, when I had heard enough of the F-laced tirade about she ain't be wantin' to go to no gay-ass party at Dontell's, we made eye contact for about 2 seconds. I just sighed and shook my head and said "Classy." She made some head motion and stomped away as if I were invading her privacy. Handled with aplomb, young lady. Kudos 'n' sheeit. Daymn.
We do have a protected freedom in our Speech in this country. It's time to start taking that away from people, at least in a public-shaming way. Just because it's okay, doesn't make it Right.
America is a really wonderful idea. Too bad it's full of shit.
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Friday, February 20, 2009
Better, Closer, Funnier
Last night I tripped northward with Todd Sawyer to check out a room he's been working with, the Ventura Harbor Comedy Club. I went for a number of reasons, most of them centered around my genuine personal growth that happens every time I'm around Todd. He has been endlessly rooting for me for years now, since I first worked with him at the Underground in Seattle. Todd's a smart, paced, calculatedly hilarious comedian, and on the grander scale, he's under 6-foot and tromps daily on size-13's. The guy's kind of a freak, but he's got basketball skillz, from what I've heard. And he bought me a footlong.
The first time I saw Todd in 2003, long after he'd started throwing show-closing heat on the regular, I re-realized that there is a place for smart comedy. It first hit me when I saw Joe Vespaziani in 2000, that comedy is not ONLY a fake, manufactured energy propping-up a soul-dead thrice-divorced "Veteran," hacking their way through local references and built-in applause breaks ("How many y'all got kids? Applaud if ya got kids, I got kids, who got kids?"). Todd's help in Los Angeles, and even before, when I was drifting my way into the Seattle Comedy Competition Finals in 2007. (p.s. Los Angeles doesn't give a SHAYT 'bout it.) And his advice has only ever helped me correct my direction. Especially when I talk with my wife about "What is next."
So I get up there and got a lucky spot, in that another comic didn't show up to do this taping for a local TV station. Boom, got 10min at the front. I reacquainted with Courtney Cronin, met Marla Schultz, dug the set of Dante, and talked more with Todd over the 6 hours we spent in the car yesterday. Y'ever feel like you grew so much in a short time you just go quiet in contemplation? It hit me last night on the way home...
This is closer to the stuff I moved here to do. Progression, growth, career on FORWARD. The leap was taken, the net may not have appeared yet, but that's because I'm in the freefall. And when you're in FreeFall, the key is to not keep looking for the splashdown.
The key is to turn your fall into a stylish dive. Flips, turns, back-saults, fireworks.
And when you accept your rewards, thank the good people who helped you in public, then party it up with them in private. Watches will be purchazzed.
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The first time I saw Todd in 2003, long after he'd started throwing show-closing heat on the regular, I re-realized that there is a place for smart comedy. It first hit me when I saw Joe Vespaziani in 2000, that comedy is not ONLY a fake, manufactured energy propping-up a soul-dead thrice-divorced "Veteran," hacking their way through local references and built-in applause breaks ("How many y'all got kids? Applaud if ya got kids, I got kids, who got kids?"). Todd's help in Los Angeles, and even before, when I was drifting my way into the Seattle Comedy Competition Finals in 2007. (p.s. Los Angeles doesn't give a SHAYT 'bout it.) And his advice has only ever helped me correct my direction. Especially when I talk with my wife about "What is next."
So I get up there and got a lucky spot, in that another comic didn't show up to do this taping for a local TV station. Boom, got 10min at the front. I reacquainted with Courtney Cronin, met Marla Schultz, dug the set of Dante, and talked more with Todd over the 6 hours we spent in the car yesterday. Y'ever feel like you grew so much in a short time you just go quiet in contemplation? It hit me last night on the way home...
This is closer to the stuff I moved here to do. Progression, growth, career on FORWARD. The leap was taken, the net may not have appeared yet, but that's because I'm in the freefall. And when you're in FreeFall, the key is to not keep looking for the splashdown.
The key is to turn your fall into a stylish dive. Flips, turns, back-saults, fireworks.
And when you accept your rewards, thank the good people who helped you in public, then party it up with them in private. Watches will be purchazzed.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Lee and Ray = Bad News
For some reason, people with names of Lee and Ray in their CV's usually end up with some crazy schidt happening in their life. I've documented it before, HERE.
I think it may be that their parents gave them the shortest name possible, foreshadowing the darkness that would someday drip from the doublewide's wood paneling. Other than Ed or Al, this is as short as you can go without getting down just to the initials, which is an entirely different nametag job.
Ian Ith's Seattle Times Column HERE:
A 70-year-old West Seattle woman was choked and stomped to death in her apartment Friday by her grandson, possibly because she had been trying to get him to move out, police said.
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I think it may be that their parents gave them the shortest name possible, foreshadowing the darkness that would someday drip from the doublewide's wood paneling. Other than Ed or Al, this is as short as you can go without getting down just to the initials, which is an entirely different nametag job.
Ian Ith's Seattle Times Column HERE:
A 70-year-old West Seattle woman was choked and stomped to death in her apartment Friday by her grandson, possibly because she had been trying to get him to move out, police said.
King County prosecutors expect to file a murder charge by Thursday against Deon Lee Fillmore, 21, said spokesman Dan Donohoe. Meanwhile, a judge has ordered Fillmore held in King County Jail on $1 million bail.
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Monday, February 16, 2009
Smart, Good People Don't Do These Things
- Leave a voice-message that says "Hey, call me back." Or any such form. You've given a command, nothing more. No information. No preparation. Nothing helpful. Help me, help YOU. Help yourself by helping me figure out what you are calling me about. (my wife is excluded from this)
- Call me and ask, "What are you doing on Wednesday?" Leaving it there is to say "Unless you are willing to compromise yourself and LIE, you will say you are free, and I will then ask a favor that will likely put you out a bit." Here's what I'm NOT doing on Wednesday, or any other day in that inquiry: going to or near the airport, moving boxes, driving more than 10 miles for less than $100, vomiting, cleaning up vomit, hosing rendered parts towards a drain of any size, jogging, telling your boss you're in the hospital, clearing brush, donating blood/marrow/kidney, paying for your lunch.
- Shop in the wrong direction at Trader Joe's. Go in the front door. See where it's pointing? That's the natural flow to the store. Go that way. It's not willy-nilly. It's clockwise or counter-so. If you see a row with one woman pushing a cart full of bags, you came in the EXIT and should be forced back into your vehicle. And don't give me some line of crap about how you "Don't know," or you've "never been here," or you're "87 years old." Follow the flow. If you miss the canned salmon paté, LOOP THE BLOCK, fart-saver! Don't make a u-turn into oncoming traffic. You can come back to it... but if you GO back to it... I swear to Jessica Simpson's dietitian that I will point you out.
- Write blogs complaining about the generally under-important aspects of human interaction much? GOOD. Because life is too intense to deal with that stuff. Be a grown-up, for crying out loud. It's part of the gig. You sound like a wet, dribbly fart so KNOCK IT OFF.
- Leave your semi-full shopping cart unmanned in the middle a store. Nobody got the news from your double-parked "Hers" BMW that you were all about YOU. The fact that your inability to muster the energy to schlep your bounty 'round the end of the aromatics is your statement that "Hey, the Royal You doesn't fucking matter to me. I'm lazy, I'm weak, I give 2 hard-pushed nuggets about anybody but the Queen Bee right here." The only way to get back at you is to A) Move your cart out of sight, or B) Quickly cram a couple of high-priced items into your cart that won't be seen until you ring out. Oh look, you just bought... WHAT?... $37 of SAFFRON? WHAT THE HELL? Yes. Enjoy.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Alex Rodriguez Comes Clean And Lies About It
Alex Rodriguez is one of the best baseball players of all time.
That cannot be denied. Nor can his admission of using steroids for just a few seasons, 2001-2003. He did not use before nor after. NOPE. Not once. Not even when his legs went from "substantial" to "trunkish." Nor when his shoulders bouldered forward and out, looking more like a linebacker than an attention-needy third baseman next to, arguably, the greatest shortstop of all time, Derek Jeter. Nor when he summoned the Herculean strength to escape Madonna's harpy hatch, Alex was free of anything other than whatever God's Natural Chemicals (GNC) had been dumped into his system from his own endocrines. And horse aspirin.
Frankly, I don't care if professional athletes use steroids. It's entertainment, mainly, but there are 2 aspects we must look at.
1) Does the use of performance enhancing drugs (PED's) in SOME players go against Sportsmanship as it is no longer Organically-Developled Talents vs. ODT (see previous), and allows the user an upper-hand in the Strength & Reaction department?
AND
2) What if the player uses PED's and still blows? THEN what?
Alex Rodriguez was already a great player. Then did the PED's and started putting up unnatural numbers, in the retrospect of history. But at that time, when McGwire and Sosa were bombing through the 60's in the Home Run column, 57 homers didn't seem like much. So A-Rod wasn't the only one juicing his meat. That came out wrongly.
I think it's sad that we live in a society that demands so much from the undeserving-of-fame, and yet rankle at the first sign of their human-ness. Talentless girls all over the nation get boob jobs all the time, nary a word about their enhanced performance in finding a husband, or pole work of many, many interpretations. But then again, booballoons aren't illegal, simply immoral.
That's what it comes to; Steroids are a controlled substance. While they can have many benefits in healing injuries and recovering from normal-sized testicles, in the long run you're just gonna have great acne scars and a number of rage-related arrests.
So yes, A-Rod cheated. And in doing so, his opponents suffered, either in being thrown out at first, or getting their hanging curve knocked another 30 feet into the stands. These are things A-Rod could have done 90% of the time anyway, or maybe just hit the 12th row instead of the 30th. In history, he will be seen as a cheater. He will be seen as the martyr of the era that many players were using 'roids in. Football, baseball, basketball, MMA, swimming, all of it. Today, A-Roid said his cousin gave him the stuff. How nice of Alex to bring his family into the spotlight.
So we must go back to the youth of our nation, involved in sports and tell them that if they really care about their bodies, they will not take massive amounts of drugs of any sort to enhance their performance. Instead, they will stretch, eat properly, put in extra hours of practice, work out longer, go back to the practice fields, run a little further, work on their coordination, and if there's time, do some school work. Many are called. Few are chosen. Fewer can do it that well without drugs.
But if your team has lost 25% of their games by halfway through the season, they should all be eating pituatary stew until they get to .500. MILLIONAIRES, people. They can afford the organ transplants later.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
That cannot be denied. Nor can his admission of using steroids for just a few seasons, 2001-2003. He did not use before nor after. NOPE. Not once. Not even when his legs went from "substantial" to "trunkish." Nor when his shoulders bouldered forward and out, looking more like a linebacker than an attention-needy third baseman next to, arguably, the greatest shortstop of all time, Derek Jeter. Nor when he summoned the Herculean strength to escape Madonna's harpy hatch, Alex was free of anything other than whatever God's Natural Chemicals (GNC) had been dumped into his system from his own endocrines. And horse aspirin.
Frankly, I don't care if professional athletes use steroids. It's entertainment, mainly, but there are 2 aspects we must look at.
1) Does the use of performance enhancing drugs (PED's) in SOME players go against Sportsmanship as it is no longer Organically-Developled Talents vs. ODT (see previous), and allows the user an upper-hand in the Strength & Reaction department?
AND
2) What if the player uses PED's and still blows? THEN what?
Alex Rodriguez was already a great player. Then did the PED's and started putting up unnatural numbers, in the retrospect of history. But at that time, when McGwire and Sosa were bombing through the 60's in the Home Run column, 57 homers didn't seem like much. So A-Rod wasn't the only one juicing his meat. That came out wrongly.
I think it's sad that we live in a society that demands so much from the undeserving-of-fame, and yet rankle at the first sign of their human-ness. Talentless girls all over the nation get boob jobs all the time, nary a word about their enhanced performance in finding a husband, or pole work of many, many interpretations. But then again, booballoons aren't illegal, simply immoral.
That's what it comes to; Steroids are a controlled substance. While they can have many benefits in healing injuries and recovering from normal-sized testicles, in the long run you're just gonna have great acne scars and a number of rage-related arrests.
So yes, A-Rod cheated. And in doing so, his opponents suffered, either in being thrown out at first, or getting their hanging curve knocked another 30 feet into the stands. These are things A-Rod could have done 90% of the time anyway, or maybe just hit the 12th row instead of the 30th. In history, he will be seen as a cheater. He will be seen as the martyr of the era that many players were using 'roids in. Football, baseball, basketball, MMA, swimming, all of it. Today, A-Roid said his cousin gave him the stuff. How nice of Alex to bring his family into the spotlight.
So we must go back to the youth of our nation, involved in sports and tell them that if they really care about their bodies, they will not take massive amounts of drugs of any sort to enhance their performance. Instead, they will stretch, eat properly, put in extra hours of practice, work out longer, go back to the practice fields, run a little further, work on their coordination, and if there's time, do some school work. Many are called. Few are chosen. Fewer can do it that well without drugs.
But if your team has lost 25% of their games by halfway through the season, they should all be eating pituatary stew until they get to .500. MILLIONAIRES, people. They can afford the organ transplants later.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Workin' It Out
Last night was my birthday dinner, where World's Best Wife and I went to Rush Street in the downtown of our new hometown.
Red Zinfandel, Pan Roasted salmon, lobster-infused risotto with morels, baked 4-cheese mac (shared), and red velvet cake in a to-go. I'd banked calories the past few days, too, just to stay sharp for Go Time. Lots of veggies and tuna and chicken on the run-up. So I'd have a palate ready for the full experience.
We took our time, chatted about all kind of thing, and enjoyed each bite. It was great.
So how do I come back from that?
With a little bodyweight workout circuit, copped a bit from my Turbulence Training guru, Craig Ballantyne. You can get his newest edition of Turbulence Training by hitting the CLICK HERE! link up on the right there. It's about the only workouts I can adhere to. LOVE this stuff.
So, here's how I cleaned it up today:
Have a great week. Do two things that are good for you this week, and maybe get a little extra sleep. You folks back in Seattle... get some Vitamin-D.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Red Zinfandel, Pan Roasted salmon, lobster-infused risotto with morels, baked 4-cheese mac (shared), and red velvet cake in a to-go. I'd banked calories the past few days, too, just to stay sharp for Go Time. Lots of veggies and tuna and chicken on the run-up. So I'd have a palate ready for the full experience.
We took our time, chatted about all kind of thing, and enjoyed each bite. It was great.
So how do I come back from that?
With a little bodyweight workout circuit, copped a bit from my Turbulence Training guru, Craig Ballantyne. You can get his newest edition of Turbulence Training by hitting the CLICK HERE! link up on the right there. It's about the only workouts I can adhere to. LOVE this stuff.
So, here's how I cleaned it up today:
- Y-Squat (arms up, shoulders back, wide-stance), 15 reps
- Push-ups, 25
- Lunges, 12 each side
- Bent Rows, 40lbs, 20
- Squats, holding 20lbs, 20
- Incline Push-up, 20
- Side-plank, 30sec each side
- Split-squat, 12 each side
- Spiderman Mountain Climbers, 12 each side
- Upright Rows, 40lbs, 20
Have a great week. Do two things that are good for you this week, and maybe get a little extra sleep. You folks back in Seattle... get some Vitamin-D.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, February 05, 2009
The Road Less Traveled May Be Full Of Holes
Last night I worked a road gig in the SoCal area, driving 144miles round trip. The money was bad, the room was great, my set was a bit sloppy, but I did 30minutes (IN A ROW), and worked out a couple of new bits I'd been meaning to lay upon the friendly confines of comedy shows. This is the equivalent of running 7 miles every morning a few weeks out from a big fight. You gotta stay sharp when your boss calls you in and wants to account for the sticky-notes you seem to be Criss Angel'ing into your hatchback. Funky roadgig. Always a good time. This is unlike most shows, wherein the gig is not only in a bar or restaurant, but the booker of the show tags along. And usually needs a ride.
The booker is in his early 50's, from the sound of it, and not robustly into that decade. Decisions, Life, and Women ain't been kind. Nor have the cigarettes that go down in 4 drags. The booker tags along for a few reasons:
1) It's his show, and he wants to make sure it goes smoothly so he doesn't lose the room, nor the income.
2) At the show, he gets to drink and eat for free.
3) There are some control issues at play that start with...
*Where to pick him up, and end with
*Never giving too much credit to a good comic for a good set (keeps 'em working hard!).
I don't fear him reading this post, because he neither has a car nor any solid grips on his current living quarters. Nearly got evicted again, was his story last night.
I wish no ill upon anybody, truly. That always works in reverse. These are just facts of the story. Facts that, perhaps, need not be shared, but facts none-the-less.
Okay, so we drive the 70 miles TO the show. I was moved from the Opening spot of 20minutes to the Middle/Feature spot of 30minutes. Great! It's been a while since I ran 30, and had a lot of newer material to hone, needing some live fire to do it with. First guy goes up, does a good job, riffing with the audience and what-not. The crowd liked him a lot.
Then I go up, and get going, and let's just skip around:
1) I do some opinionated stuff that is backed up by crazy accusations and falsified facts to bolster my case. But the crowd gets it and laughs a LOT at it. For example, The Elderly (62 and older) should be relegated to shop in grocery stores only between the hours of 9:15am and 11:30am, Monday-Thursday. If you've ever run into one of them going the wrong way in a Trader Joe's (yes, there's a shopping perimeter pattern), you know what I'm talking about. This is to protect THEM, too.
2) The tried & true works greatly, including tag lines on the bit about Women's chest tattoos, and a new format of the JagerBomb joke. I totally forgot to do the joke about giving Good People extra rights, but still filled the time. That was encouraging.
3) Hit the closer, THANK YOU I'm Geoff Lott, Be Good To Each Other, good night. DONE. Accolades in numerous forms, even from the other comics and the bar staff. Felt good, but I slipped here and there and wasn't 100% happy with it. I'd give it a solid A- to a B+.
Fast Foward to the drive home. We leave the gig at 11:45. It's an hour back into Hollywood, where I have to drop El Bookerio off before I get to go home. It's late-ish, I'm tired, and he's half-drunk on free beers. And has a steak sandwich in the car, which will make cameo appearances as we get out of Orange County.
Now, the volume level of the average drunk grows exponentionally in a Civic. This is smoker's breath + Michelob Ultra + Hot Steak Sandwich (extra grilled onions) + Self unAwareness-kind of Loud. And I was doing all the work. The whole way home I hear about a few things for my career. These came AFTER... AFTER.... AFTER... he mentioned that he didn't really watch my set because he was busy doing other things. "Other Things" likely means Free Beer Guzzling, and Outdoor Chain Smoking.
The things I need to do to help my career, from a guy who left my car with 4 plastic shopping bags full of food, drinks, or bottles.
1) I need to stay hungry for time and gigs (I took THAT one, on my birthday, on LOST night, didn't I?)
2) I need to, you know, work on, you know, uh... (drunken pause)... the aspect... (pause to bite sandwich)... of delivery (smacking licks of the smoke-odored fingers).
3) The delivery... has to... match the material. (Like what bit in my act has a bad delivery?) Well, (he) didn't watch most of (my) set, but (I) want to hit different words with varied emphasis.
So, he can't pinpoint the advice, because he didn't watch my set.
He talked time and again about how he can't book guys more than 18 hours in advance because it always allows them time to cancel on him (thus putting the blame/guilt on the comic).
He gave me driving tips, yet has no car.
He ate loudly and stunk up my car.
I dropped him off in a non-descript section of Hollywood, far from where I picked him up.
I got home at 1:35am, with better material and a ringing in my right ear, a better comic for having taken the gig and worked the time on stage with the Intent of bettering my skillz.
There are no quarterly reviews in comedy. What you do is judged NOW. Funny or Not, you know immediately. Life is much like that, if you stop and see how it can go from moment to moment. Otherwise, you end up giving life and career and driving advice from one side of your mouth, while complaining about evictions, carlessness, and free steak sandwiches out the other.
Choose Funny. Stay on the High Ground.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The booker is in his early 50's, from the sound of it, and not robustly into that decade. Decisions, Life, and Women ain't been kind. Nor have the cigarettes that go down in 4 drags. The booker tags along for a few reasons:
1) It's his show, and he wants to make sure it goes smoothly so he doesn't lose the room, nor the income.
2) At the show, he gets to drink and eat for free.
3) There are some control issues at play that start with...
*Where to pick him up, and end with
*Never giving too much credit to a good comic for a good set (keeps 'em working hard!).
I don't fear him reading this post, because he neither has a car nor any solid grips on his current living quarters. Nearly got evicted again, was his story last night.
I wish no ill upon anybody, truly. That always works in reverse. These are just facts of the story. Facts that, perhaps, need not be shared, but facts none-the-less.
Okay, so we drive the 70 miles TO the show. I was moved from the Opening spot of 20minutes to the Middle/Feature spot of 30minutes. Great! It's been a while since I ran 30, and had a lot of newer material to hone, needing some live fire to do it with. First guy goes up, does a good job, riffing with the audience and what-not. The crowd liked him a lot.
Then I go up, and get going, and let's just skip around:
1) I do some opinionated stuff that is backed up by crazy accusations and falsified facts to bolster my case. But the crowd gets it and laughs a LOT at it. For example, The Elderly (62 and older) should be relegated to shop in grocery stores only between the hours of 9:15am and 11:30am, Monday-Thursday. If you've ever run into one of them going the wrong way in a Trader Joe's (yes, there's a shopping perimeter pattern), you know what I'm talking about. This is to protect THEM, too.
2) The tried & true works greatly, including tag lines on the bit about Women's chest tattoos, and a new format of the JagerBomb joke. I totally forgot to do the joke about giving Good People extra rights, but still filled the time. That was encouraging.
3) Hit the closer, THANK YOU I'm Geoff Lott, Be Good To Each Other, good night. DONE. Accolades in numerous forms, even from the other comics and the bar staff. Felt good, but I slipped here and there and wasn't 100% happy with it. I'd give it a solid A- to a B+.
Fast Foward to the drive home. We leave the gig at 11:45. It's an hour back into Hollywood, where I have to drop El Bookerio off before I get to go home. It's late-ish, I'm tired, and he's half-drunk on free beers. And has a steak sandwich in the car, which will make cameo appearances as we get out of Orange County.
Now, the volume level of the average drunk grows exponentionally in a Civic. This is smoker's breath + Michelob Ultra + Hot Steak Sandwich (extra grilled onions) + Self unAwareness-kind of Loud. And I was doing all the work. The whole way home I hear about a few things for my career. These came AFTER... AFTER.... AFTER... he mentioned that he didn't really watch my set because he was busy doing other things. "Other Things" likely means Free Beer Guzzling, and Outdoor Chain Smoking.
The things I need to do to help my career, from a guy who left my car with 4 plastic shopping bags full of food, drinks, or bottles.
1) I need to stay hungry for time and gigs (I took THAT one, on my birthday, on LOST night, didn't I?)
2) I need to, you know, work on, you know, uh... (drunken pause)... the aspect... (pause to bite sandwich)... of delivery (smacking licks of the smoke-odored fingers).
3) The delivery... has to... match the material. (Like what bit in my act has a bad delivery?) Well, (he) didn't watch most of (my) set, but (I) want to hit different words with varied emphasis.
So, he can't pinpoint the advice, because he didn't watch my set.
He talked time and again about how he can't book guys more than 18 hours in advance because it always allows them time to cancel on him (thus putting the blame/guilt on the comic).
He gave me driving tips, yet has no car.
He ate loudly and stunk up my car.
I dropped him off in a non-descript section of Hollywood, far from where I picked him up.
I got home at 1:35am, with better material and a ringing in my right ear, a better comic for having taken the gig and worked the time on stage with the Intent of bettering my skillz.
There are no quarterly reviews in comedy. What you do is judged NOW. Funny or Not, you know immediately. Life is much like that, if you stop and see how it can go from moment to moment. Otherwise, you end up giving life and career and driving advice from one side of your mouth, while complaining about evictions, carlessness, and free steak sandwiches out the other.
Choose Funny. Stay on the High Ground.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Credit Counseling, a Vid-yo
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Nice Twits
TWITTER, the mini-blog of the Now, is a new format I hit up to "Tweet." Just random thoughts in moments.
For example:
"Big diff btwn "quitting job to follow Purpose" and "didn't show up for shift, got high and did open mics instead."
"Demanding u finish "GhostBusters 2" is a mandate of solo TV watching, so stop talking to me through the wall"
"You want fully organic, probably best to grow your own"
"50% of the people at Health Food Stores appear severely malnourished"
So if you're out there, check it out, Follow me on Twitter!
And FaceBook!
AAAAAAAND!
New Video This week! Banks, credit crunch, customer service,
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
For example:
"Big diff btwn "quitting job to follow Purpose" and "didn't show up for shift, got high and did open mics instead."
"Demanding u finish "GhostBusters 2" is a mandate of solo TV watching, so stop talking to me through the wall"
"You want fully organic, probably best to grow your own"
"50% of the people at Health Food Stores appear severely malnourished"
So if you're out there, check it out, Follow me on Twitter!
And FaceBook!
AAAAAAAND!
New Video This week! Banks, credit crunch, customer service,
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Techknowledgey
Recently there was a report on TV about how some bands have reduced their ticket prices to make sure their fans can come out to shows in this recovering economy. In it they showed footage of a recent concert of some band I probably don't like, especially if their shows are tame enough to be taped for the 5 o'clock downer report.
What I found funny was the number of cell phones in the air at this show. Little lit-up screens faced away from the stage, which means these people were either recording the show on video or audio.
So... you wait for a band you like to come to town. Spend $50 on a ticket, IF you can get your cheese in order and take on Ticketmaster's website and the legalized scalpers. Then you pay for parking at the show, couple of beers maybe, some weed, and then, when the Likely Better Than The Headliners Opening Band is done, you wait... anticipating the lights to go down like every show...
And as the bland of your current hotPod playlist hits the stage, your heart leaps into your pocket so you can PULL OUT YOUR CAMERA PHONE?
The band your co-workers think is "inaccessibly indie-sounding" is RIGHT THERE, 30 feet from your wine-soaked mug and you're living the experience vicariously through a 2-or3-inch screen. Recording it to watch it later, in all it's fuzzy, distorted goodness.
Another thing to do in this situation is to go to the show alone, stand dead center, and let it happen around you, taking it all in. You know, get your money's worth. Nobody wants to see Hinder replayed on Y'allToob. This entire scene is a Hindenberg of technology, I cannot wait to see phones get yanked by security, all so an adult with a 17 year-old's mentality could try and recapture a non-life-changing moment.
Idiots: Ruining it when the criminals are too cool to.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
What I found funny was the number of cell phones in the air at this show. Little lit-up screens faced away from the stage, which means these people were either recording the show on video or audio.
So... you wait for a band you like to come to town. Spend $50 on a ticket, IF you can get your cheese in order and take on Ticketmaster's website and the legalized scalpers. Then you pay for parking at the show, couple of beers maybe, some weed, and then, when the Likely Better Than The Headliners Opening Band is done, you wait... anticipating the lights to go down like every show...
And as the bland of your current hotPod playlist hits the stage, your heart leaps into your pocket so you can PULL OUT YOUR CAMERA PHONE?
The band your co-workers think is "inaccessibly indie-sounding" is RIGHT THERE, 30 feet from your wine-soaked mug and you're living the experience vicariously through a 2-or3-inch screen. Recording it to watch it later, in all it's fuzzy, distorted goodness.
Another thing to do in this situation is to go to the show alone, stand dead center, and let it happen around you, taking it all in. You know, get your money's worth. Nobody wants to see Hinder replayed on Y'allToob. This entire scene is a Hindenberg of technology, I cannot wait to see phones get yanked by security, all so an adult with a 17 year-old's mentality could try and recapture a non-life-changing moment.
Idiots: Ruining it when the criminals are too cool to.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Your Dirty Windows
The on-set of FaceBook, MySpace, SpaceBalls, BallBook, MyFaceOnBalls, BallFace, BallSpace, and CuteOverload.org all funnels into the same market of the 'net now known as "Social Media." We decide, choose, and connect how we wanna connect. You can't force somebody to be your friend on the 'net. There's no booze, no coke, no lingering feelings of parental neglect. No immediate pay-off to a relationship. So superficial. So 2009.
I wanna be your on-line friend, so I can stalk you from afar, and you can see how fat I got after Senior Year. Which, if I had to do over again, I would skip WAY more often. The schooling, not the fatness. Wow. My kids are skipping whether they like it or not. I'll force my kids to skip HOME Schooling and go hang at the local alternative high for crap's sake. FOR CRAP'S SAKE, MARC, YER TAKIN' THE PISS! Now, as people carry on posting pictures of their lives, we get a peek into what's important to them. And it varies up the scale of age.
Family and Married People post pics of their kids. If I want somebody to see my kids, I'll hold my kid over the balcony, thank you. But DAMN, my family and friends put out some really cute kids (NIECES PIECES RILEY!). Okay, fine. Now the "internet public is clamoring for more of the Obama's Daughters!" Bigger than Miley Cyrus!?!?! Not at WalMart! Not yet...
Single people post pictures of places they got drunk, taken while they were drunk in those places. Bathing suits on the hotties. Self-pics. Double-fisting (that oughtta get some hits). LOTS of hugs.
Anybody still in high school, emotionally anyway, posts pics they take of theyselves and they friends and they partying in a car, throwin' finger signs and being awesome. What-what? No. No.
So, now that we have a billboard unto the world to tell 'em all what we're about? We have unparalleled access and capability to say "CHECK ME OUT." And while people become their own paparazzi, I'm just not seeing much that's exciting enough to tune back in for. And THAT banality is exactly what is so intriguing!
Please, keep doing what you're doing, and posting the photographic evidence of your life. Someday, we'll look back and remember how great you could have been, until you came down with autophotoluciopia... Blindness caused by taking pictures of yourself because you don't have any actual friends to snap one for you, fart-saver.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
I wanna be your on-line friend, so I can stalk you from afar, and you can see how fat I got after Senior Year. Which, if I had to do over again, I would skip WAY more often. The schooling, not the fatness. Wow. My kids are skipping whether they like it or not. I'll force my kids to skip HOME Schooling and go hang at the local alternative high for crap's sake. FOR CRAP'S SAKE, MARC, YER TAKIN' THE PISS! Now, as people carry on posting pictures of their lives, we get a peek into what's important to them. And it varies up the scale of age.
Family and Married People post pics of their kids. If I want somebody to see my kids, I'll hold my kid over the balcony, thank you. But DAMN, my family and friends put out some really cute kids (NIECES PIECES RILEY!). Okay, fine. Now the "internet public is clamoring for more of the Obama's Daughters!" Bigger than Miley Cyrus!?!?! Not at WalMart! Not yet...
Single people post pictures of places they got drunk, taken while they were drunk in those places. Bathing suits on the hotties. Self-pics. Double-fisting (that oughtta get some hits). LOTS of hugs.
Anybody still in high school, emotionally anyway, posts pics they take of theyselves and they friends and they partying in a car, throwin' finger signs and being awesome. What-what? No. No.
So, now that we have a billboard unto the world to tell 'em all what we're about? We have unparalleled access and capability to say "CHECK ME OUT." And while people become their own paparazzi, I'm just not seeing much that's exciting enough to tune back in for. And THAT banality is exactly what is so intriguing!
Please, keep doing what you're doing, and posting the photographic evidence of your life. Someday, we'll look back and remember how great you could have been, until you came down with autophotoluciopia... Blindness caused by taking pictures of yourself because you don't have any actual friends to snap one for you, fart-saver.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
A New Erra
The 44th President of the United States, Barack Obama, has been sworn into office by the verbally-stumbling W-appointed Chief Justice John Roberts, and we now have the first non-white male as President. Better, but still behind a number of nations that have had FEMALE political leaders over the past few years. We'll dive into that another time.
I got flu-like chills listening to the Inaugural Speech, understanding that for the first time in my voting life, my vote may have counted. I usually give 2 hot squirts about politics, because at that high of a level, it's way the hell out of my hands as a man who thinks guns should be mandatory and drugs should be legal. At this time, however, I realize how important politics are in life, in family squabbles, and in getting ass from that chick who's "documentary hot." So now, as everyone gets their fingers wet in the welcoming folds of political chatter, we're gonna see who knows what, and who is shit-stacked on the innards.
The coffee shop pundits, bus stop campaigners, and kitchenette crazies will be chatting up Obama's first 100 days like it was 1998 and Rachel just found out Ross has been stealing her underpants, emotionally. Everyone's got something to say, and they have absolutely nothing to say.
"You know, he's closing Gitmo."
"I know. He's gonna sign the papers to close it."
"Yeah, they're gonna shut it down. It stood for a torturist stance on terrorism that showed the world a barbaric side of America."
"Yeah, we're better than that."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
(nodding)
AND? Then what? There won't be a fart's-worth of convo left because nobody sought deeper on it. Our barbarism is NOT supposed to be displayed. This is America. We keep that inside, locked away behind the facade of gleaming WELCOMES to all nationalities, but truly wanting them to shut up, register their presence, and pay their taxes.
Guantanamo is where they will train personnel of the Travel Safetey Administration.
The Travel Safety Administration (motto: "Slow Down, We're Here To Help YOU. You're WELCOME. Asshole.") How does the TSA keep hiring people who can't speak English, come from unfindable nations, yet determine which of us get on airplanes? Never have I wanted more to cause problems in the airport until I get to Security. If you have a rudimentary grasp of common courtesy being over-ridden by control issues, and like yelling at people, but are too dumb, fat, or unable to grow a 'stache to be a cop, get thee to a TSA office NEEOW. Creating rules against EVERYTHING and then scaling them back is not "pro-active" administration; it's horrible parenting, and it has to stop. The passenger-facing wing of the TSA doesn't set policies, they only misinterpret them before playing out their Swayze fantasy of rifling through pockets to make sure I'm not bringing any dignity on the plane.
So study 3 big things Obama's gotta do in the next 6 months. The Bailouts, Iraq, the sage-burning energy clearing of Cheney's office, and absorb these. Because there's nothing more invigorating than a lively conversation where you can refute the other person's claims with Truth, Peace, and a Flag-Tattooed Middle Finger.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
I got flu-like chills listening to the Inaugural Speech, understanding that for the first time in my voting life, my vote may have counted. I usually give 2 hot squirts about politics, because at that high of a level, it's way the hell out of my hands as a man who thinks guns should be mandatory and drugs should be legal. At this time, however, I realize how important politics are in life, in family squabbles, and in getting ass from that chick who's "documentary hot." So now, as everyone gets their fingers wet in the welcoming folds of political chatter, we're gonna see who knows what, and who is shit-stacked on the innards.
The coffee shop pundits, bus stop campaigners, and kitchenette crazies will be chatting up Obama's first 100 days like it was 1998 and Rachel just found out Ross has been stealing her underpants, emotionally. Everyone's got something to say, and they have absolutely nothing to say.
"You know, he's closing Gitmo."
"I know. He's gonna sign the papers to close it."
"Yeah, they're gonna shut it down. It stood for a torturist stance on terrorism that showed the world a barbaric side of America."
"Yeah, we're better than that."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."
(nodding)
AND? Then what? There won't be a fart's-worth of convo left because nobody sought deeper on it. Our barbarism is NOT supposed to be displayed. This is America. We keep that inside, locked away behind the facade of gleaming WELCOMES to all nationalities, but truly wanting them to shut up, register their presence, and pay their taxes.
Guantanamo is where they will train personnel of the Travel Safetey Administration.
The Travel Safety Administration (motto: "Slow Down, We're Here To Help YOU. You're WELCOME. Asshole.") How does the TSA keep hiring people who can't speak English, come from unfindable nations, yet determine which of us get on airplanes? Never have I wanted more to cause problems in the airport until I get to Security. If you have a rudimentary grasp of common courtesy being over-ridden by control issues, and like yelling at people, but are too dumb, fat, or unable to grow a 'stache to be a cop, get thee to a TSA office NEEOW. Creating rules against EVERYTHING and then scaling them back is not "pro-active" administration; it's horrible parenting, and it has to stop. The passenger-facing wing of the TSA doesn't set policies, they only misinterpret them before playing out their Swayze fantasy of rifling through pockets to make sure I'm not bringing any dignity on the plane.
So study 3 big things Obama's gotta do in the next 6 months. The Bailouts, Iraq, the sage-burning energy clearing of Cheney's office, and absorb these. Because there's nothing more invigorating than a lively conversation where you can refute the other person's claims with Truth, Peace, and a Flag-Tattooed Middle Finger.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, January 19, 2009
Wealth, Taxes, and Laziness
"You cannot legislate the poor into freedom by
legislating the wealthy out of freedom.
What one person receives without working for,
another person mustwork for without receiving.
The government cannot give to anybody anything
that the government does not first take from somebody else.
When half of the people get the idea that they do not
have to work because the other half is going to take
care of them, and when the other half gets the idea
that it does no good to work because somebody else is
going to get what they work for, that my dear friend,
is about the end of any nation.
You cannot multiply wealth by dividing it."
Dr. Adrian Rogers 1931-2005
Change your thinking! Right now!
Change it to thoughts of all the abundance you live in, and h
much more you can bring to your life.
Now. Don't wait for anybody or anything.
It's YOUR Turn. Because I am NOT feeding your ass.
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Sunday, January 18, 2009
Pick Sure Pages
While at a baby shower a couple years ago, among other places that burn a hole in your soul... CUUUUUUUUUUUUTE!... I noted what appeared an insane number of inane photographs being snapped. A woman with a digital camera was snapping pics every 5 seconds, from a package being picked up, to the hand-off, to the faces of the mom and her couch-neighbor being explained-to what the package was... LET HER OPEN THE GIFT, DUMMY... basically 5 pics of every gift-opening. Why not just buy a video camera? Friggin' flip-book of banality.
In December, while I was in Vegas, I strolled everywhere on the strip and saw where people took pics. Some of the pics, sure, great opportunity. The Tour d'Eiffel at Paris. A view of New York-New York from across the street, it's massive. The gold Lion on the corner of the MGM Grand.
But in front of the M&M Store? It's 4 floors of retail space dedicated to all things M&M. Like, THE CANDY. I get the opulence and extravagance of Las Vegas. I understand the M&M store is a somewhat-welcome bastion of innocence in the middle of a city that promotes excess and addiction as though they were life support... which they can be... but as a tourist destination, hmmm...
Doug: "So, uh... Gary... I don't know if I told you this. About 2 weeks ago, when I was in Las Vegas?"
Gary: "Dude, if you tell me what I think you're gonna tell me, don't tell me. I don't want this on my conscience."
Doug: "Listen. I went to the M&M Store."
Gary: "Doug, I am calling BULL'S SHIT on that far-out line of storytelling."
Doug: "Wanna make it interesting?"
Gary: "Yeah, dick eyes. $10! You can't prove it!"
Doug pulls out his digital camera
Doug: "BOO-YES, CheeseSkids! GIMME MAAAH MOE-NAAAAY!"
Gary: "Daaang! You do live the high life."
Now, please explain why this picture was on the internet, twice now...
This young man is either
1) Not of legal drinking age
2) Foreign
C) Recovering from brain reconstruction surgery
IV) Not worried about girls, they'll see THIS picture and realize what a sweetie he is and finally give up the lovin'.
FIVE) So tooted up on 'shrooms he thinks he's getting a picture with "the chick from the Greek Wedding movie."
I guess I just can't stand the posed pictures, they're so fake and ugh.
As odd as it sounds, I do wish that I had taken a picture of myself the moments after finding out my dad died. That depth of emotion, that moment my heart bottomed out, THAT was Life. That was an end-point of the spectrum of feelings by which all others would be measured. It would have captured a lot, from sadness to love.
So please, before snapping that next picture, ask yourself... why am I sitting in this van with a rainbow wig and a lightbulb in my butt's hole?
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
In December, while I was in Vegas, I strolled everywhere on the strip and saw where people took pics. Some of the pics, sure, great opportunity. The Tour d'Eiffel at Paris. A view of New York-New York from across the street, it's massive. The gold Lion on the corner of the MGM Grand.
But in front of the M&M Store? It's 4 floors of retail space dedicated to all things M&M. Like, THE CANDY. I get the opulence and extravagance of Las Vegas. I understand the M&M store is a somewhat-welcome bastion of innocence in the middle of a city that promotes excess and addiction as though they were life support... which they can be... but as a tourist destination, hmmm...
Doug: "So, uh... Gary... I don't know if I told you this. About 2 weeks ago, when I was in Las Vegas?"
Gary: "Dude, if you tell me what I think you're gonna tell me, don't tell me. I don't want this on my conscience."
Doug: "Listen. I went to the M&M Store."
Gary: "Doug, I am calling BULL'S SHIT on that far-out line of storytelling."
Doug: "Wanna make it interesting?"
Gary: "Yeah, dick eyes. $10! You can't prove it!"
Doug pulls out his digital camera
Doug: "BOO-YES, CheeseSkids! GIMME MAAAH MOE-NAAAAY!"Gary: "Daaang! You do live the high life."
Now, please explain why this picture was on the internet, twice now...
This young man is either
1) Not of legal drinking age
2) Foreign
C) Recovering from brain reconstruction surgery
IV) Not worried about girls, they'll see THIS picture and realize what a sweetie he is and finally give up the lovin'.
FIVE) So tooted up on 'shrooms he thinks he's getting a picture with "the chick from the Greek Wedding movie."
I guess I just can't stand the posed pictures, they're so fake and ugh.
As odd as it sounds, I do wish that I had taken a picture of myself the moments after finding out my dad died. That depth of emotion, that moment my heart bottomed out, THAT was Life. That was an end-point of the spectrum of feelings by which all others would be measured. It would have captured a lot, from sadness to love.
So please, before snapping that next picture, ask yourself... why am I sitting in this van with a rainbow wig and a lightbulb in my butt's hole?
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A $tudy in Restraint
If you're like me, sorry. Tax returns are beginning to be postponed while we get our things in order. That includes a lot of receipt separation for me, especially for the entirety of the comedy work I write off. But when it comes time to file, and the money comes back... WHATCHOO GONNA DO, BROTHER, WHEN THE GOVERNMENT RELEASES YOUR MONEY BACK TO YOOOOOOU?
(first off, I think income tax is a scam... you get taxed for HAVING A JOB, taxed for what you buy, taxed for selling anything at a profit, and taxed if you save and it the money makes money... and we're bailing out banks)
So, either I'm gonna plop my money into an interest-bearing savings account, an IRA, or a stimulus plan that includes dinner with The Wife! and an upgrade of home protection, including but not limited to, a flamethrower.
What're YOU gonna do with YOUR tax return this year?
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(first off, I think income tax is a scam... you get taxed for HAVING A JOB, taxed for what you buy, taxed for selling anything at a profit, and taxed if you save and it the money makes money... and we're bailing out banks)
So, either I'm gonna plop my money into an interest-bearing savings account, an IRA, or a stimulus plan that includes dinner with The Wife! and an upgrade of home protection, including but not limited to, a flamethrower.
What're YOU gonna do with YOUR tax return this year?
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Friday, January 16, 2009
It's Part Of The Gig
I just heard a great line from Matt Furey, who may have heard it elsewhere, but...
"Nothing bad ever happens to a Writer. It's all just more Material." So very true. The more I've embraced my Purpose of putting all the hot, joke-on-joke humor I can into the world, the less stress I've had in life. It's all part of the gig, Life. Job goes weird, c0-worker drives you nuts, club-owner shorts your money, hotel's not expecting you, hooker dies in your tub (not your hooker), cat craps in the tub, buddy has no clue of their own narcissism and toxicity, it's all Soul Food.
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"Nothing bad ever happens to a Writer. It's all just more Material." So very true. The more I've embraced my Purpose of putting all the hot, joke-on-joke humor I can into the world, the less stress I've had in life. It's all part of the gig, Life. Job goes weird, c0-worker drives you nuts, club-owner shorts your money, hotel's not expecting you, hooker dies in your tub (not your hooker), cat craps in the tub, buddy has no clue of their own narcissism and toxicity, it's all Soul Food.
Take Me Home
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Sunday, January 11, 2009
Rules Of Engorgement
Well SHIT SALAD I gotta drop pounds again, thank you 10 days in Las Vegas and 9 at home! It's coming off, but cripes, I need to stop fretting when I'm back-sweating and get back to what I know works.
Roasted chicken or salmon + vegetables + TurbulenceTraining - PeanutButter by the Handload = leaner Geoffrey.
I think the stress of body dismorphism or "lagging feelings of self-image" causes us more stress, and therefore more physiological damage, than the actual fluctuation of weight. I've had weeks where the scale reads +/- 7 pounds, dropping as much as 3 in one day after a long walk and workout and eating right. Human beans eat about the same volume... VOLUME as in SPACE-FILLING... every day. Good rule to remember. If I'm gonna eat, say, 10 cups of food, and wanna keep the calories low, I need to schnorf down the high-volume foods, like veggies and fruits and oatmeal and things that take a long time to break down. Throw in a little lean protein to keep the shouldermeats lookin' wide, thick in leg and loin, and BOOM, we're good.
Turns out, I need to STOP DRINKING MY CALORIES. Beers, of course, but I do love and won't sacrifice mine Guinness. BUT, I can lay off the sugared energy drinks (300cal in a can?!?!?), sweetened coffees and teas, and for the love of handles, drop my JambaJuice fixation. Their "PeanutButter Moo'd" is clocking 640cal for 24oz (it's okay, 180cal just from FAT). Then again, if I saw a PBM'd personified, walking down the street, it'd probably cause me to stop break-dancing, throw off those clown shoes, and ask "Hey is your father a jewel thief? BECAUSE I WOULD TOTALLY DO IT WITH YOU IF I WEREN'T MARRIED."
That being said, I have a lot to accomplish this year. A lot. Soon. I'll keep you posted on what I'm doing and how it's going, of course, with minor musings on the desire to see
1) Customer Service come screaming into the 21st Century
and
2) Mine enemies driven before me, crushed beneath my comedy.
In the meantime, switch to half-caf, half&half, save 10% of your money (JUST DO THIS), and for the love of Dulce de Leche, stop thinking it's about YOU all the time.
Go with your elves.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Roasted chicken or salmon + vegetables + TurbulenceTraining - PeanutButter by the Handload = leaner Geoffrey.
I think the stress of body dismorphism or "lagging feelings of self-image" causes us more stress, and therefore more physiological damage, than the actual fluctuation of weight. I've had weeks where the scale reads +/- 7 pounds, dropping as much as 3 in one day after a long walk and workout and eating right. Human beans eat about the same volume... VOLUME as in SPACE-FILLING... every day. Good rule to remember. If I'm gonna eat, say, 10 cups of food, and wanna keep the calories low, I need to schnorf down the high-volume foods, like veggies and fruits and oatmeal and things that take a long time to break down. Throw in a little lean protein to keep the shouldermeats lookin' wide, thick in leg and loin, and BOOM, we're good.
Turns out, I need to STOP DRINKING MY CALORIES. Beers, of course, but I do love and won't sacrifice mine Guinness. BUT, I can lay off the sugared energy drinks (300cal in a can?!?!?), sweetened coffees and teas, and for the love of handles, drop my JambaJuice fixation. Their "PeanutButter Moo'd" is clocking 640cal for 24oz (it's okay, 180cal just from FAT). Then again, if I saw a PBM'd personified, walking down the street, it'd probably cause me to stop break-dancing, throw off those clown shoes, and ask "Hey is your father a jewel thief? BECAUSE I WOULD TOTALLY DO IT WITH YOU IF I WEREN'T MARRIED."
That being said, I have a lot to accomplish this year. A lot. Soon. I'll keep you posted on what I'm doing and how it's going, of course, with minor musings on the desire to see
1) Customer Service come screaming into the 21st Century
and
2) Mine enemies driven before me, crushed beneath my comedy.
In the meantime, switch to half-caf, half&half, save 10% of your money (JUST DO THIS), and for the love of Dulce de Leche, stop thinking it's about YOU all the time.
Go with your elves.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, January 09, 2009
A Bad Rap
In one week, the movie NOTORIOUS is released.
It's about Christopher "Biggie Smalls/Notorious B.I.G." Wallace, a rap artist (one of the few who can be called an "artist"), and his rise to fame, as well as his tragic death at the age of 24. He was murdered in a drive-by shooting in Los Angeles before his 25th birthday, and less than 3 years after releasing his debut album, "Ready To Die." He was killed at a stoplight, in the passenger seat. The man who pulled the trigger has not been found, at least by authorities.
There has always been violence associated with the New Age of rap music, that which spawned from the late 1980's with "Gangsta Rap," headed-up by the group N.W.A. Still one of the best groups of all time. Still one of the most influential musical movements in the history of music.
So, when this movie comes out next week, will there be violence?
This litany of violence associated with events involving rap music says YES. I think YES, there will be violence at the opening weekend, which is sad. It costs so much to go see a movie these days, but to have it ruined by people shouting "YAY YAY DAWG, GIT THAT SHIZZO" for 32 mintues before you lose your shit and open fire on these skidmarks, AAARGH, just makes for a rough weekend.
I'll report back after the movie opens. I can only hope there is none. Zero. Not one fight. Hopefully people can go see the movie and dig it and it's all cool. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
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It's about Christopher "Biggie Smalls/Notorious B.I.G." Wallace, a rap artist (one of the few who can be called an "artist"), and his rise to fame, as well as his tragic death at the age of 24. He was murdered in a drive-by shooting in Los Angeles before his 25th birthday, and less than 3 years after releasing his debut album, "Ready To Die." He was killed at a stoplight, in the passenger seat. The man who pulled the trigger has not been found, at least by authorities.
There has always been violence associated with the New Age of rap music, that which spawned from the late 1980's with "Gangsta Rap," headed-up by the group N.W.A. Still one of the best groups of all time. Still one of the most influential musical movements in the history of music.
So, when this movie comes out next week, will there be violence?
This litany of violence associated with events involving rap music says YES. I think YES, there will be violence at the opening weekend, which is sad. It costs so much to go see a movie these days, but to have it ruined by people shouting "YAY YAY DAWG, GIT THAT SHIZZO" for 32 mintues before you lose your shit and open fire on these skidmarks, AAARGH, just makes for a rough weekend.
I'll report back after the movie opens. I can only hope there is none. Zero. Not one fight. Hopefully people can go see the movie and dig it and it's all cool. Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh.
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My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, January 08, 2009
A GREAT PACKAGE - FITNESS WISE!
I have bad news. I rarely do that here, but this is a program I believe in for fitness and strength unlike any other. Turbulence Training!
At Noon (EST) on Thursday, January 8th, all of the free bonuses in the Ultimate Turbulence Training for Fat Loss Solution are going to be removed. There are like 10 extras here, for less than a yearly membership to a meathead local franchise gym!
And I promise you that you’ll love it, or Craig Ballantyne, the creator of Turbulence Training, will give you your money back. You have nothing to lose (except belly fat).
But all of the extra bonus goodie workouts will be removed from this incredible offer at Noon (EST) on Thursday, January 8th.
So don’t waste any more time. Visit this site to grab the Ultimate Turbulence Training Fat Loss Solution and all of your fast action bonuses:
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
GO GO GO!
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At Noon (EST) on Thursday, January 8th, all of the free bonuses in the Ultimate Turbulence Training for Fat Loss Solution are going to be removed. There are like 10 extras here, for less than a yearly membership to a meathead local franchise gym!
- The Turbulence Training 6-Month Bodyweight Manual (no equipment needed)
- The TT Bodyweight 500 Workout Challenge (this will torch you)
- The TT for Athletes 8-Week Training Program (prevent injury, amp performance)
- The TT Ultimate Advanced Bodyweight Workout (wanna look like a Spartan?)
- The TT Bodyweight 1000 Fat Burning Challenge (only for those who can push themselves)
And I promise you that you’ll love it, or Craig Ballantyne, the creator of Turbulence Training, will give you your money back. You have nothing to lose (except belly fat).
But all of the extra bonus goodie workouts will be removed from this incredible offer at Noon (EST) on Thursday, January 8th.
So don’t waste any more time. Visit this site to grab the Ultimate Turbulence Training Fat Loss Solution and all of your fast action bonuses:
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
CLICK HERE NOW!
GO GO GO!
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Shopping Mauls
This morning I read where Macy's closed 11 stores after a weak retail season. CLEARANCE SALES NEXT WEEK!!! It's a foreclosure sale on INC, Alfani, and Tommy Hilfiger!
Not much foot traffic, and likely, not much via the web, either. Money's tight, if you're tight with money. Or for myriad reasons. I think I used "myriad" properly.
But also, retail sales dipped the past few years for a few reasons that I can point out here. How correct they are, in a "traditional" sense, is of no concern. I'm right, for the wrong reasons, okow? BOKAY!
1) Retail Employees: Most seem to work under the motto "If I have to fold clothes I can't afford, it's gonna suck for you, too." Not my fault, I didn't schedule you to work on your due date. OR, they go the OTHER way, and you can't make a move without being accosted, confronted, and suggested-to about an item. I can't stand either of them. Either I'm putting up with a ton of misdirected attitude of the bad sort, or somebody's climbing my back to introduce me to their, LIKE, FAAAAAAAAAAAYVRAT DENIMS! The training that goes into these folks is what's getting screwed up. I can't get that kind of treatment at home!
This fully excludes places I have visited like T.Petterson, LaRee Boutique, Posh, and Barney's. Hmm, the high-end places make me want to return. Weird. Prob'ly a quincidunce. I can't get that at home!
2) The Environment: Nothing says "let's shop!" like blaring techno, rap, or house music.
3) This is taking too long...
I don't want to drive into a crappy part of town, crowded with cars and dipsh*t, unsupervised teenagers who apparently shoot at each other now, and park, walk all over, and deal with it all.
Food courts. Teenagers being loud. Slow walkers. Gibberish languages.
Which is why I MUST. To NOT go is to deny a very American experience. I need to let that stuff go and accept that this is Part Of Shopping. All I can do is what's RIGHT.
Which is to alert Mall Security that the group of teens over there was shoplifting, and see that they are escorted out. The mall is for shoppers.
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Not much foot traffic, and likely, not much via the web, either. Money's tight, if you're tight with money. Or for myriad reasons. I think I used "myriad" properly.
But also, retail sales dipped the past few years for a few reasons that I can point out here. How correct they are, in a "traditional" sense, is of no concern. I'm right, for the wrong reasons, okow? BOKAY!
1) Retail Employees: Most seem to work under the motto "If I have to fold clothes I can't afford, it's gonna suck for you, too." Not my fault, I didn't schedule you to work on your due date. OR, they go the OTHER way, and you can't make a move without being accosted, confronted, and suggested-to about an item. I can't stand either of them. Either I'm putting up with a ton of misdirected attitude of the bad sort, or somebody's climbing my back to introduce me to their, LIKE, FAAAAAAAAAAAYVRAT DENIMS! The training that goes into these folks is what's getting screwed up. I can't get that kind of treatment at home!
This fully excludes places I have visited like T.Petterson, LaRee Boutique, Posh, and Barney's. Hmm, the high-end places make me want to return. Weird. Prob'ly a quincidunce. I can't get that at home!
2) The Environment: Nothing says "let's shop!" like blaring techno, rap, or house music.
3) This is taking too long...
I don't want to drive into a crappy part of town, crowded with cars and dipsh*t, unsupervised teenagers who apparently shoot at each other now, and park, walk all over, and deal with it all.
Food courts. Teenagers being loud. Slow walkers. Gibberish languages.
Which is why I MUST. To NOT go is to deny a very American experience. I need to let that stuff go and accept that this is Part Of Shopping. All I can do is what's RIGHT.
Which is to alert Mall Security that the group of teens over there was shoplifting, and see that they are escorted out. The mall is for shoppers.
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Wednesday, January 07, 2009
This May Have Screwed Everything Up
Okay... so... being nice can ass-chomp you. It's doing that to me.
I just realized that next Wednesday I'm supposed to do a favor for somebody AND get a delivery on the SAME DAY. Unless I arrange it another way, which I'm hoping the Delivery Team will allow me to do.
Otherwise, somebody's gonna be standing outside LAX chain-smoking and cursing the existence of Geoffrey Lott... all while he's getting the Bidet-To-You-Sir! properly wired.
Life's sooo good.
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I just realized that next Wednesday I'm supposed to do a favor for somebody AND get a delivery on the SAME DAY. Unless I arrange it another way, which I'm hoping the Delivery Team will allow me to do.
Otherwise, somebody's gonna be standing outside LAX chain-smoking and cursing the existence of Geoffrey Lott... all while he's getting the Bidet-To-You-Sir! properly wired.
Life's sooo good.
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Tuesday, January 06, 2009
-$.05 is Too Steep A Price
Nickelbland, a puss-rock band outta Canada, has released a song "inspired by unrequited love btwn two young people." That, or something like it, was a quote from their front"man," Chad. The song was called "Be Somebody" or something to be played while an 8th-grader does push-ups over the picture of his homeroom crush.
Can we agree that...
1) Nickelback is marketed TO and FOR stalking people;
2) Nickelback is the soundtrack to small-town, teenage pregnancy;
3) Nickelback has enough support that they can tolerate the musings of a comedian more talented at stand-up than they are at music?
I hear 5 seconds of a -$.05 song, and I have to listen to powerdrills and a 14" chopsaw for an hour to re-up my testosterone.
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Can we agree that...
1) Nickelback is marketed TO and FOR stalking people;
2) Nickelback is the soundtrack to small-town, teenage pregnancy;
3) Nickelback has enough support that they can tolerate the musings of a comedian more talented at stand-up than they are at music?
I hear 5 seconds of a -$.05 song, and I have to listen to powerdrills and a 14" chopsaw for an hour to re-up my testosterone.
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Friday, January 02, 2009
It's Done Been Rung
2009 is here.
2008 was nuts. Total shakedown year, the louts and losers and mooches got a LOT of heat in '08. I am still disgusted with the bailout situations for large banks, while a lot of people were losing their homes and H2's. Per usual, my ability to see both sides of a situation keep me from really taking a side. I think the predatory lenders at the banks were likely less-than-forthcoming about fees and upwardly-adjusting interest rates that would hike mortgage payments. I have had my own run-ins with those fart-savers, and when you work on a commission, of COURSE people will work the money in a way that says "It works out for YOU, the Buyer!" GREED, get it? Greed got most people. I love it.
The automaker bailouts, wow... it's amazing how corporations in our country can be so poorly-managed (like Mohan Gyani and John Zieglis running AT&T Wireless into the iceberg of old technology), and STILL walk away with millions of dollars in "severance pay." If most people at their jobs make a bad decision, a project goes a couple thousand over budget, or worse, the 6-foot sub sandwich has NO... CHEESE... But when you fail to LEAD a company as a CEO or President in a progressive direction, including adversiting, market position, and apple-bottomed spokesmodels who like MY comedy, and STILL get BILLIONS of dollars to correct your mistake, well sheeeeeit, why even try the first time? FORD is not taking any money, by the way. They have decided to work it out on their own. They are making more and more Hybrids, as are most companies. That won't be enough. We have a lot of unread newspapers and phone books, we MUST be able to extract some sort of energy from them.
So I'm happy to see that 2008 is gone. We started 2009 in Pismo Beach, a small-town, mid-Coast burg about 3 hours North of Culver City. It's the kind of town where, when you get a DUI, the officer takes you out for a beer afterwards. I got to perform 2 shows with Lisa Landry, a great comic from New York who moved out here with her husband and son a few months ago. We co-miserated over moves, as we, too moved, with a monkey-cat. Lots of drive time, my neck is a little tight. 2 Drunk Asspleats in the front row of show 2 nearly ruined it, though some people wanted them kicked out, right before being publicly stripped and face-crammed with a Dodge. The "manager" was a complete puss, walking into the room... after one of the guys pulled an Iraqi Confetti Moment and THREW HIS SHOE AT LISA... and the manager addressed the drunk f*ck by name and told him to "not embarrass (the manager)." His chace to be a hero, shot down so he could be "cool" in the eyes of this guy that he knows. More customers will remember THAT than how good the show was. And the bar-staff, including Gary "Comb On Over!" The Bar'sTender, just shrugged it off as if it were the comic's fault for not making a big stink about it.
I loved the shows, I'd do them again, and next time I'll make the kind of stink I usually reserve for the morning of Seis De Mayo.
So here we go. 2009. I'm not making resolutions or anything like that. Just regulating some things, and making sure I put some extra effort into some positioning. Things are to be done. Stop half-assing it and pretending it's not a problem. It is a problem. If nobody is talking to you about it, then you have a SERIOUS problem, and we only think you're sensitive about it. Get it checked out by a professional, get it fixed, and swallow your pride a bit so you can be Better. YOU DESERVE BETTER.
Go get it.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
2008 was nuts. Total shakedown year, the louts and losers and mooches got a LOT of heat in '08. I am still disgusted with the bailout situations for large banks, while a lot of people were losing their homes and H2's. Per usual, my ability to see both sides of a situation keep me from really taking a side. I think the predatory lenders at the banks were likely less-than-forthcoming about fees and upwardly-adjusting interest rates that would hike mortgage payments. I have had my own run-ins with those fart-savers, and when you work on a commission, of COURSE people will work the money in a way that says "It works out for YOU, the Buyer!" GREED, get it? Greed got most people. I love it.
The automaker bailouts, wow... it's amazing how corporations in our country can be so poorly-managed (like Mohan Gyani and John Zieglis running AT&T Wireless into the iceberg of old technology), and STILL walk away with millions of dollars in "severance pay." If most people at their jobs make a bad decision, a project goes a couple thousand over budget, or worse, the 6-foot sub sandwich has NO... CHEESE... But when you fail to LEAD a company as a CEO or President in a progressive direction, including adversiting, market position, and apple-bottomed spokesmodels who like MY comedy, and STILL get BILLIONS of dollars to correct your mistake, well sheeeeeit, why even try the first time? FORD is not taking any money, by the way. They have decided to work it out on their own. They are making more and more Hybrids, as are most companies. That won't be enough. We have a lot of unread newspapers and phone books, we MUST be able to extract some sort of energy from them.
So I'm happy to see that 2008 is gone. We started 2009 in Pismo Beach, a small-town, mid-Coast burg about 3 hours North of Culver City. It's the kind of town where, when you get a DUI, the officer takes you out for a beer afterwards. I got to perform 2 shows with Lisa Landry, a great comic from New York who moved out here with her husband and son a few months ago. We co-miserated over moves, as we, too moved, with a monkey-cat. Lots of drive time, my neck is a little tight. 2 Drunk Asspleats in the front row of show 2 nearly ruined it, though some people wanted them kicked out, right before being publicly stripped and face-crammed with a Dodge. The "manager" was a complete puss, walking into the room... after one of the guys pulled an Iraqi Confetti Moment and THREW HIS SHOE AT LISA... and the manager addressed the drunk f*ck by name and told him to "not embarrass (the manager)." His chace to be a hero, shot down so he could be "cool" in the eyes of this guy that he knows. More customers will remember THAT than how good the show was. And the bar-staff, including Gary "Comb On Over!" The Bar'sTender, just shrugged it off as if it were the comic's fault for not making a big stink about it.
I loved the shows, I'd do them again, and next time I'll make the kind of stink I usually reserve for the morning of Seis De Mayo.
So here we go. 2009. I'm not making resolutions or anything like that. Just regulating some things, and making sure I put some extra effort into some positioning. Things are to be done. Stop half-assing it and pretending it's not a problem. It is a problem. If nobody is talking to you about it, then you have a SERIOUS problem, and we only think you're sensitive about it. Get it checked out by a professional, get it fixed, and swallow your pride a bit so you can be Better. YOU DESERVE BETTER.
Go get it.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
2008 - The Year It Began To Start To Get Different Again
What a Year. 2008, wow. Everything changed this year. I've recapped a lot throughout this blog, so I'm not gonna try and get every little detail, but I'll hit some high-points and see who gets upset over things that were intended to be offensive and came across as "funny."
Happy New Year!
There's mass more but I have to go now.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
- BLACK PRESIDENT! There ya go. We have a fantastic President Elect in Barack Obama. I don't really care about the color of his skin as much as the content of his cabinet. The state of this nation - greed-fisted into a shame spiral and geographically and emotionally entrenched in two foreign occupations via military - can be rejuvenated. Obama's the man to lead us. But seriously, a national income tax, on top of taxes for homes, property, goods, services, and food? Fist that. What a fistful of hate-farts.
- DREAM-MAKING! Whenever somebody I meet in the comedy world states "I quit my job to do comedy," I ask them what they did for a living. They say "Oh, I was answering phones at this company..." or "I was a manager at a shoe store" or some-such. THAT is not job-quitting. That is "I didn't show up for my shift so I could stay up later and smoke/drink/try-for-more-ass." I quit a career in IT where I was making phat money, because my heart was elsewhere. I listen(ed) to the voice in my heart/gut that said "Go, I'll take care of you," and my wife totally called my bluff. Just tell folks you're out there making your dream happen; don't marginalize your run-up to it by inching around the fact you were no good on the grill. The Grill will be waiting.
- Gerry Lott (1943-2008)! My dear dad, Gerry Lott, passed away on November 16th. He had battled Dementia and all that it did to him for about 5 years, that we know of. The years prior to that, however, were lived the way that culminated in the type of memories and sentiments most people would choose to have spoken of them. How? Because my dad loved Life. He embraced the struggle of being Human, in that we all shared it, and in that he found compassion for others. He encouraged, cared, befriended, hugged, loved, laughed, danced, sang, joked, taught, learned, cried, and Had Faith in every bit of it. It's not easy. But he did it right. I have missed him for years. I will love him always. And I only slotted him at #3 because of his modesty.
- UW GOES WINLESS! The winless, 12-loss, ironically-named Tye Willingham uncoached my alma mater through 12 games without a win. Being a stoic, fridgid, unable to win a football game-like coach doesn't help a damn thing when you start throwing 19 year-old players under the bus. When they all make the same mistakes, that is a COACHING error. We get a new coaching staff, a new lease on football life, and hopefully a 6-win, low-tier bowl next year. If we do, you read it here first, I will get a "W" tattoo on my body somewhere.
- WEIGHTGAIN! Son of a ... after getting down around 223 earlier this year, I'm again in the high 230s, thanks to the last 6 weeks of my life. Between my dad's services and 10 days in Las Vegas and the Holidays, I gots work to do. I now believe that most of the "diets" pushed by a lot of the men's fitness mags are there to keep weight on you, and buying their magazine. If you don't believe me, try the "PeanutButter FudgeSteak" diet and see for your fat self.
- Mixed Martial Arts! Most of us know this as the UFC. There are organizations world-wide, however, many of them better than UFC. Most of the fighters are college-educated athletes with backgrounds in wrestling, Muay Thai kickboxing, and minor buffoonery. It's taken off to a new level this year, and with any luck, will cause numerous meat-heads to punch each other in the face while waiting in line for the bathroom at a bar.
- FACEBOOK! It has surpassed MySplorch in terms of usability and intelligent networking, but not for self-promotion... yet.
- GREED! Who didn't get this ass-chomp of a reality check this year? Car makers, home-owners who didn't handle their finances, banks going in the shit-chewer, politicians being voted out, Big Oil, Governor Blabonovich, EVERYBODY who went for the Bad Green got face-corned this year. I love it. It will turn around soon. But that was the shakedown, so I hope we are all paying attention.
Happy New Year!
There's mass more but I have to go now.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, December 19, 2008
What Happened In Vegas Stayed In My Brain
Let’s talk Las Vegas, Comedy, and what ten days in Sin City will do to a man on a limited budget.
Recently I reached another comedy career milestone by performing for over 50 drunk trashbags from a drywalling company from Riverside, CA. Their behavior, for the normal standards of “indoors,” was nothing short of “exemplary,” as defined by Webster’s “Dictionary For Everyday Spousal Abuse.” Many of them should be sterilized by my “Animal Beer Eugenics” plan, which will go into effect secretly within the next 6 months. Frankly, a fiery crash consuming their drug addled corpses, leaving behind only their armband tattoos and some serious handlebar mustaches, may be too good of a death for them. I won’t mention the name of the company because I wouldn’t want to offend them. They may yet turn their life around. Or I may end up at a drywall job, sober, and question their ability to float a seam properly… AND QUESTION THEIR SEXUALITY.
Ten days in Las Vegas is about 7 days past my max tolerance. After 72 hours, my tolerance of humanity waned considerably, somewhere between “Earthquake” and “Idi Amin.” Performing was fantastic. Over the 20 shows, I performed about 300minutes of comedy. That’s about 5 hours. That’s bootcamp, folks. I got WAAAAAAAY better, broke that muscle down a lot, let myself get really loose on-stage, and came out a different, hopefully better, comic and person. BUT… there are 23.5 hours of the day that I was not performing. Had I a drug habit (expensive and/or illegal, that is), alcoholism (full-blown, not just the dabbling), or majorly-consuming vice of some sort, things may have been different. For example, I would have had more fun during the day. It turns out I DO have a serious gambling problem: I blew all my luck. One day I went 3-for-11 on elevators, hitting UP and getting a DOWN for the next lift. Also, Giuseppe “The Dream Crusher” Santini, roll another triple-run of 00 and I’ll come across the chips on ya, 73 years old or not. Thanks for the $50 vodka-soda, fart-saver.
It’s important to get a routine going. Not easy when I was there, because everything costs money. The only freebs were found at the employee cafeteria. Imagine a buffet, with drab walls, low-ceilings, and CNN blaring on one TV, Mexican news or Soap Operas blaring on the other, and being glared at for not having a gold nametag on. Having fun yet? But soldiered forth. Get up, take a walk, check e-mail, work out, nap, write, read, nap, shower, SHOWTIME!, hang out, SHOWTIME!, drink, in bed by 2a.m. But most of that time isn’t spent with friends, so please don’t imply that I was on a vacation. My mind went “The Shining” late Friday afternoon. A ½-Xanax and Bud Light later, all was a bit better.
In those ten days, I missed my wife very much. I realize how much we depend on each other for daily emotional support and physical energy. To know that she was at home, alone, with those guys from that Under Armour ad, just really saddened me. I hope she had fun. But I know that I changed as a person, man, and comedian. Hopefully the changes were beneficial to my marriage and career and performance. One thing is for sure, I have very little patience right now. I have patience to tolerate unchangeable circumstances, but if somebody asks me a question just for the sake of small talk, I feel like ignoring them, or asking them why they want to know. Not trying to be “better” than anybody, mind you. Just, you know, we have a black president and things are changing and nobody cares which hospital your third grandson was born in so stop holding the conversation up while you search your softly-edged memory for a name THAT IS IMMATERIAL TO THE STORY of the first time you slept with a Thai woman in front of your sleeping wife. With a dumbshit like you for a grandpa, he’s probably on his way to a career in drywalling anyway, the fag.
My deepest thanks go out to TJ Markwalter, Tom Rhodes, Carl Strong, John Bizarre, Robert Duchaine, and the entire staff at The Comedy Stop @ The Trop. Fantastic time, y'all. I wish you only the best.
If anybody knows how to get my grandma to stop talking and it doesn't involve a pillow, pills, elbow (Flying or otherwise), let me know. How does this woman know what EVERYBODY is doing wrong on the news?
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Recently I reached another comedy career milestone by performing for over 50 drunk trashbags from a drywalling company from Riverside, CA. Their behavior, for the normal standards of “indoors,” was nothing short of “exemplary,” as defined by Webster’s “Dictionary For Everyday Spousal Abuse.” Many of them should be sterilized by my “Animal Beer Eugenics” plan, which will go into effect secretly within the next 6 months. Frankly, a fiery crash consuming their drug addled corpses, leaving behind only their armband tattoos and some serious handlebar mustaches, may be too good of a death for them. I won’t mention the name of the company because I wouldn’t want to offend them. They may yet turn their life around. Or I may end up at a drywall job, sober, and question their ability to float a seam properly… AND QUESTION THEIR SEXUALITY.
Ten days in Las Vegas is about 7 days past my max tolerance. After 72 hours, my tolerance of humanity waned considerably, somewhere between “Earthquake” and “Idi Amin.” Performing was fantastic. Over the 20 shows, I performed about 300minutes of comedy. That’s about 5 hours. That’s bootcamp, folks. I got WAAAAAAAY better, broke that muscle down a lot, let myself get really loose on-stage, and came out a different, hopefully better, comic and person. BUT… there are 23.5 hours of the day that I was not performing. Had I a drug habit (expensive and/or illegal, that is), alcoholism (full-blown, not just the dabbling), or majorly-consuming vice of some sort, things may have been different. For example, I would have had more fun during the day. It turns out I DO have a serious gambling problem: I blew all my luck. One day I went 3-for-11 on elevators, hitting UP and getting a DOWN for the next lift. Also, Giuseppe “The Dream Crusher” Santini, roll another triple-run of 00 and I’ll come across the chips on ya, 73 years old or not. Thanks for the $50 vodka-soda, fart-saver.
It’s important to get a routine going. Not easy when I was there, because everything costs money. The only freebs were found at the employee cafeteria. Imagine a buffet, with drab walls, low-ceilings, and CNN blaring on one TV, Mexican news or Soap Operas blaring on the other, and being glared at for not having a gold nametag on. Having fun yet? But soldiered forth. Get up, take a walk, check e-mail, work out, nap, write, read, nap, shower, SHOWTIME!, hang out, SHOWTIME!, drink, in bed by 2a.m. But most of that time isn’t spent with friends, so please don’t imply that I was on a vacation. My mind went “The Shining” late Friday afternoon. A ½-Xanax and Bud Light later, all was a bit better.
In those ten days, I missed my wife very much. I realize how much we depend on each other for daily emotional support and physical energy. To know that she was at home, alone, with those guys from that Under Armour ad, just really saddened me. I hope she had fun. But I know that I changed as a person, man, and comedian. Hopefully the changes were beneficial to my marriage and career and performance. One thing is for sure, I have very little patience right now. I have patience to tolerate unchangeable circumstances, but if somebody asks me a question just for the sake of small talk, I feel like ignoring them, or asking them why they want to know. Not trying to be “better” than anybody, mind you. Just, you know, we have a black president and things are changing and nobody cares which hospital your third grandson was born in so stop holding the conversation up while you search your softly-edged memory for a name THAT IS IMMATERIAL TO THE STORY of the first time you slept with a Thai woman in front of your sleeping wife. With a dumbshit like you for a grandpa, he’s probably on his way to a career in drywalling anyway, the fag.
My deepest thanks go out to TJ Markwalter, Tom Rhodes, Carl Strong, John Bizarre, Robert Duchaine, and the entire staff at The Comedy Stop @ The Trop. Fantastic time, y'all. I wish you only the best.
If anybody knows how to get my grandma to stop talking and it doesn't involve a pillow, pills, elbow (Flying or otherwise), let me know. How does this woman know what EVERYBODY is doing wrong on the news?
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Saturday, December 06, 2008
Lee or Ray, part 3
Furthering my list of factual information stating that the middle names "Lee" and "Ray" only cause problems in the life of the middly-named...
http://geofflottrules.blogspot.com/2008/06/lee-or-ray-part-2.html
I submit THIS STORY, wherein Major LEE Ray, 51, was killed in a homeless encampment near I-5 in Seattle. Terrible news.
Keep 'em coming, folks.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
http://geofflottrules.blogspot.com/2008/06/lee-or-ray-part-2.html
I submit THIS STORY, wherein Major LEE Ray, 51, was killed in a homeless encampment near I-5 in Seattle. Terrible news.
Keep 'em coming, folks.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
That's What Friends are (meta)For
Solid carriage. Decent shape. Front tube, randomly disconnected and hanging downward.
Loses fluids frequently, causing to overheat. Not good for long trips. Runs hotter than it should. When hot, needs longer than usual to cool down.
Direction-signals need new covers. Somebody took them a while ago. There may be a blinker out, because a light comes on to say one is out, but they all work. False alarms on what's working and what's not. If you stop too quickly, the front bumper may fall off.
Massive chunk-shot to the windshield, causing a blindspot to the left. Gotta lean over to see around it. Out of windshield washer fluid. Wipers could use a replacement, but cleaning the windshield hits a major divot in the chunk-shot, causing more smearing than smoothing. The sun visor has been removed, forcefully, from the look of the shards.
Can't tell how much gas is in it, just gotta fuel up when you can, especially if the light comes on. No idea how the fuel efficiency measures up.
The interior windows are hazily bonded with a sheer coat of nicotine. All external viewing is through a slightly-distorted glaze of chain-puffed smokes. Ash-blown back seats and upholstery. Interior panel of the passenger side, which holds the handles for exit and window-dropping is off, stuffed into the trunk. Somebody else must open the door from outside to allow the passenger to leave. Unless the passenger can grip mightily enough to the one cable that opens the door. Wires bounce along, exposed to the elements.
Work needs to be done under the hood. The only person who knows how best to handle it is a man in a valley far away. But overall, it goes from point A to D to C, as long as you don't push it too hard.
A car, lent to me by a friend?
Or a friend?
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Loses fluids frequently, causing to overheat. Not good for long trips. Runs hotter than it should. When hot, needs longer than usual to cool down.
Direction-signals need new covers. Somebody took them a while ago. There may be a blinker out, because a light comes on to say one is out, but they all work. False alarms on what's working and what's not. If you stop too quickly, the front bumper may fall off.
Massive chunk-shot to the windshield, causing a blindspot to the left. Gotta lean over to see around it. Out of windshield washer fluid. Wipers could use a replacement, but cleaning the windshield hits a major divot in the chunk-shot, causing more smearing than smoothing. The sun visor has been removed, forcefully, from the look of the shards.
Can't tell how much gas is in it, just gotta fuel up when you can, especially if the light comes on. No idea how the fuel efficiency measures up.
The interior windows are hazily bonded with a sheer coat of nicotine. All external viewing is through a slightly-distorted glaze of chain-puffed smokes. Ash-blown back seats and upholstery. Interior panel of the passenger side, which holds the handles for exit and window-dropping is off, stuffed into the trunk. Somebody else must open the door from outside to allow the passenger to leave. Unless the passenger can grip mightily enough to the one cable that opens the door. Wires bounce along, exposed to the elements.
Work needs to be done under the hood. The only person who knows how best to handle it is a man in a valley far away. But overall, it goes from point A to D to C, as long as you don't push it too hard.
A car, lent to me by a friend?
Or a friend?
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, December 04, 2008
On Defining One's Self
I have a comedic spirit. I find humor in tragedy, and layers on the surface alone. I'm not saying I'm special, it's merely how I am wired. Were I wired for neurosurgerence, I'd be brain-poking with the same zeal and goopy fingers I phutz around with in my comedic pursuits. But I don't define myself as a Comedian.
I write a lot. I need to refocus my energy and focus on 2 projects more and write here less, but this is a comforting zen-like moment for me to write, as a Writer. What does that mean, anyway, to be a Writer? It's to translate what I see and think into visible words as well as possible so that reader's brains are flooded with pictures, emotions, or desires to send me money via PayPal.
The other day I was exiting a grocery store in Westwood, near UCLA. It was clean, well-lit, and not your typical LA-area grocer. On the way out, there was one double-automatic door, and three Asian guys, about mid-20's, were walking in. There was a cramped area near the front door, full of holiday florals and displays. One guy was text messaging on the phone his parents pay for, the others were making sure they were ribbing him for being a "fag" while they adjusted either their chain necklaces or their perfectly-flat-sticker-attached "LA" ball caps. In front of them, to my right, was a very disheveled, heavily-bearded, slightly odiferous man.
In one hand he held a bucket with cleaning supplies. In the other, two Ralph's bags filled with, from what I could tell, paper products and cereal. He stood there, looking out towards the doors, blank stare on his face. The youths were paying almost no attention to him, and nearly bumped into him. He grunted hard through his stare and they split around him, the one with the text session never looked up.
I paused as they passed, and glanced at the guy with the bucket. Thinking he was going to go first, I motioned with my hand towards the doors. Nothin'. Three seconds passed.
I then said "Pardon me sir" and made my way past him, about a foot of space between us. As I did, he took a step. To his left. Not forward. Directly into me. Not aggressively, just directly into me. I kept moving, and said "Excuse me, sorry," and he stopped, and flopped his carriage against his sides with a grunt. It was like he was trying to bump into me and then get angry. Odd, I thought, so I turned and said "Sorry, really," and he grunted again, blankly staring. So I said "oh, come on." Weird.
I made my way to the car, and headed out. But it's been with me all week for some reason. In the wake of my dad's passing it seems that every interaction I have actually has meaning. I have also not been sleeping too well. Everything seems heightened a bit. But hey, there's only so much I can do.
What I'm driving at is the fact that people define themselves, quite often, based on the efforts of others. Like showing off a tattoo on your calf in mid-January. Nice shorts, and what a great tribal seahorse. No, I'm not asking you about it. Or like blaring rap music to say "HEY PEOPLES! I AM BAD WITH MONEY AND DON'T GIVE A FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU*K!" Awesome. Giant flaming a-hole.
At this point in my life, I define myself a few ways, and will do so differently as I age, I am sure. But one thing I will never do is define myself on the output of others. Not their music, their clothing, their cars, nor their favorite color. Go with yourself. And shut up about it.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
I write a lot. I need to refocus my energy and focus on 2 projects more and write here less, but this is a comforting zen-like moment for me to write, as a Writer. What does that mean, anyway, to be a Writer? It's to translate what I see and think into visible words as well as possible so that reader's brains are flooded with pictures, emotions, or desires to send me money via PayPal.
The other day I was exiting a grocery store in Westwood, near UCLA. It was clean, well-lit, and not your typical LA-area grocer. On the way out, there was one double-automatic door, and three Asian guys, about mid-20's, were walking in. There was a cramped area near the front door, full of holiday florals and displays. One guy was text messaging on the phone his parents pay for, the others were making sure they were ribbing him for being a "fag" while they adjusted either their chain necklaces or their perfectly-flat-sticker-attached "LA" ball caps. In front of them, to my right, was a very disheveled, heavily-bearded, slightly odiferous man.
In one hand he held a bucket with cleaning supplies. In the other, two Ralph's bags filled with, from what I could tell, paper products and cereal. He stood there, looking out towards the doors, blank stare on his face. The youths were paying almost no attention to him, and nearly bumped into him. He grunted hard through his stare and they split around him, the one with the text session never looked up.
I paused as they passed, and glanced at the guy with the bucket. Thinking he was going to go first, I motioned with my hand towards the doors. Nothin'. Three seconds passed.
I then said "Pardon me sir" and made my way past him, about a foot of space between us. As I did, he took a step. To his left. Not forward. Directly into me. Not aggressively, just directly into me. I kept moving, and said "Excuse me, sorry," and he stopped, and flopped his carriage against his sides with a grunt. It was like he was trying to bump into me and then get angry. Odd, I thought, so I turned and said "Sorry, really," and he grunted again, blankly staring. So I said "oh, come on." Weird.
I made my way to the car, and headed out. But it's been with me all week for some reason. In the wake of my dad's passing it seems that every interaction I have actually has meaning. I have also not been sleeping too well. Everything seems heightened a bit. But hey, there's only so much I can do.
What I'm driving at is the fact that people define themselves, quite often, based on the efforts of others. Like showing off a tattoo on your calf in mid-January. Nice shorts, and what a great tribal seahorse. No, I'm not asking you about it. Or like blaring rap music to say "HEY PEOPLES! I AM BAD WITH MONEY AND DON'T GIVE A FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU*K!" Awesome. Giant flaming a-hole.
At this point in my life, I define myself a few ways, and will do so differently as I age, I am sure. But one thing I will never do is define myself on the output of others. Not their music, their clothing, their cars, nor their favorite color. Go with yourself. And shut up about it.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Dumb and Violent
I feel very bad for the situations of violence that have erupted in my hometown area of Seattle. In the past few months, Jet City was witness to:
1) The mugging and beating-death of The Tuba Man, Edward McMichael, a man who would play his tuba outside of sporting events for money. He was as regular as rain on a sunny day and self-righteous vegans staring at you for not bringing your reusable bags to Whole Foods. He was beaten by 4 or 5 teens. How sad. Those poor boys have been failed by the System. Those of them that were caught, gosh, probably have to go to jail for a good 10 years at least. Hopefully the will reap the benefits of that correctional facility. How terrible for them.
2) The shooting death of a 16 year-old at SouthCenter Mall last weekend. I have been to that mall hundreds of times. I, too, found myself on the brink of madness more than once per trip. But to shoot somebody!? Well, that takes a level of commitment that is to be commended. There were reports that the young men involved in the altercation leading to the shooting and death were "throwing gang signs" using their hands, as if to say, "My hand signal should be all you need to 'step off,' or 'back it up a piece, sir.' Look at my hands!" It's never a good idea to use your hands where a gun will suffice. Always shoot first, expect your friends to not rat you out later. How sad. Another victim of the System.
3) In Spokane, two men, 18 and 20, robbed a wheelchair-bound man of his groceries. The man in the wheelchair, aged 87 years, had just purchased the groceries. Jeez, what an idiot! Doesn't he know how dangerous it is out there!?!? It's one thing to be 87, but when you're in a wheelchair, you shouldn't expect anything from anybody. Somebody should arrest his family for not looking after him. Danger is everywhere. This is totally on him.
So as you can see, there's a lot of dumb people and bad planning leading to a lot of crime in the Northwest. I would like to applaud all the parents of kids who are commiting crimes for doing the best they could with those kids. Some kids, gosh, you just can't teach them, so the best you can do, is make sure they have clothes on their backs, and a safe place to sleep after a long night of "acting a fool" or "thugging out." Be it in the suburban havens of small-time pot dealing and pill trading, or the inner-city pressure of being respected for your hand signals, it's gotta be tough to have a job AND know what your kids are up to.
more to come...
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
1) The mugging and beating-death of The Tuba Man, Edward McMichael, a man who would play his tuba outside of sporting events for money. He was as regular as rain on a sunny day and self-righteous vegans staring at you for not bringing your reusable bags to Whole Foods. He was beaten by 4 or 5 teens. How sad. Those poor boys have been failed by the System. Those of them that were caught, gosh, probably have to go to jail for a good 10 years at least. Hopefully the will reap the benefits of that correctional facility. How terrible for them.
2) The shooting death of a 16 year-old at SouthCenter Mall last weekend. I have been to that mall hundreds of times. I, too, found myself on the brink of madness more than once per trip. But to shoot somebody!? Well, that takes a level of commitment that is to be commended. There were reports that the young men involved in the altercation leading to the shooting and death were "throwing gang signs" using their hands, as if to say, "My hand signal should be all you need to 'step off,' or 'back it up a piece, sir.' Look at my hands!" It's never a good idea to use your hands where a gun will suffice. Always shoot first, expect your friends to not rat you out later. How sad. Another victim of the System.
3) In Spokane, two men, 18 and 20, robbed a wheelchair-bound man of his groceries. The man in the wheelchair, aged 87 years, had just purchased the groceries. Jeez, what an idiot! Doesn't he know how dangerous it is out there!?!? It's one thing to be 87, but when you're in a wheelchair, you shouldn't expect anything from anybody. Somebody should arrest his family for not looking after him. Danger is everywhere. This is totally on him.
So as you can see, there's a lot of dumb people and bad planning leading to a lot of crime in the Northwest. I would like to applaud all the parents of kids who are commiting crimes for doing the best they could with those kids. Some kids, gosh, you just can't teach them, so the best you can do, is make sure they have clothes on their backs, and a safe place to sleep after a long night of "acting a fool" or "thugging out." Be it in the suburban havens of small-time pot dealing and pill trading, or the inner-city pressure of being respected for your hand signals, it's gotta be tough to have a job AND know what your kids are up to.
more to come...
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Dealing With Dying
My dad, Gerry Lott, passed away on November 16, 2008.
He was 65 years old.
He had fought dementia and the symptoms and effects of it for over 5 years.
He is no longer struggling.
I have an unparalleled peace, as I know he is currently in the Presence of God, and that I will see him again one day.
==========================
His body is gone.
He is deceased, no longer on Earth.
He is biologically dead.
As a human form, he is no more.
I have to express these things as a way of real-izing them for myself. The last time I saw my dad was in September, prior to moving to Los Angeles. He was as he had been for a long time; gentle-eyed, slow to react, and stuck in that wheelchair. He was merely existing. It's a rotten way to watch somebody go. I don't really know how much of him was still there. He could react with a laugh/cry thing when something funny happened or somebody familiar was near by. But we do know that some of that kind and great man was still in there.
In his passing, my dad fought through a couple of illnesses in the last few weeks. Pneumonia weakened his system, causing very high fevers and breathing problems. The lack of oxygen led to angina. He may have had a mild heart attack. He was suffering, physically. We all hurt to know he was struggling. He deserved much better than this pain.
I last spoke to him on November 15th. My mom held the phone to his ear as his body fought for breath. I told him that i loved him, that I was so proud to be his son, that he was a great father, and that if he was ready, to go on Home. To go on to Heaven. That we'll always love him and we'll see him again. It is never enough, or correct, or timely, to say these things. But my dad, in his 65 years of life, lived with a compassion and love for others and life. And "The Time" had come.
I hung up with my mom and began sobbing harder than I ever have. I told my wife "My dad is dying, honey. He's really dying." We all knew it. Never would I have said it before, in case the mere breathing of the word "dying" would accelerate anything. We truly had him taken from us by the dementia over the past few years. And physically, now, he was dying. His spirit was about to soar, if it had not already been called Home to Heaven. I know that he heard me, regardless.
After hours of crying and planning for a trip home, I slept a bit. I had no dreams I can recall. My phone rang at 5a.m. It was my mom.
My dad, Gerald Embert Lott, Jr., had died.
A man of integrity, character, compassion, love, faith, and humor, had died. A good man. A great father and husband. A man of peace and friendship. They die, too. We all will. So... now what?
After talking with my mom, I felt a lightness. It was either a peace, or an elation, or a relief of a burden I carried. It was like a weight I forgot I had been toting around. Perhaps it was the question "When?" had now been answered. No more waiting. No more anticipation of a phone call that I dreaded knowing the subject of. My dad, now in Heaven, was free of the body that was felled by Dementia. Healed, whole, in the Presence of The Lord.
Knowing this is the greatest comfort I have. I believe we all share this, in my family, and those we know who knew and loved my dad. To know that right now, my dad's spirit has returned to The Glory, the place from which all Creation sprung, to be surrounded by his family from ages past, with his friends who preceded him, begins to erase the pain of missing him.
I want to begin focusing on THAT. On my father's spiritual reward now, I will rest my heart and my thoughts, in knowing he is standing tall, he is speaking with loved ones, he is the Greatest he has ever been. He IS, still.
Were it not for the love he and my mom showed us, the teaching and avenues they directed us towards, and the freedom to choose, I cannot tell you that I would be elated or peaceful. But my father is Home now. Where he wanted to go when this was enough for him.
Amen.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
He was 65 years old.
He had fought dementia and the symptoms and effects of it for over 5 years.
He is no longer struggling.
I have an unparalleled peace, as I know he is currently in the Presence of God, and that I will see him again one day.
==========================
In my dad's passing, this is the closest I have ever been to a death. It is the heaviest weight I have ever carried, and the lightest of burdens to bear, as I have only love and respect for my dad.
His body is gone.
He is deceased, no longer on Earth.
He is biologically dead.
As a human form, he is no more.
I have to express these things as a way of real-izing them for myself. The last time I saw my dad was in September, prior to moving to Los Angeles. He was as he had been for a long time; gentle-eyed, slow to react, and stuck in that wheelchair. He was merely existing. It's a rotten way to watch somebody go. I don't really know how much of him was still there. He could react with a laugh/cry thing when something funny happened or somebody familiar was near by. But we do know that some of that kind and great man was still in there.
In his passing, my dad fought through a couple of illnesses in the last few weeks. Pneumonia weakened his system, causing very high fevers and breathing problems. The lack of oxygen led to angina. He may have had a mild heart attack. He was suffering, physically. We all hurt to know he was struggling. He deserved much better than this pain.
I last spoke to him on November 15th. My mom held the phone to his ear as his body fought for breath. I told him that i loved him, that I was so proud to be his son, that he was a great father, and that if he was ready, to go on Home. To go on to Heaven. That we'll always love him and we'll see him again. It is never enough, or correct, or timely, to say these things. But my dad, in his 65 years of life, lived with a compassion and love for others and life. And "The Time" had come.
I hung up with my mom and began sobbing harder than I ever have. I told my wife "My dad is dying, honey. He's really dying." We all knew it. Never would I have said it before, in case the mere breathing of the word "dying" would accelerate anything. We truly had him taken from us by the dementia over the past few years. And physically, now, he was dying. His spirit was about to soar, if it had not already been called Home to Heaven. I know that he heard me, regardless.
After hours of crying and planning for a trip home, I slept a bit. I had no dreams I can recall. My phone rang at 5a.m. It was my mom.
My dad, Gerald Embert Lott, Jr., had died.
A man of integrity, character, compassion, love, faith, and humor, had died. A good man. A great father and husband. A man of peace and friendship. They die, too. We all will. So... now what?
After talking with my mom, I felt a lightness. It was either a peace, or an elation, or a relief of a burden I carried. It was like a weight I forgot I had been toting around. Perhaps it was the question "When?" had now been answered. No more waiting. No more anticipation of a phone call that I dreaded knowing the subject of. My dad, now in Heaven, was free of the body that was felled by Dementia. Healed, whole, in the Presence of The Lord.
Knowing this is the greatest comfort I have. I believe we all share this, in my family, and those we know who knew and loved my dad. To know that right now, my dad's spirit has returned to The Glory, the place from which all Creation sprung, to be surrounded by his family from ages past, with his friends who preceded him, begins to erase the pain of missing him.
I want to begin focusing on THAT. On my father's spiritual reward now, I will rest my heart and my thoughts, in knowing he is standing tall, he is speaking with loved ones, he is the Greatest he has ever been. He IS, still.
Were it not for the love he and my mom showed us, the teaching and avenues they directed us towards, and the freedom to choose, I cannot tell you that I would be elated or peaceful. But my father is Home now. Where he wanted to go when this was enough for him.
Amen.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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