The former CIO of AT&T Wirelisp, Chris Corrado, was recently hired as CTO by eBay. Corrado's main job at Weinerlash was to "lean out" the operations in IT. That is, cut where he could, and he got to determine where the cuts would happen. During his tenure the AWls family lost over $300,000,000 in fines due to an IT project for Local Number Portability (LNP). That's where you get the number everyone totally knows to call you at, and then you want a cuter phone and totally get to take your number to a totally new company. Mass! The project was mismanaged by Deloitte Consulting, a company that was chosen by Corrado, among other Officers. Deloitte, at the time, had in its employ a manager who was once a cronie of Corrado's at Merrill Lynch. Deloitte also had a large sum of money liened against them for previously mismanaged projects, but they were handed the keys anyway. See how they 404'ed their brains here?
Not only were his shortcomings on display for everyone, being a short man who had his new Ferrari delivered to his office just days after announcing 1,800 layoffs (rumor has it that the car was keyed soon after, amen). $300,000,000 paid in FINES to the FCC due to a project having massive seizures and slow-downs. This crippled, beat, then set-aflame what was left of the AWls esprit de crap and in swept Cingular to buy it up. The men responsible for the loss of thousands of jobs in the Puget Sound area alone were handsomely compensated for their titles, in the A-list Actor range, millions if not tens of millions. For ruining a company.
A fair estimate is that 40% of the people who used to work for Careless have found new employ through contracting... at Cingular. Yeah, Cingular's paying a crapton more to Contracting Firms to have the same people doing the same jobs. Why? Well, for one reason, it cuts Cingular's responsibilities to pay for their insurance. No health, dental, or vision. Whatever that saves the company, it is worth this knowledge to me:
I want more than anything to work for myself, in my own business, running my own show.
Corporate America is a pimp, and they'll keep from lettin' fly the back of a 4-ringed hand as long as the whores keep quiet and keep hittin' the corners. I've had three great managers, and the rest (5, after this last re-org) have all been either so-so, or just absolute crap, as people and thus as managers. Everytime I see a dye-job's roots paired with colored contacts I want to throw a sleeper-hold on a spray-tanned ho-tard. At the very least, I know what NOT to do in a myriad of situations, and having the bad side become so apparent is a perfect perspective. I'm basically playing golf here: Stay quiet, keep my head down, and follow through.
There's a general malaise that's lifting from me, I'm pretty sure it's the weight of the number I've been tagged with when I unintentionally was sucked under by the Rat Race. I'm ready to do something else. Maybe I'll book comics. That seems easy, except for the part where I'd have to deal with comics, some of whom are total whores. Oh great, now Tony Moser's gonna think I'm talking about him.
I am.
I wonder how much comics would cost on eBay?
There's a question to ponder. If one comic could do the same job/material as another comic, but for less money, who should be hired? Sooner or later, we'll see Cover Comics making a Ferrari-load of cash off it. Get ready for it. Impersonators have already started it. But NOTHING, can fake the fact that I love the Black Angus wrap on flatbread at Quizno's.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
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, January 05, 2005
I'd Rather Be Blogging
Thankfully, this blogging thing is becoming a minor obsession of mine. It's reminding me of old writing habits and why I loved them so much. It's so much more prodcutive than the laboring I do with Excel and Remedy Reporting all motherdusting day.
Speaking of old habits, here's a man whose... or is it "who's?" To show ownership, which "WHO"s/e is it? Anybody know? Anyway, remember that 1-ton guy in Nebraska who went into the hospital last year to lose weight? I've pasted an update below to his saga. The part that bugs me about his situation is that Medicare is paying the bills. His habits of overeating, slothful living, and lack of self-care led to his condition, and Medicare is saying "that's okay." Can't he be like the rest of America and just go on a Makeover Show. The only human makeover ever produced by "This Old House."
Medicare better be around for my liver/lung/cock transplant trifecta.
FAT MAN LESS FAT BUT STILL FAT AS ALL GET-OUT!
Enjoy the creme bruleé.
=======
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Speaking of old habits, here's a man whose... or is it "who's?" To show ownership, which "WHO"s/e is it? Anybody know? Anyway, remember that 1-ton guy in Nebraska who went into the hospital last year to lose weight? I've pasted an update below to his saga. The part that bugs me about his situation is that Medicare is paying the bills. His habits of overeating, slothful living, and lack of self-care led to his condition, and Medicare is saying "that's okay." Can't he be like the rest of America and just go on a Makeover Show. The only human makeover ever produced by "This Old House."
Medicare better be around for my liver/lung/cock transplant trifecta.
FAT MAN LESS FAT BUT STILL FAT AS ALL GET-OUT!
Enjoy the creme bruleé.
=======
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Tsunami? You Barely Know Me! (or, "Tsunamis Hate Our Freedom")
As you read this, the White House is listening to chatter on an impending tsunami against any of this great nation's strategic (i.e. economically strong) areas of patriotic (i.e. money grabbing) interest. I'm so far to the right of left, but still left of the Right, that even I think this is a complete snowjob, but with ocean water and boogly-eyed fish tossed up from the deep.
The U.S. had an original aid pledge of $30,000,000 to help Tsunami victims. That was called "STINGY," mind you, by more than a few communist countries, including Hollywood's own Sandra Bullock. American aid to the relief efforts, just from the government, has been pledged at over $350,000,000, and that buys a LOT of towels, mops, sponges, squeegies, and waterproof goats, but it can't bring back anybody who was carried out to sea, including Sandra Bullock in "Speed 2: Sequel Boo-ga-loo."
This is truly a tragedy. Tens of thousands of people are gone, not just dead, GONE. The ocean may some day wash return them, a macabre bottle with a note inside that reads "Have you a warning system yet?" The tsunami's work has orphaned many children, widowed many spouses, and ruined a Zagat's guide-full of vacations. 150,000 people are dead as of today. That's all of Vancouver, WA. That's Kirkland, Redmond, and Issaquah, completely emptied of people. It's most of Tacoma. This doesn't include those who are going to die from infection and injury, that 150,000 is the number lost in the original land-fall. I watched a video the other night of the incoming wave, and it's pretty frightening. The water rushes out in about a minute... and 10 minutes later you can see, in the distance, a wall of water growing taller as the bottom of the incoming water hits the land shelf and forces the volume of it upwards. It's surreal and frightening, and is currently in production for a CBS Movie Of The Week: "Tsunami; The Devil's Bathtub."
Yes, there are fewer people to offshore jobs to, now. But that's not the point... Here are my questions: With $350,000,000 pledged to the relief efforts, have the victims of the Hurricane tag-team that wiped through Florida this year been taken care of? If they had insurance, then of COURSE they aren't taken care of yet. Insurance companies need proof that it was a hurricane before paying you for missing walls. Also, if there's $350,000,000 going to aid the tsunami efforts, why the F*CK can't two of my co-workers throw down $3 for some MF'ing cough drops so I don't have to hear what sounds like impressions of a car in need of some ingnition work?
Paris Hilton Break! Recently, Ms. Hilton crashed a party, CRASHED as in NOT INVITED, and sauntered in like everyone would drop to their knees and sniff her royal heinie. Her eyes weren't the only things turning red, however, when she glanced at the video monitors around the party to see the entertainment was HER VERY OWN X-RATED ROMP VIDEO. No word on whether or not she did a Pornaoke turn.
Back to the tsunami stuff. So that's the question, is the U.S. responsible to always handle the world's problems, especially when the problem is the result of a Force of Nature. This is going to be a mess, as relief money gets nicked by however many greedy people exchange it. Every exchange, of anything, be it money or information, leaves less and less of the original product to be delivered. (Sorry Billy, this doesn't hold true for STDs.) The best of people has come forward to help, and that generous altruistic nature is likely to be pilfered by a large number of scumbags wanting a piece of the seacucumber for no effort. The best and worst will happen when people are involved. For proof, see any of my reviews of Open Mic from the last year.
If you can't do it for the people, do it for the trapped dolphins and elephants. I can't imagine the hell that people are being put through there, standing in breadlines next to streets lined with bodies. But we can do SOMETHING. Prayers. Generally good thoughts of recovery for the area. The right people in the right times. Good weather. And if you want to give, here are two places that can use your dough:
Salvation Army
and
World Vision
Okay, I'm off to look at houses now. Wish me luck. And if you'd like to give anything to my mortgage relief fund, please use a plain brown bag tied to the neck of a stoned donkey in overalls. It's code for "Ass, Gas, Or Grass, Nobody Gets Relief For Free." Look for the cost of jeans to drop in the next year.
Quit groaning.
-------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The U.S. had an original aid pledge of $30,000,000 to help Tsunami victims. That was called "STINGY," mind you, by more than a few communist countries, including Hollywood's own Sandra Bullock. American aid to the relief efforts, just from the government, has been pledged at over $350,000,000, and that buys a LOT of towels, mops, sponges, squeegies, and waterproof goats, but it can't bring back anybody who was carried out to sea, including Sandra Bullock in "Speed 2: Sequel Boo-ga-loo."
This is truly a tragedy. Tens of thousands of people are gone, not just dead, GONE. The ocean may some day wash return them, a macabre bottle with a note inside that reads "Have you a warning system yet?" The tsunami's work has orphaned many children, widowed many spouses, and ruined a Zagat's guide-full of vacations. 150,000 people are dead as of today. That's all of Vancouver, WA. That's Kirkland, Redmond, and Issaquah, completely emptied of people. It's most of Tacoma. This doesn't include those who are going to die from infection and injury, that 150,000 is the number lost in the original land-fall. I watched a video the other night of the incoming wave, and it's pretty frightening. The water rushes out in about a minute... and 10 minutes later you can see, in the distance, a wall of water growing taller as the bottom of the incoming water hits the land shelf and forces the volume of it upwards. It's surreal and frightening, and is currently in production for a CBS Movie Of The Week: "Tsunami; The Devil's Bathtub."
Yes, there are fewer people to offshore jobs to, now. But that's not the point... Here are my questions: With $350,000,000 pledged to the relief efforts, have the victims of the Hurricane tag-team that wiped through Florida this year been taken care of? If they had insurance, then of COURSE they aren't taken care of yet. Insurance companies need proof that it was a hurricane before paying you for missing walls. Also, if there's $350,000,000 going to aid the tsunami efforts, why the F*CK can't two of my co-workers throw down $3 for some MF'ing cough drops so I don't have to hear what sounds like impressions of a car in need of some ingnition work?
Paris Hilton Break! Recently, Ms. Hilton crashed a party, CRASHED as in NOT INVITED, and sauntered in like everyone would drop to their knees and sniff her royal heinie. Her eyes weren't the only things turning red, however, when she glanced at the video monitors around the party to see the entertainment was HER VERY OWN X-RATED ROMP VIDEO. No word on whether or not she did a Pornaoke turn.
Back to the tsunami stuff. So that's the question, is the U.S. responsible to always handle the world's problems, especially when the problem is the result of a Force of Nature. This is going to be a mess, as relief money gets nicked by however many greedy people exchange it. Every exchange, of anything, be it money or information, leaves less and less of the original product to be delivered. (Sorry Billy, this doesn't hold true for STDs.) The best of people has come forward to help, and that generous altruistic nature is likely to be pilfered by a large number of scumbags wanting a piece of the seacucumber for no effort. The best and worst will happen when people are involved. For proof, see any of my reviews of Open Mic from the last year.
If you can't do it for the people, do it for the trapped dolphins and elephants. I can't imagine the hell that people are being put through there, standing in breadlines next to streets lined with bodies. But we can do SOMETHING. Prayers. Generally good thoughts of recovery for the area. The right people in the right times. Good weather. And if you want to give, here are two places that can use your dough:
Salvation Army
and
World Vision
Okay, I'm off to look at houses now. Wish me luck. And if you'd like to give anything to my mortgage relief fund, please use a plain brown bag tied to the neck of a stoned donkey in overalls. It's code for "Ass, Gas, Or Grass, Nobody Gets Relief For Free." Look for the cost of jeans to drop in the next year.
Quit groaning.
-------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, January 03, 2005
The Definition of A Screw Up
I am fully aware that our globe is in upheaval lately, politically, violently, and summarily seismic to capture all of the above. It's pretty frightening, and of course, any comic worth their salt is trying to write jokes about it without writing jokes about "it." But this is a story that I just cannot bypass as 2005 kicks off.
Yesterday the Seattle Seahawks were playing for the rights to host at least one home-field playoff game. 16 weeks of football behind them, at least 2 more to go, as of kick-off yesterday. And a very talented player was inactive for the game. Deactivated from the roster, Koren Robinson missed the team's Saturday practice, citing car trouble. Now, I've been on my way somewhere and had a car go narcoleptic on me, I understand that those things happen. But on Saturday, or New Year's Day as it were, Koren Robinson's car wouldn't start.
A 24 year-old multimillionaire with most of a college education, 3 years of professional football under his belt, on the backside of a 4-game suspension for having violated the NFL's policy on abusing controlled substances, and his car will not start. I don't believe he only has one car. I don't believe NONE of the cars would start. I don't believe he used all of his options (teammates, cabs, limos, police escort, magnificent white stallion, Segway scooter, etc.). I believe he was likely not home or just so F'ed up from the night before that he couldn't practice and would have been tested again for a controlled substance resulting in another hit to the wallet and loss of playing time.
He played 10 of 16 games this season. 6 games missed because of behavior problems. His teammates, bruised and battered and bullish to win against a much-better Atlanta squad showed up Saturday, priorities in check, helmets on, cobwebs working themselves out. To quote Steve Kelley in this morning's Seattle Times, Robinson is a "serial knucklehead" and a "lousy teammate."
So what lessons can I take from this?
First off, the guy's 24, so there are some maturity things happening here. Understood, I was a friggin' gooner nutlog when I was 23-24, more-so than now, mmkay? But I worked when I had to, for a hell of a lot less fun and compensation than Robinson's weekly haul.
Second, I've only ever had one car at a time because that's all I could barely afford, and I took care of it. Dead batteries happen in '86 Buick Skyhawk's; not in the likely H2, Escalade, or Benz driven by a former First Round draft pick. I'm positive he's got one of those, if not all.
Third, it's a little reminder that I am sometimes responsible to other people, coming through when I am expected to, and because of that, I may have to reign in something I want. This won't be every day or probably not even a weekly occurrence, but when somebody's counting on me arriving and helping a cause, the least I can do is show up as ready to work and fully-trousered as possible.
When someone screws up as much as Koren Robinson has this year, it makes me think aloud "4 game suspension, 2 games out with behavioral problems, is this guy high or drunk or both?"
In a world where I'm not on a lot of teams, at my job and in my performing, I'm still responsible for not letting myself down, at the very least. This means trying to be better at what I do, whatever "Better" entails on personal, physical, mental, creative, financial, and animal husbandry levels. I have work to do if I want to reach my next tier of goals, one of which is being paid a daily stipend as Koren Robinson's personal chauffeur. Cirrus don't fail me now!
Happy New Year, and lay off the drugs.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Yesterday the Seattle Seahawks were playing for the rights to host at least one home-field playoff game. 16 weeks of football behind them, at least 2 more to go, as of kick-off yesterday. And a very talented player was inactive for the game. Deactivated from the roster, Koren Robinson missed the team's Saturday practice, citing car trouble. Now, I've been on my way somewhere and had a car go narcoleptic on me, I understand that those things happen. But on Saturday, or New Year's Day as it were, Koren Robinson's car wouldn't start.
A 24 year-old multimillionaire with most of a college education, 3 years of professional football under his belt, on the backside of a 4-game suspension for having violated the NFL's policy on abusing controlled substances, and his car will not start. I don't believe he only has one car. I don't believe NONE of the cars would start. I don't believe he used all of his options (teammates, cabs, limos, police escort, magnificent white stallion, Segway scooter, etc.). I believe he was likely not home or just so F'ed up from the night before that he couldn't practice and would have been tested again for a controlled substance resulting in another hit to the wallet and loss of playing time.
He played 10 of 16 games this season. 6 games missed because of behavior problems. His teammates, bruised and battered and bullish to win against a much-better Atlanta squad showed up Saturday, priorities in check, helmets on, cobwebs working themselves out. To quote Steve Kelley in this morning's Seattle Times, Robinson is a "serial knucklehead" and a "lousy teammate."
So what lessons can I take from this?
First off, the guy's 24, so there are some maturity things happening here. Understood, I was a friggin' gooner nutlog when I was 23-24, more-so than now, mmkay? But I worked when I had to, for a hell of a lot less fun and compensation than Robinson's weekly haul.
Second, I've only ever had one car at a time because that's all I could barely afford, and I took care of it. Dead batteries happen in '86 Buick Skyhawk's; not in the likely H2, Escalade, or Benz driven by a former First Round draft pick. I'm positive he's got one of those, if not all.
Third, it's a little reminder that I am sometimes responsible to other people, coming through when I am expected to, and because of that, I may have to reign in something I want. This won't be every day or probably not even a weekly occurrence, but when somebody's counting on me arriving and helping a cause, the least I can do is show up as ready to work and fully-trousered as possible.
When someone screws up as much as Koren Robinson has this year, it makes me think aloud "4 game suspension, 2 games out with behavioral problems, is this guy high or drunk or both?"
In a world where I'm not on a lot of teams, at my job and in my performing, I'm still responsible for not letting myself down, at the very least. This means trying to be better at what I do, whatever "Better" entails on personal, physical, mental, creative, financial, and animal husbandry levels. I have work to do if I want to reach my next tier of goals, one of which is being paid a daily stipend as Koren Robinson's personal chauffeur. Cirrus don't fail me now!
Happy New Year, and lay off the drugs.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Shit, and What To Do About It. (for Beka Barry)
It's been a month + a few days since I first landed in Cabo, and exactly one month since the marathon that was Friday, Dec. 3rd. It started early and went late, and in the middle was a liver-testing amount of booze. Everything from tequila to margaritas to Tecate y Corona. It was stellar. It also pretty much ruined me for the rest of the trip.
When I say "ruined me" I mean internally. That night I got a bug or something. Whatever it was, I wasn't "right" for the rest of the trip, and haven't been since I returned. Not to be too gross, but I made 3 trips to el baño before 8:30am one morning. Fully juxtaposed was Killorn's problem, where-in she couldn't pass so much as a test. We rountabled her idea for O'Neill relief, that being laying her waist-deep in the surf and dropping a SuperFly on her from the shoulders of a turtle-whistling beach vendor, trying to really horse it out of her. But she balked after my test-Fly necessitated my rolling in the surf to "purify the ruins." I wasn't well. My energy was very low, my steps very nimble, and my eyes eagled any potential restroom. Note the use of "potential."
Tuesday morning found us on a snorkeling adventure. Off in remote-like beach, Santa Maria Bay, everyone was ready to hop in the water and have a grand ol' time before the booze cruises showed up. Those were pathetic, btw. Before I mask and fin the bod here, I had the burn of the Baja Boiler roil inside me, and I HAD to go. I refused to take that into the water, although it may have fended off the Water Pumas. Water Pumas are jellyfish about the size of a button mushroom that attack in legions of 2-5, and are nearly impossible to escape from, unless you decide to turn slowly in your floating and kick to an area that is Puma-safe. They WILL sting you mercilessly, leaving welts and a hot tingling sensation to rival that of a fast spitwad or a good flick.
Before adventuring into the bay I asked the "guide" (i.e. the guy who drove the van to the beach, then handed out beers) where the nearest baño was. His mostly-toothed smile and slight chuckle told me I was shit-out-0f-luck, and would therefore have to shit-out-of-doors. So, with feet turned outward, I headed behind a little outcropping that provided both shade and shield from my snorkel crew's eyes. The decibel level of my gurgling colon told them what I was up to, I'm sure. But hey, when ya gotta go, you may as well tell everyone about it, even if they weren't there. I was able to find some quarter where I was sure I'd be safe. A few seconds after getting into position I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me, but I figured it was either a compatriot or a Mexicanimal in for the shock of its life. Either way, a quick scan of footprints and scattered McDonalds napkins told me I wasn't among the first 50 people to do what I was doing where it was being done. I watched my step on the way out.
Those were the extremes I was driven to with this sickness. I drank a fair 8oz of Pepto, Mylanta, and straight wax in attempts to slow the processes. I know that copious amounts of alcohol, chicken, and beans weren't doing my any favors, but I've never had anything like this that sends me and my sweaty upper-lip doing a tip-toe hop to the can at least twice a day. So I have only one avenue left to heal myself: Colon Hydrotherapy.
I've had two such therapies before, and lemme tell ya what... they're amazing. A literal Fountain of Youth. The reason they work is that they cleanse the body of most of your toxins, or prepare it to do so. The lymph system we all hold onto filters toxins from our system, running them through a sort of liquid filter (lymphatic fluid), and depositing the toxins in our colon for expulsion. If the pipes are clogged, or not running right, then something's amiss. And something is Biblically amiss with me. I feel sluggish and sick and a step behind, more than I normally do. The colonic therapy clears all the toxins out, then kickstarts your liver, which you can feel and will recognize if you've ever drank too much PBR at Dante's. Usually I leave with a bounce in my step and a very clear head... yeah, I know.
So as I prepare to scoot off again to Tony Moser-ize the 2nd floor men's room (I work on the 3rd floor), I recommend that you seek some naturopathic remedies whenever possible. Nature holds a cure for almost every ailment, except childhood and the desire to be a comic. Other than that, Nature's already found a way to heal you. Western Medicine couldn't hold me back. I'm ready to SuperFly through the front door of Mountlake Terrace Acupuncture and Naturopathic Healing Clinic. Note... "HEALING." Not "Doctor's Office." I can attest, nothing ever gets done in an office. Go forth and cleanse thyself of evil. Especially after the holidays. Nobody needs this much nog.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
When I say "ruined me" I mean internally. That night I got a bug or something. Whatever it was, I wasn't "right" for the rest of the trip, and haven't been since I returned. Not to be too gross, but I made 3 trips to el baño before 8:30am one morning. Fully juxtaposed was Killorn's problem, where-in she couldn't pass so much as a test. We rountabled her idea for O'Neill relief, that being laying her waist-deep in the surf and dropping a SuperFly on her from the shoulders of a turtle-whistling beach vendor, trying to really horse it out of her. But she balked after my test-Fly necessitated my rolling in the surf to "purify the ruins." I wasn't well. My energy was very low, my steps very nimble, and my eyes eagled any potential restroom. Note the use of "potential."
Tuesday morning found us on a snorkeling adventure. Off in remote-like beach, Santa Maria Bay, everyone was ready to hop in the water and have a grand ol' time before the booze cruises showed up. Those were pathetic, btw. Before I mask and fin the bod here, I had the burn of the Baja Boiler roil inside me, and I HAD to go. I refused to take that into the water, although it may have fended off the Water Pumas. Water Pumas are jellyfish about the size of a button mushroom that attack in legions of 2-5, and are nearly impossible to escape from, unless you decide to turn slowly in your floating and kick to an area that is Puma-safe. They WILL sting you mercilessly, leaving welts and a hot tingling sensation to rival that of a fast spitwad or a good flick.
Before adventuring into the bay I asked the "guide" (i.e. the guy who drove the van to the beach, then handed out beers) where the nearest baño was. His mostly-toothed smile and slight chuckle told me I was shit-out-0f-luck, and would therefore have to shit-out-of-doors. So, with feet turned outward, I headed behind a little outcropping that provided both shade and shield from my snorkel crew's eyes. The decibel level of my gurgling colon told them what I was up to, I'm sure. But hey, when ya gotta go, you may as well tell everyone about it, even if they weren't there. I was able to find some quarter where I was sure I'd be safe. A few seconds after getting into position I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me, but I figured it was either a compatriot or a Mexicanimal in for the shock of its life. Either way, a quick scan of footprints and scattered McDonalds napkins told me I wasn't among the first 50 people to do what I was doing where it was being done. I watched my step on the way out.
Those were the extremes I was driven to with this sickness. I drank a fair 8oz of Pepto, Mylanta, and straight wax in attempts to slow the processes. I know that copious amounts of alcohol, chicken, and beans weren't doing my any favors, but I've never had anything like this that sends me and my sweaty upper-lip doing a tip-toe hop to the can at least twice a day. So I have only one avenue left to heal myself: Colon Hydrotherapy.
I've had two such therapies before, and lemme tell ya what... they're amazing. A literal Fountain of Youth. The reason they work is that they cleanse the body of most of your toxins, or prepare it to do so. The lymph system we all hold onto filters toxins from our system, running them through a sort of liquid filter (lymphatic fluid), and depositing the toxins in our colon for expulsion. If the pipes are clogged, or not running right, then something's amiss. And something is Biblically amiss with me. I feel sluggish and sick and a step behind, more than I normally do. The colonic therapy clears all the toxins out, then kickstarts your liver, which you can feel and will recognize if you've ever drank too much PBR at Dante's. Usually I leave with a bounce in my step and a very clear head... yeah, I know.
So as I prepare to scoot off again to Tony Moser-ize the 2nd floor men's room (I work on the 3rd floor), I recommend that you seek some naturopathic remedies whenever possible. Nature holds a cure for almost every ailment, except childhood and the desire to be a comic. Other than that, Nature's already found a way to heal you. Western Medicine couldn't hold me back. I'm ready to SuperFly through the front door of Mountlake Terrace Acupuncture and Naturopathic Healing Clinic. Note... "HEALING." Not "Doctor's Office." I can attest, nothing ever gets done in an office. Go forth and cleanse thyself of evil. Especially after the holidays. Nobody needs this much nog.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
TwoThousand High-Five
Darlings. I thank thee for checking this out.
New Year's Eve was spent with some of my best, closest (read: They know SECRETS, and are trusted, 'cause I know SECRETS), friends, including Keem, Ali Bobba, Jen, Chili D. & Angela, and my favorite person in the whole world, Alicia. We showed up to be entertained by "Black Celebration", a Depeche Mode cover band (I love DM. What? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of me loving DM and not caring what you think), and SuperDiamond, a Neil Diamond cover band. Both bands just came out and entertained the hell outta the crowd. Lots o' fun for all. GAWSH, it was fun!
I'm in love. Real love, the kind where I am 95% myself around her (the other 5% isn't what adults do at the dinner table), and I have full perspective of how truly good, real, and beautiful this woman is. I had been jaded in relationships, hating the circling and the dance that can cumulate in a few weeks of sniping, topped off with a big floater of "F*ck You More!" I didn't really know this is what it's supposed to feel like, good and real and it's not endless hours of looking into each other's eyes. My only regret is that I did not meet her earlier in my life. BUT, I know that in the scheme that is my life, I was not ready for her until the night I met her, September 22, 2004. The best first date of my life. The best New Year's Eve of my life. The best. I have fears of course, but they're more that I will not check myself when I'm tired or hungry or stressed and be an immature ass and hurt her. Part of my growth has been in seeing when I may get assy, and heading it off at the pass, and trying to communicate it the best I can. I don't have it all figured out, I just know what NOT to do, so I will not do those things, and actively Love the best I can. Love is a verb. Did I know that?
The one resolution I really want to keep is to do More. Stave of sloth with activity, involvement, and Life, basically. I'm gonna be tired for while, but shooooooot, I may end up losing a good 304 el-beez out of the deal.
What-not
I've already done 2 sets in 2005, tonight at Giggles. First show was good, I did a joke for the second time that gets a Kirstie Alley's Muffin-sized groan bucket. It's about the Tsunami, which some ho-tard had not heard of as of last Wednesday night (how can anybody not be informed, even by accident, in this age of inundation with useless info?), and it takes a turn that is sad, challenging to the audience, and makes me laugh in a way that I know is wrong. But what's the funniest part of something to me? The subtextual references that point out truth, the perspective, the nooks and/or crannies where a light is shined... shone... pointed into and something new is seen. And I do it for all those reasons. Is it too soon? Nah. It's only gonna work for like 2 weeks anyway.
Geoff Brousseau had a great point tonight. Brousseau wanted to ask people in the audience to watch the show tonight, then watch the stand-up that fills half hours on Comedy Central. Get a perspective of comedy. Get hip to it, basically, and come out and see us. I think Seattle's crew is going to take some big steps this year. Change can be frightening, but the other side of it is usually a great set of butterfly wings, more money, better living, or even gender reassignment. (Good Luck with that, Tony!)
Don't sell yourself short. You haven't yet begun to disappoint your parents. The good thing is, you are now your own person. Get happy, and stop your pity parties, the world ain't waiting for you to start feeling better.
Happy New Year, Sweetpeas.
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
New Year's Eve was spent with some of my best, closest (read: They know SECRETS, and are trusted, 'cause I know SECRETS), friends, including Keem, Ali Bobba, Jen, Chili D. & Angela, and my favorite person in the whole world, Alicia. We showed up to be entertained by "Black Celebration", a Depeche Mode cover band (I love DM. What? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of me loving DM and not caring what you think), and SuperDiamond, a Neil Diamond cover band. Both bands just came out and entertained the hell outta the crowd. Lots o' fun for all. GAWSH, it was fun!
I'm in love. Real love, the kind where I am 95% myself around her (the other 5% isn't what adults do at the dinner table), and I have full perspective of how truly good, real, and beautiful this woman is. I had been jaded in relationships, hating the circling and the dance that can cumulate in a few weeks of sniping, topped off with a big floater of "F*ck You More!" I didn't really know this is what it's supposed to feel like, good and real and it's not endless hours of looking into each other's eyes. My only regret is that I did not meet her earlier in my life. BUT, I know that in the scheme that is my life, I was not ready for her until the night I met her, September 22, 2004. The best first date of my life. The best New Year's Eve of my life. The best. I have fears of course, but they're more that I will not check myself when I'm tired or hungry or stressed and be an immature ass and hurt her. Part of my growth has been in seeing when I may get assy, and heading it off at the pass, and trying to communicate it the best I can. I don't have it all figured out, I just know what NOT to do, so I will not do those things, and actively Love the best I can. Love is a verb. Did I know that?
The one resolution I really want to keep is to do More. Stave of sloth with activity, involvement, and Life, basically. I'm gonna be tired for while, but shooooooot, I may end up losing a good 304 el-beez out of the deal.
What-not
I've already done 2 sets in 2005, tonight at Giggles. First show was good, I did a joke for the second time that gets a Kirstie Alley's Muffin-sized groan bucket. It's about the Tsunami, which some ho-tard had not heard of as of last Wednesday night (how can anybody not be informed, even by accident, in this age of inundation with useless info?), and it takes a turn that is sad, challenging to the audience, and makes me laugh in a way that I know is wrong. But what's the funniest part of something to me? The subtextual references that point out truth, the perspective, the nooks and/or crannies where a light is shined... shone... pointed into and something new is seen. And I do it for all those reasons. Is it too soon? Nah. It's only gonna work for like 2 weeks anyway.
Geoff Brousseau had a great point tonight. Brousseau wanted to ask people in the audience to watch the show tonight, then watch the stand-up that fills half hours on Comedy Central. Get a perspective of comedy. Get hip to it, basically, and come out and see us. I think Seattle's crew is going to take some big steps this year. Change can be frightening, but the other side of it is usually a great set of butterfly wings, more money, better living, or even gender reassignment. (Good Luck with that, Tony!)
Don't sell yourself short. You haven't yet begun to disappoint your parents. The good thing is, you are now your own person. Get happy, and stop your pity parties, the world ain't waiting for you to start feeling better.
Happy New Year, Sweetpeas.
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
2004-ever, Never Again
What a year.
But really, it's all just days to change over to keep the calendar kiosk conglomerate in business. Point taken. There were days I slept, nights that I couldn't. Days I wrote, nights I spoke. Days and nights I drank. Days and nights I wept. And it's all history.
This year has been a jump for me. I took a couple of leaps and learned a lot. A year of growth, a year of shrinkage, a year of lessons to take in and share outwards. At some point, you must give it out of love. At some point you must stop giving. At some point you should assess where you are. At some point you should keep moving and stop thinking and just Do. At some point you have to make sense of it all. At some point you may realize it will never make sense, because It simply Is. Don't try and make sense of the Komodo Dragon; just respect that it is, and hope that it lets go of your kneecap.
I am making greater strides at the moment, I feel like I'm running the last 50 meters of a mile, feet hitting the ground less often but with more force, propelling me forward, not simply guiding under me. It's like I'm powering up a hill and not looking to the summit, just slightly up so as to navigate the fallen tree, the boulder, the cougar WHOA shit a cougar. It sees me, but it's not moving. If it does, I'm not waiting for it to attack, I must move towards it now, or be forever tracked by it, waiting for me to slip and it's then on me.
This year has brought great highs and great lows, and it's what I needed: PERSPECTIVE. Why does Bad happen in the world? Because of our Free Will. Because of years of neglecting our needs. From decades of thinking we have everyone else's problems figured out, while ours stare at us from across the table, a shadow that skews in the light and disappears in the dark, but that thing is THERE, and without the shadow, we wouldn't know where the light's coming from. Yin/Yang, Dark/Light, Hogg/Hazzard, Vader/Skywalker, where you at? I haven't denied once that events could turn sour in a caffeine-nicotine-sped heartbeat, because I've mis-timed my whoopee cushion salutes enough in the past to know how to mess it up. Sometimes, the knowledge of failure is all you need to ensure success. Put that on a magnet and sell it, $5, gimme half.
I'm looking forward to at least one good fist fight in 2005. Not sure when or where, and I may get thumped, but oh lord, I'll have fun. America sucks, by the way. We're not truly free to do what we want, but some laws are there to protect us. It depends on the What we are being protected From that bothers me. But we suck a lot less than a lot of places, except Europe, which is still a couple thousand years of civilization ahead of us. We may have more toys, but money can't buy class.
I'm outta here. Thanks for reading. Catch you on Saturday. E-mail me if you like.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
But really, it's all just days to change over to keep the calendar kiosk conglomerate in business. Point taken. There were days I slept, nights that I couldn't. Days I wrote, nights I spoke. Days and nights I drank. Days and nights I wept. And it's all history.
This year has been a jump for me. I took a couple of leaps and learned a lot. A year of growth, a year of shrinkage, a year of lessons to take in and share outwards. At some point, you must give it out of love. At some point you must stop giving. At some point you should assess where you are. At some point you should keep moving and stop thinking and just Do. At some point you have to make sense of it all. At some point you may realize it will never make sense, because It simply Is. Don't try and make sense of the Komodo Dragon; just respect that it is, and hope that it lets go of your kneecap.
I am making greater strides at the moment, I feel like I'm running the last 50 meters of a mile, feet hitting the ground less often but with more force, propelling me forward, not simply guiding under me. It's like I'm powering up a hill and not looking to the summit, just slightly up so as to navigate the fallen tree, the boulder, the cougar WHOA shit a cougar. It sees me, but it's not moving. If it does, I'm not waiting for it to attack, I must move towards it now, or be forever tracked by it, waiting for me to slip and it's then on me.
This year has brought great highs and great lows, and it's what I needed: PERSPECTIVE. Why does Bad happen in the world? Because of our Free Will. Because of years of neglecting our needs. From decades of thinking we have everyone else's problems figured out, while ours stare at us from across the table, a shadow that skews in the light and disappears in the dark, but that thing is THERE, and without the shadow, we wouldn't know where the light's coming from. Yin/Yang, Dark/Light, Hogg/Hazzard, Vader/Skywalker, where you at? I haven't denied once that events could turn sour in a caffeine-nicotine-sped heartbeat, because I've mis-timed my whoopee cushion salutes enough in the past to know how to mess it up. Sometimes, the knowledge of failure is all you need to ensure success. Put that on a magnet and sell it, $5, gimme half.
I'm looking forward to at least one good fist fight in 2005. Not sure when or where, and I may get thumped, but oh lord, I'll have fun. America sucks, by the way. We're not truly free to do what we want, but some laws are there to protect us. It depends on the What we are being protected From that bothers me. But we suck a lot less than a lot of places, except Europe, which is still a couple thousand years of civilization ahead of us. We may have more toys, but money can't buy class.
I'm outta here. Thanks for reading. Catch you on Saturday. E-mail me if you like.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Paris Hilton Video Effects Analagous To Major Searching
See, what I'm doing there is making a title that will be hit about a billion times by people who have yet to see the Paris Hilton video. "Paris Hilton Video" should get a lot. Then the word "analogous" is gonna get attention because of the words "anal" and "log" and "us." In the meantime, a 5'2" earth-momma who favors tropical flower short sets is roaming the workplace telling people "See Ya Next Year, meeeaaa ha ha ha ha!" So yes, your fears are realized; people still say that.
Thank you God for the Sybase group's giftbasket having Bailey's in it. Thank you sparsely attended workplace.
Dude, Did You Put A Scene In?
Pornaoke is a hit! Who'd-a thunk it? What is it? It's like Karaoke, but with porn. No, you're not making the "bow bow, chikka-chikka-chikka, bow bow" guitar sound to the music. Even better. The "DJ," - yep, that's his Viking van out front with the "LUVBORG" plates - puts up a scene from a pornographic movie, likely something from his "Tuesday" collection, and random people "off the street" make up the voices and noises of the people having sex on camera.
This will never happen in the states. I mean, COME ON people, they could only do it in a public place like a smokey BAR attended by ADULTS, and we can't risk the people who ARE NOT IN THE BAR being offended.
And lord knows it's gonna lead to other things, like people leaving the bar ready to have sex after watching those videos! Because that's NEVER happened before Pornaoke, has it? Come on American bars, this is a GOLD MINE!
"Okay, we need McKenzie and the Southern Oregon Men's Rugby Team on stage for this next scene from 'Friends In Low Places; Starrla's New Roommates.' "
Where Do You Think You're Going?
Seeing as how I haven't had one work-related e-mail since 3pm Monday afternoon, I'm getting the F outta here. The Bailey's is almost gone, the contractors are still here, and nobody has brought in a decent muffin plate in 2 weeks. I'm leaving. Plus, I just saw Sandie the earth momma and told her "See ya next year!" She got pissed that I jumped her punchline. I WIN, I WIN, I WIN! Leave 'em wanting more.
Tonight, 9:30pm, Pegasus Pizza. Be there.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thank you God for the Sybase group's giftbasket having Bailey's in it. Thank you sparsely attended workplace.
Dude, Did You Put A Scene In?
Pornaoke is a hit! Who'd-a thunk it? What is it? It's like Karaoke, but with porn. No, you're not making the "bow bow, chikka-chikka-chikka, bow bow" guitar sound to the music. Even better. The "DJ," - yep, that's his Viking van out front with the "LUVBORG" plates - puts up a scene from a pornographic movie, likely something from his "Tuesday" collection, and random people "off the street" make up the voices and noises of the people having sex on camera.
This will never happen in the states. I mean, COME ON people, they could only do it in a public place like a smokey BAR attended by ADULTS, and we can't risk the people who ARE NOT IN THE BAR being offended.
And lord knows it's gonna lead to other things, like people leaving the bar ready to have sex after watching those videos! Because that's NEVER happened before Pornaoke, has it? Come on American bars, this is a GOLD MINE!
"Okay, we need McKenzie and the Southern Oregon Men's Rugby Team on stage for this next scene from 'Friends In Low Places; Starrla's New Roommates.' "
Where Do You Think You're Going?
Seeing as how I haven't had one work-related e-mail since 3pm Monday afternoon, I'm getting the F outta here. The Bailey's is almost gone, the contractors are still here, and nobody has brought in a decent muffin plate in 2 weeks. I'm leaving. Plus, I just saw Sandie the earth momma and told her "See ya next year!" She got pissed that I jumped her punchline. I WIN, I WIN, I WIN! Leave 'em wanting more.
Tonight, 9:30pm, Pegasus Pizza. Be there.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, December 27, 2004
An Open Letter To Dickwads, Cock-Knockers, And F*ckTards
At some point in the past week I've had a number of people make comments about my comedy, life, or personality. These people have zero knowledge of me what-so-ever, and don't really get what I'm doing with comedy. And since it's not their place to make a judgment on things that affect them not, I am having fun walking my dog "Righteous" on a leash made of "Truth."
Last night's set at Gigglets was up & down, with basic laughs coming from stuff I knew would work, and chuckles on the new stuff. That's what Open Mic'ing is about, working the new stuff, a skill, a bit, a joke, a chunk. It's not, in my mind, about the whoring of old jokes so that my ego isn't rankled. And yet two complete diaper-wipes had something to say after my set.
One guy made mention of my set not being "killer" and that I "tanked on purpose." I told him that I'm not whoring old material (he's suspect for writing his own) just to kill for 6 minutes at an open mic. The other guy, who is the new SpongeBen DirtPants, purports his act like a Yiddish Dat Phan, and said that I was passive aggressive. I told him he could f*ck off. Those two got into a verbal altercation shortly there-after, mostly because of miscommunication between overblown egos and false senses of hilarity.
So anyway, if you have something to say about me, my life, or my comedy, make sure you do it to my face, and be prepared to defend your case. If you just don't like me, believe me, I began disliking you a long time ago, so we're square. But when a couple of people I have very little if any respect for decide they're going to make judgment calls based on their own skewed "head in the ass" views of the comedy world we co-exist in - let alone a judgment by a complete stranger - I begin to wonder how sad and pathetic their lives really are. From what I can tell of the shabby clothing, lack of jokes, and Small Man's Complex, the answer is Quite. I guess I must be getting a lot better at this, if people are taking shots at me for reasons that don't affect them.
Look out, World. Duke Discerning is on the case.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Last night's set at Gigglets was up & down, with basic laughs coming from stuff I knew would work, and chuckles on the new stuff. That's what Open Mic'ing is about, working the new stuff, a skill, a bit, a joke, a chunk. It's not, in my mind, about the whoring of old jokes so that my ego isn't rankled. And yet two complete diaper-wipes had something to say after my set.
One guy made mention of my set not being "killer" and that I "tanked on purpose." I told him that I'm not whoring old material (he's suspect for writing his own) just to kill for 6 minutes at an open mic. The other guy, who is the new SpongeBen DirtPants, purports his act like a Yiddish Dat Phan, and said that I was passive aggressive. I told him he could f*ck off. Those two got into a verbal altercation shortly there-after, mostly because of miscommunication between overblown egos and false senses of hilarity.
So anyway, if you have something to say about me, my life, or my comedy, make sure you do it to my face, and be prepared to defend your case. If you just don't like me, believe me, I began disliking you a long time ago, so we're square. But when a couple of people I have very little if any respect for decide they're going to make judgment calls based on their own skewed "head in the ass" views of the comedy world we co-exist in - let alone a judgment by a complete stranger - I begin to wonder how sad and pathetic their lives really are. From what I can tell of the shabby clothing, lack of jokes, and Small Man's Complex, the answer is Quite. I guess I must be getting a lot better at this, if people are taking shots at me for reasons that don't affect them.
Look out, World. Duke Discerning is on the case.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Merry Christmas. Nog Me.
This is my vote for Parental Unit Of The Year.
Bratty Turds Lose Toys On E-Bay Auction
HOUSTON - The kids were naughty, Dad put the presents on eBay instead of under the tree — and Mom's been crying ever since. Now, even the tree's down.
Saturday morning was sure not to be very jolly for three brothers — 9, 11 and 15 — who didn't straighten up when their father told them Santa wasn't too pleased with their fighting, cuss words and obscene gestures.
Thank you, Technology! I can't wait to play Santa some day.
More later. Hot Buttered Rum is calling.
=====================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Bratty Turds Lose Toys On E-Bay Auction
HOUSTON - The kids were naughty, Dad put the presents on eBay instead of under the tree — and Mom's been crying ever since. Now, even the tree's down.
Saturday morning was sure not to be very jolly for three brothers — 9, 11 and 15 — who didn't straighten up when their father told them Santa wasn't too pleased with their fighting, cuss words and obscene gestures.
Thank you, Technology! I can't wait to play Santa some day.
More later. Hot Buttered Rum is calling.
=====================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
It's A "Mike The Headless Chicken" Christmas!
Last night at Pegasus, the comedy show was cancelled due to lack of funding, due to lack of owner's interest in putting on a show. There weren't but 17 people there, which rivals a moderate weekend at Laughs. Yeah, livin' the dream.
But I showed up about 9:50 after a prior engagement, that being an engagement party, because I knew that the headliner, Colin Moulton, is always entertaining. When I showed, we huddled up and found out that there was no money to throw around, so we didn't have to do a show at all. And we did a show for 17 people because some of them were there for the show, and some just needed to laugh. I did about 20 minutes, mostly new, about the holidays and religion and skewed views of Christmas traditions thanks to the dichotomy of parenting and Christmas carols. Most of it worked, and that which did not I was able to save through some slower talking and making a point as to why I think Wal-Mart is the new Catholic Church. It's an older bit (6 months?) but slid into the whole vibe of the set.
Colin closed it all up with a couple of funny songs and the fun story of "Mike The Headless Chicken." Colin's got a lot of new material, and he did about 30 minutes of fun. So the crowd and establishment got a fully free 50 minutes of comedy. Colin will return to the area in a few weeks, and I highly recommend you go see him at Pegasus or at the Crazy Moose Casino in Mountlake Terrace. Please, check out Colin Moulton and have some laughs, dammit. DAMN IT. He's funny, entertaining, and a really good light in the comedy darkness.
========
Back to yesterday's News:
Recount Chocula:
So we have a governor in the state of Washington. Right now it's still Gary "Cutest Paintbrush Haircut Ever" Locke. Our Governor-Elect, still in the air. Is it Chris "Just Chris, Thanks" Gregoire or Dino "Aaw Shucks" Rossi? Don't know. As of yesterday it was Greggers. Every day before that it was Rossi.
Democracy doesn't work unless we all vote. And when we all vote, democracy doesn't work. This will be a good learning experience for all people, especially Democrats who were too high or too busy whacking off to Fahrenheit 9/11 to go vote. ABSENTEE BALLOT, dipshit. Send it back with the first NetFlix toss.
In other words, our system has failed us again. While it takes a moment to lick its wounds and pull it's levers we'll sit in rapt attention, pondering how a decrepit canary skeleton like Jean Enersen never gets publicly assualted for being, by all accounts, a monster rag.
Your Holiday Tidings
This will be filled in after I stop laughing about the "canary skeleton" line. Got myself on that one.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
But I showed up about 9:50 after a prior engagement, that being an engagement party, because I knew that the headliner, Colin Moulton, is always entertaining. When I showed, we huddled up and found out that there was no money to throw around, so we didn't have to do a show at all. And we did a show for 17 people because some of them were there for the show, and some just needed to laugh. I did about 20 minutes, mostly new, about the holidays and religion and skewed views of Christmas traditions thanks to the dichotomy of parenting and Christmas carols. Most of it worked, and that which did not I was able to save through some slower talking and making a point as to why I think Wal-Mart is the new Catholic Church. It's an older bit (6 months?) but slid into the whole vibe of the set.
Colin closed it all up with a couple of funny songs and the fun story of "Mike The Headless Chicken." Colin's got a lot of new material, and he did about 30 minutes of fun. So the crowd and establishment got a fully free 50 minutes of comedy. Colin will return to the area in a few weeks, and I highly recommend you go see him at Pegasus or at the Crazy Moose Casino in Mountlake Terrace. Please, check out Colin Moulton and have some laughs, dammit. DAMN IT. He's funny, entertaining, and a really good light in the comedy darkness.
========
Back to yesterday's News:
Recount Chocula:
So we have a governor in the state of Washington. Right now it's still Gary "Cutest Paintbrush Haircut Ever" Locke. Our Governor-Elect, still in the air. Is it Chris "Just Chris, Thanks" Gregoire or Dino "Aaw Shucks" Rossi? Don't know. As of yesterday it was Greggers. Every day before that it was Rossi.
Democracy doesn't work unless we all vote. And when we all vote, democracy doesn't work. This will be a good learning experience for all people, especially Democrats who were too high or too busy whacking off to Fahrenheit 9/11 to go vote. ABSENTEE BALLOT, dipshit. Send it back with the first NetFlix toss.
In other words, our system has failed us again. While it takes a moment to lick its wounds and pull it's levers we'll sit in rapt attention, pondering how a decrepit canary skeleton like Jean Enersen never gets publicly assualted for being, by all accounts, a monster rag.
Your Holiday Tidings
This will be filled in after I stop laughing about the "canary skeleton" line. Got myself on that one.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Commercial Brake
First off...
I'd like to apologize to Killorn O'Neill for these false-start blogs that seem to raise her respiratory and refresh rates. It's nice that people want so badly to read blogs of mine that they are taken to commenting on my lack of daily production. I really apologize so very much to anybody who read today's blog, or a blog from earlier this week, that left them empty or wanting more. I promise to do better. Mmkay?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand BLOW ME.
TV's Yule Log: That's right. From 6am-9:30am this Christmas Morn, channel Q-13 (the "Q" stands for "Merry") will broadcast a flaming... heh-heh, I just got that... flaming yule log set to the tune of KING-FM's classical holiday hits. Gather round, all ye, and bask in the plasmatic warmth of a two-dimensional log. If you have not a fireplace available, and want that badly to watch a log on fire, your access to open flame should be denied.
If you go to the Q-13 (the "Q" stands for "Alternative") website there is no mention of the flaming logcast. Oooh, surprise! So the kids who have no Christmas gifts this Saturday don't even get to watch 'toons, they're stuck with a pre-recorded chimney fire. Rad. The "Q" stands for "Meant Well."
Debbie Matenopolous: FIRST, my apologies to Ms. Matenopolous. She was not intentionally the subject of this entry. BUT...
Jillian Barberie: Speaking of flaming logs, this ho-tard is as bothersome as I've encountered on the airwaves. She's got that perma-hoarse, "Oh ma gaw-id!" patois that belies her real talents lie in delivering the news from behind a boob-job and waxed brows. There was a clip from a show last night where a character said he was gonna work his game on Matenopolous, and Jillian jumped in immediately after the clip to say "OH MY GAW-ID, that is SO... HIL-AIR-I-OUuuuusss." Yeah, the retart needs attention. JB, you're on TV, that's enough.
These and other stories as I feel like it:
Two Reasons To Not Watch FOX in the Morning
Recount Chocula
What The Dilly?
Relentless Pursuit of Relaxed Performance
The Law Of Attraction
What To Do When Your TV Bleeds
Childhood Trauma And How To Never Get Over It
Stocking Stuffer Ideas
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I'd like to apologize to Killorn O'Neill for these false-start blogs that seem to raise her respiratory and refresh rates. It's nice that people want so badly to read blogs of mine that they are taken to commenting on my lack of daily production. I really apologize so very much to anybody who read today's blog, or a blog from earlier this week, that left them empty or wanting more. I promise to do better. Mmkay?
Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand BLOW ME.
TV's Yule Log: That's right. From 6am-9:30am this Christmas Morn, channel Q-13 (the "Q" stands for "Merry") will broadcast a flaming... heh-heh, I just got that... flaming yule log set to the tune of KING-FM's classical holiday hits. Gather round, all ye, and bask in the plasmatic warmth of a two-dimensional log. If you have not a fireplace available, and want that badly to watch a log on fire, your access to open flame should be denied.
If you go to the Q-13 (the "Q" stands for "Alternative") website there is no mention of the flaming logcast. Oooh, surprise! So the kids who have no Christmas gifts this Saturday don't even get to watch 'toons, they're stuck with a pre-recorded chimney fire. Rad. The "Q" stands for "Meant Well."
Debbie Matenopolous: FIRST, my apologies to Ms. Matenopolous. She was not intentionally the subject of this entry. BUT...
Jillian Barberie: Speaking of flaming logs, this ho-tard is as bothersome as I've encountered on the airwaves. She's got that perma-hoarse, "Oh ma gaw-id!" patois that belies her real talents lie in delivering the news from behind a boob-job and waxed brows. There was a clip from a show last night where a character said he was gonna work his game on Matenopolous, and Jillian jumped in immediately after the clip to say "OH MY GAW-ID, that is SO... HIL-AIR-I-OUuuuusss." Yeah, the retart needs attention. JB, you're on TV, that's enough.
These and other stories as I feel like it:
Two Reasons To Not Watch FOX in the Morning
Recount Chocula
What The Dilly?
Relentless Pursuit of Relaxed Performance
The Law Of Attraction
What To Do When Your TV Bleeds
Childhood Trauma And How To Never Get Over It
Stocking Stuffer Ideas
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, December 20, 2004
I May Very Well Be A Complete Cock
This morning I came in to work with a pretty good attitude.
In the car on the way to work I had a couple of interactions with other drivers that truly made me feel like we are seeing the first few stages of a time when we'll be forced to drive teflon-coated pods shaped like used bars of soap. There's a deficiency in a lot of people when it comes to keeping their car in their own lane, or knowing when to pull in to traffic, or paying 90% attention to what's going around them. Though this may sound like a traffic flaming, it's not. Traffic is cars full of people, I'm traffic, so I don't really bitch about it. But holy shit, I wish I could incapacitate a number of people every single day for doing things that bother me.
For example, I was moving along at 40-ish and a woman pulled into traffic from a java drive-thru (probably a pun of "Expresso") while still holding her coffee. I know she was holding it because I was within 75 feet of her at the time she pulled out, and there was nobody behind me. Steering with one hand, sipping something with soy in it, and driving into the flow of traffic, I have to either slam on my brakes or change lanes to avoid an accident. The lane next to me is blocked by three cars, so I make split-second decision that I don't have enough to comfortably cover a collision deductible and decide to brake, hard.
But there was a second when I thought "Sooner or later, she has to learn." It's never worth it to wreck yourcar to prove someone else wrong, but I would have been one of the few people in the history of car accidents to be attended by paramedics while sporting a boner. I hope that stupid rag spills on her new Uggs and gets cheated on. Regardless, she'd never put it all together that, had she waited two seconds longer, the time it takes you 'TO READ THESE WORDS,' I would have passed her and she'd have full run of the lane. Maybe it was a lesson for me to "slow down, man." But I doubt it. She's a shit.
I arrive at work, and sit down to hear a couple of the worst laughs I've ever heard. As a comic, the Laugh is what you want to hear. But at work, these are the laughs of people who laugh to fill silence, not because something was particularly funny. I'm guaranteeing there's nothing funny happening here today. I've already heard two people use the phrase "Get 'er Done" in conversation, and say "I love that guy" when referring to the coiner of that phrase. He's not getting any play on my website.
Next up is FunTurtle Sandie. Her appearance supports the argument that we evolved out of the water, what with her flat feet and her set just in front of her gill slits. She of The Laugh That Annoys Me Most, and oh BOY! Sandie is JOLLY today! Yes she is! It's the Holidays! She's wishing everyone Happy Holidays and strolling around the building. From what I can tell, those are her "To Do's" for Monday: Well-wishing and a 3rd-floor constitutional. What's getting under my skin is that she's wearing bells on her feet. A lot of bells, small ones. Their volume is noticeable from nearly 100 feet away. That's too much jolliness for a Monday morning, too much joie de vivre. Jingly jingle, jangle, SHING SHING SHING SHING SHING. I keep thinking the cat needs to go out or is shoe-pooping in the closet. Good thing I sped to work today.
Time Magazine selected President Bush as "Person of the Year." This is a great decision. President Bush has done more to reignite an interest in the broad sweep of politics than anybody in the past 12 years. Clinton was disliked by many, loved by many, but so few people committed to talk about leaving the country with Billy Jeff Clinton in the Oral Office.
Also, Bush being named "Person Of The Year" is fitting. For years now people have complained through their brace-aligned toofers about being "A person! I'm a person! I'm not a mailMAN, I'm a mailPERSON. I'm not a Gay. I'm a Person who gays!" Okay, Persons for Diversity and Terms of Inclusive Coverage: The Man You Love To Hate is Now One of YOU. Good job dedicating your time to that cause.
If the elected is male, it should be "Man Of The Year." If the elected is a woman, she can be called "runner up after the recount."
So in looking at these 3 issues, I notice that all of them involve women or minority groups acting out. That's what I see here. Am I mad at women? Only at women who feel they are owed something because they are women, and are then ungrateful when they get it. Ever opened the door for a women who just walks through and never acknowledges you? The White Heart says "well, at least I did a good thing," while BlackHeart grumbles "You can still assault her from here. Come on, just a threat."
As for "minority" groups, please just be who you are. As individuals, not a group. If you tell me "We ARE being who we ARE, you racist bigot facist doody ass with bad fashion and thinning hair!", then you really better start clamming up when I say something that sounds like a stereotype.
People are bad drivers. People are flamboyant. People like fried chicken. People do it from behind. People like drinking a lot. People like other people and hate other people. Some people can't stand the site of two people kissing.
People are people, so why should it be/you and I should get along so awfully?
Because some days... People forget they are people, and that other people may not feel like dealing with them or their stereotypical people behavior on a day like today. 6.5billion People walking the dirt. If you can't get along, I'm going to have to ask you to dance for me, then do long division, then finally let the cat out.
===============
I knew today would suck when I woke up to my roommate asking me:
"Dude... you f*cking seen my snake?"
===============
don't worry, I know this was disjointed.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
In the car on the way to work I had a couple of interactions with other drivers that truly made me feel like we are seeing the first few stages of a time when we'll be forced to drive teflon-coated pods shaped like used bars of soap. There's a deficiency in a lot of people when it comes to keeping their car in their own lane, or knowing when to pull in to traffic, or paying 90% attention to what's going around them. Though this may sound like a traffic flaming, it's not. Traffic is cars full of people, I'm traffic, so I don't really bitch about it. But holy shit, I wish I could incapacitate a number of people every single day for doing things that bother me.
For example, I was moving along at 40-ish and a woman pulled into traffic from a java drive-thru (probably a pun of "Expresso") while still holding her coffee. I know she was holding it because I was within 75 feet of her at the time she pulled out, and there was nobody behind me. Steering with one hand, sipping something with soy in it, and driving into the flow of traffic, I have to either slam on my brakes or change lanes to avoid an accident. The lane next to me is blocked by three cars, so I make split-second decision that I don't have enough to comfortably cover a collision deductible and decide to brake, hard.
But there was a second when I thought "Sooner or later, she has to learn." It's never worth it to wreck yourcar to prove someone else wrong, but I would have been one of the few people in the history of car accidents to be attended by paramedics while sporting a boner. I hope that stupid rag spills on her new Uggs and gets cheated on. Regardless, she'd never put it all together that, had she waited two seconds longer, the time it takes you 'TO READ THESE WORDS,' I would have passed her and she'd have full run of the lane. Maybe it was a lesson for me to "slow down, man." But I doubt it. She's a shit.
I arrive at work, and sit down to hear a couple of the worst laughs I've ever heard. As a comic, the Laugh is what you want to hear. But at work, these are the laughs of people who laugh to fill silence, not because something was particularly funny. I'm guaranteeing there's nothing funny happening here today. I've already heard two people use the phrase "Get 'er Done" in conversation, and say "I love that guy" when referring to the coiner of that phrase. He's not getting any play on my website.
Next up is FunTurtle Sandie. Her appearance supports the argument that we evolved out of the water, what with her flat feet and her set just in front of her gill slits. She of The Laugh That Annoys Me Most, and oh BOY! Sandie is JOLLY today! Yes she is! It's the Holidays! She's wishing everyone Happy Holidays and strolling around the building. From what I can tell, those are her "To Do's" for Monday: Well-wishing and a 3rd-floor constitutional. What's getting under my skin is that she's wearing bells on her feet. A lot of bells, small ones. Their volume is noticeable from nearly 100 feet away. That's too much jolliness for a Monday morning, too much joie de vivre. Jingly jingle, jangle, SHING SHING SHING SHING SHING. I keep thinking the cat needs to go out or is shoe-pooping in the closet. Good thing I sped to work today.
Time Magazine selected President Bush as "Person of the Year." This is a great decision. President Bush has done more to reignite an interest in the broad sweep of politics than anybody in the past 12 years. Clinton was disliked by many, loved by many, but so few people committed to talk about leaving the country with Billy Jeff Clinton in the Oral Office.
Also, Bush being named "Person Of The Year" is fitting. For years now people have complained through their brace-aligned toofers about being "A person! I'm a person! I'm not a mailMAN, I'm a mailPERSON. I'm not a Gay. I'm a Person who gays!" Okay, Persons for Diversity and Terms of Inclusive Coverage: The Man You Love To Hate is Now One of YOU. Good job dedicating your time to that cause.
If the elected is male, it should be "Man Of The Year." If the elected is a woman, she can be called "runner up after the recount."
So in looking at these 3 issues, I notice that all of them involve women or minority groups acting out. That's what I see here. Am I mad at women? Only at women who feel they are owed something because they are women, and are then ungrateful when they get it. Ever opened the door for a women who just walks through and never acknowledges you? The White Heart says "well, at least I did a good thing," while BlackHeart grumbles "You can still assault her from here. Come on, just a threat."
As for "minority" groups, please just be who you are. As individuals, not a group. If you tell me "We ARE being who we ARE, you racist bigot facist doody ass with bad fashion and thinning hair!", then you really better start clamming up when I say something that sounds like a stereotype.
People are bad drivers. People are flamboyant. People like fried chicken. People do it from behind. People like drinking a lot. People like other people and hate other people. Some people can't stand the site of two people kissing.
People are people, so why should it be/you and I should get along so awfully?
Because some days... People forget they are people, and that other people may not feel like dealing with them or their stereotypical people behavior on a day like today. 6.5billion People walking the dirt. If you can't get along, I'm going to have to ask you to dance for me, then do long division, then finally let the cat out.
===============
I knew today would suck when I woke up to my roommate asking me:
"Dude... you f*cking seen my snake?"
===============
don't worry, I know this was disjointed.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Friday, December 17, 2004
Some Weekend Fundle Fondling
First up: The Fountain Of Youth Flows In CC's
Peter Greyy, local comic, MC extraordinaire, and pop-culture MF'ing GURU (fah real, he would destroy Ken Jennings) has directed me to one of the most morbidly fascinating websites I've ever come across. Just so I don't offend people who hate seeing children dressed as pets dressed as members of the Partridge Family (oddly enough, none dressed as partridges), here's another website Peter turned me on to;
AWFUL PLASTIC SURGERY!!! Get ready to lose at least the next 30 minutes of your day.
The site covers celebs and pseudo-celebs who have yanked, stapled, unhinged, filled, emptied, inserted, Shop-Vac'ed, and down-right FAWKED their faces and places up and over in the pursuit of the image in their head that says "Now my parents love me."
You may assume this site would be brimming with Michael Jackson photos like so many hairplugs. Guess again. Mandy Moore got a new nose for graduation. Nicole Kidman's botox addiction. The Cat Woman, Jocelyn Wildenstein. J'Lo's new-no's. Benjamin Bratt's smaller nose. It's all on that site. How do they stay looking so young? Distorted self-image and lack of acting ability.
I'm not going to get into the argument over why people get "work done," I'll just let you enjoy some truly frightening faces:
Michaela Romanini: Her niece is marrying into Italian whatever. She's marrying Gollum.
Kylie Minogue: Can't get you outta my head. You = the doc's hypodermic needle.
Pete Burns: Former "Dead Or Alive" frontman, these pics almost make me ill. He's still awaiting the Neptunes sampling "You Spin Me" (whatever it's called) to pay for his sex-change.
Farrah Fawcett: Either Ryan O'Neal busted a nerve, or she still thinks she's Farrah Fawcett. Tragic.
Viktor Yushchenko: This Ukranian politician was once a dapper gentleman, but his Farrah obsession has turned him into a sad Lil Kim wanna be. Now he's darker than her.
Lil Kim: This is pretty bad, too. She's trying to look like a white girl, which would make her the second white female rapper, behind Eminem. I love the Chinchilla eyebrows.
Paris Hilton: First off, check out the nose job. Little Ms. Perfect, still under general anesthesia, had a snip and clip on the ol' Hilton facade.
Next up is a comparison of the young lady from teens to now, which is only like 3 years later. I hope she gets a really good, really dedicated, really insane stalker on her trail. I'm talking about a guy in his mid-30s who is really into Hentai, lives in the basement of his aunt's house, and can't stop listening to Enya, dumpster-diver, a seat-sniffer. Paris Hilton had her nose done, her cheeks done, and wears blue contacts. She's not even good enough for herself. She's going to make Courtney Love look like Oprah, which is Courtney's next surgery. You GO, SISTAH.
Next Up: Explanation For The Lack Of Info
Killorn O'Neill's website is out of commission, if you haven't heard. Since Killorn's been back from Mexico, from where she blogged, her site's been down from her host, which is why she hasn't been able to update it with anything. The pictures, oh, THE PICTURES are great on there right now. But it's been a week and we're all pretty tired of them, irony is so great the 15th time around. Picture this: An update to the site. A blog. Is Mitch Hedberg still a Local Club?
Please forgive Killorn as she settles back into the stress and strain of daily life, everything from going to work to having DSL in her house finally, it's all a bit too much for my favorite leprechaun. Or as Beka Barry calls them "Leprosychads" (see comments). Retard. So please give Killorn a few more days to get things together. We all know her as a vivid and emotive author, and I'm sure her next blog entry will be worth the wait.
Killorn couldn't poop in Mexico.
(ed. note: Killorn O'Neill's website was updated with entertaining and honest writin' later on the day this blog was posted. We all thank and love Killorn for sharing of herself and her love of Pantera and Splenda. White Powder!")
Finally: The Economy Of Suffering
A contractor here at the Orange Julius has spent the better part of the past 3 days coughing, sniffling, then doing that back-of-the-nose inhale/snork/clearing thing. KOOF KRRRF... GGGRRSSSSSS!
Now, if he'd stayed home one day, he misses 8 hours of work. Being at work and being ill he's touching all kinds of things with his sticky hands. Let's say 3 other people get his illness, and miss a day each. 3 people x 8 hours = 24 hours of lost blogging. You can see how it goes.
So, please, the next time you're not feeling well just stay home. You could probably use a day off if you're still battling that brown-bottle flu, having caught it the 3rd time this month.
I'm off to pull my shirt over my nose and lob Halls drops at the guy's hotdog neck.
=============================================
Was Your Ballot Rejected?
Apparently Mr. McArthur Raper just can't get a fair shake in this world. What a horrible name to have. McArthur. Gay.
Sorry, Carly Alexander Holzboog, your name's too stupid to register as a valid voter. I voted twice, once as Geoff Lott, then once as the dumbest name of all time:
Anthony "I'm Driving The Car From Uncle Buck" Moser.
=============================================
Have a Great Weekend! Go See TRACY TUFFS this weekend at Giggles Comedy Club! He's recording his live CD and you're ready to rock the hoozy. Sneak in some of your own airplane bottles.
* * *
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad's New Self.
Peter Greyy, local comic, MC extraordinaire, and pop-culture MF'ing GURU (fah real, he would destroy Ken Jennings) has directed me to one of the most morbidly fascinating websites I've ever come across. Just so I don't offend people who hate seeing children dressed as pets dressed as members of the Partridge Family (oddly enough, none dressed as partridges), here's another website Peter turned me on to;
AWFUL PLASTIC SURGERY!!! Get ready to lose at least the next 30 minutes of your day.
The site covers celebs and pseudo-celebs who have yanked, stapled, unhinged, filled, emptied, inserted, Shop-Vac'ed, and down-right FAWKED their faces and places up and over in the pursuit of the image in their head that says "Now my parents love me."
You may assume this site would be brimming with Michael Jackson photos like so many hairplugs. Guess again. Mandy Moore got a new nose for graduation. Nicole Kidman's botox addiction. The Cat Woman, Jocelyn Wildenstein. J'Lo's new-no's. Benjamin Bratt's smaller nose. It's all on that site. How do they stay looking so young? Distorted self-image and lack of acting ability.
I'm not going to get into the argument over why people get "work done," I'll just let you enjoy some truly frightening faces:
Michaela Romanini: Her niece is marrying into Italian whatever. She's marrying Gollum.
Kylie Minogue: Can't get you outta my head. You = the doc's hypodermic needle.
Pete Burns: Former "Dead Or Alive" frontman, these pics almost make me ill. He's still awaiting the Neptunes sampling "You Spin Me" (whatever it's called) to pay for his sex-change.
Farrah Fawcett: Either Ryan O'Neal busted a nerve, or she still thinks she's Farrah Fawcett. Tragic.
Viktor Yushchenko: This Ukranian politician was once a dapper gentleman, but his Farrah obsession has turned him into a sad Lil Kim wanna be. Now he's darker than her.
Lil Kim: This is pretty bad, too. She's trying to look like a white girl, which would make her the second white female rapper, behind Eminem. I love the Chinchilla eyebrows.
Paris Hilton: First off, check out the nose job. Little Ms. Perfect, still under general anesthesia, had a snip and clip on the ol' Hilton facade.
Next up is a comparison of the young lady from teens to now, which is only like 3 years later. I hope she gets a really good, really dedicated, really insane stalker on her trail. I'm talking about a guy in his mid-30s who is really into Hentai, lives in the basement of his aunt's house, and can't stop listening to Enya, dumpster-diver, a seat-sniffer. Paris Hilton had her nose done, her cheeks done, and wears blue contacts. She's not even good enough for herself. She's going to make Courtney Love look like Oprah, which is Courtney's next surgery. You GO, SISTAH.
Next Up: Explanation For The Lack Of Info
Killorn O'Neill's website is out of commission, if you haven't heard. Since Killorn's been back from Mexico, from where she blogged, her site's been down from her host, which is why she hasn't been able to update it with anything. The pictures, oh, THE PICTURES are great on there right now. But it's been a week and we're all pretty tired of them, irony is so great the 15th time around. Picture this: An update to the site. A blog. Is Mitch Hedberg still a Local Club?
Please forgive Killorn as she settles back into the stress and strain of daily life, everything from going to work to having DSL in her house finally, it's all a bit too much for my favorite leprechaun. Or as Beka Barry calls them "Leprosychads" (see comments). Retard. So please give Killorn a few more days to get things together. We all know her as a vivid and emotive author, and I'm sure her next blog entry will be worth the wait.
Killorn couldn't poop in Mexico.
(ed. note: Killorn O'Neill's website was updated with entertaining and honest writin' later on the day this blog was posted. We all thank and love Killorn for sharing of herself and her love of Pantera and Splenda. White Powder!")
Finally: The Economy Of Suffering
A contractor here at the Orange Julius has spent the better part of the past 3 days coughing, sniffling, then doing that back-of-the-nose inhale/snork/clearing thing. KOOF KRRRF... GGGRRSSSSSS!
Now, if he'd stayed home one day, he misses 8 hours of work. Being at work and being ill he's touching all kinds of things with his sticky hands. Let's say 3 other people get his illness, and miss a day each. 3 people x 8 hours = 24 hours of lost blogging. You can see how it goes.
So, please, the next time you're not feeling well just stay home. You could probably use a day off if you're still battling that brown-bottle flu, having caught it the 3rd time this month.
I'm off to pull my shirt over my nose and lob Halls drops at the guy's hotdog neck.
=============================================
Was Your Ballot Rejected?
Apparently Mr. McArthur Raper just can't get a fair shake in this world. What a horrible name to have. McArthur. Gay.
Sorry, Carly Alexander Holzboog, your name's too stupid to register as a valid voter. I voted twice, once as Geoff Lott, then once as the dumbest name of all time:
Anthony "I'm Driving The Car From Uncle Buck" Moser.
=============================================
Have a Great Weekend! Go See TRACY TUFFS this weekend at Giggles Comedy Club! He's recording his live CD and you're ready to rock the hoozy. Sneak in some of your own airplane bottles.
* * *
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad's New Self.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
You're Doing It Again
Holy Holiday Blitz, it's that time of year again. We climb over giftbaskets to find the amber bottles of pain killers, bop-bop-bopping across the linoleum as our rum-buttery fingers sssploork! it into the air. Why does everyone seem to be so down on medicating ourselves? It's been said hundreds of times, even if there was never a mind altering chemical or plant invented or discovered in our history, there'd still be plenty of people spinning around in the front yard claiming that they saw "God, and she looked like Jackson Browne." Do whatever you wanna do, I really don't care. But really it's not in your power to tell others what to do. Deal with you, first, then worry about how little other people think of you.
====
One of the most well-known comics pretty much continued to lose his mind and composure and ran himself out of the Seattle comedy scene. He sponged off a woman for over a year, complained about all he did not have, and continuously made an ass of himself. He ended his last stint by ingratiating himself with the club and organization that helped launch him forward, and he is now back East doing Krishna-knows-what. I wish him well, but he f*cked himself time and again. Laters.
Mitch Hedberg made a recent trip through town and played a theater show. A few months back he blew up at the manager of a local club due to the manager not being forthright about ticket prices and therefore, quite likely, Mitch's pay for the weekend. Mitch stormed off-stage during the first show and did not return for the second. That was documented on his website in an apology to Seattle. So Mitch returned recently with Stephen Lynch as his opener. (Lynch is the boy-next-door guitar-playing funny man with some dark and twisted lyrics. It's funny, but don't confuse it with stand-up, which consists of spoken word and jokes). From an eyewitness account, Lynch had a great set. Mitch hit the stage and... (from my friend's e-mail) "BTW I went to the Moore and saw Mitch Hedberg……….OK he was so wasted it got to the point where he wasn’t funny and was going off on a rage and pretty much had to be cut off. I enjoyed his opener though…"
This is from Mitch's website:
"By the way, I need to do something about what happened in Phoenix. I am well aware I went over the top. I do not want a license to have shows like that but if you have it in your hearts (and you were THERE) can you forgive me for the self-indulgence?"
He goes on to offer a free show in Phoenix if they can arrange it. So there's a pattern of self-defeating behavior
A local performer also had a personality snap in her cerebellum, e-mailing Geoff Brousseau about some imagined slander against her. At the same time she's doing that, she's calling other comics looking for MY phone number, to give me basically the same message she had relayed to Brousseau. So here's a person that most people who claims in her e-mail to "know a lot of people," yet she can't figure out which Geoff is which. Brousseau's the handsome one with the luxurious dark hair, I'm the blonde one who hates women in their late 40's who have never resolved their dad issues, and we both hate cupid stunts.
So far, that's 2 comics crapping on their reputations, and one trying to use shit for Shine-ola. The first comic and I had our own little run-in. Never met Hedberg, but it's sad to think he may very well be out of comedy in a year if he continues down the road he's on. Clubs won't book him if he's freaking out every other show and can't spend one hour a day on the wagon. They'll book him, but his fee will drop considerably. The last performer, who is not funny and will not be called a comic by me, is coming unhinged.
Three comics, three near collapses. I hope that a few others will finally lose their shit and stay off the comedy radar for good. These people are pulling friggin' Kobe Bryant-sized boners out here, just f*cking themselves but good. So if nothing else, I think there are lessons to be learned here. We each carry that shoulder-riding devil, and sometimes it takes us down a few streets with a nudge, a hint, a whisper, or by nearly pulling our friggin' ear off. As adults, we must take note of when the Puckish one is talking loudest, and if you can anticipate when the little hor-ned one will come a-knockin', then congrats, you're way ahead of the games. Still, it's up to each of us to work our crap out, and ridicule those who don't.
Oh, and Tony Moser reminds me of a little something I brought back from Mexico: A Raw Ass.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
====
One of the most well-known comics pretty much continued to lose his mind and composure and ran himself out of the Seattle comedy scene. He sponged off a woman for over a year, complained about all he did not have, and continuously made an ass of himself. He ended his last stint by ingratiating himself with the club and organization that helped launch him forward, and he is now back East doing Krishna-knows-what. I wish him well, but he f*cked himself time and again. Laters.
Mitch Hedberg made a recent trip through town and played a theater show. A few months back he blew up at the manager of a local club due to the manager not being forthright about ticket prices and therefore, quite likely, Mitch's pay for the weekend. Mitch stormed off-stage during the first show and did not return for the second. That was documented on his website in an apology to Seattle. So Mitch returned recently with Stephen Lynch as his opener. (Lynch is the boy-next-door guitar-playing funny man with some dark and twisted lyrics. It's funny, but don't confuse it with stand-up, which consists of spoken word and jokes). From an eyewitness account, Lynch had a great set. Mitch hit the stage and... (from my friend's e-mail) "BTW I went to the Moore and saw Mitch Hedberg……….OK he was so wasted it got to the point where he wasn’t funny and was going off on a rage and pretty much had to be cut off. I enjoyed his opener though…"
This is from Mitch's website:
"By the way, I need to do something about what happened in Phoenix. I am well aware I went over the top. I do not want a license to have shows like that but if you have it in your hearts (and you were THERE) can you forgive me for the self-indulgence?"
He goes on to offer a free show in Phoenix if they can arrange it. So there's a pattern of self-defeating behavior
A local performer also had a personality snap in her cerebellum, e-mailing Geoff Brousseau about some imagined slander against her. At the same time she's doing that, she's calling other comics looking for MY phone number, to give me basically the same message she had relayed to Brousseau. So here's a person that most people who claims in her e-mail to "know a lot of people," yet she can't figure out which Geoff is which. Brousseau's the handsome one with the luxurious dark hair, I'm the blonde one who hates women in their late 40's who have never resolved their dad issues, and we both hate cupid stunts.
So far, that's 2 comics crapping on their reputations, and one trying to use shit for Shine-ola. The first comic and I had our own little run-in. Never met Hedberg, but it's sad to think he may very well be out of comedy in a year if he continues down the road he's on. Clubs won't book him if he's freaking out every other show and can't spend one hour a day on the wagon. They'll book him, but his fee will drop considerably. The last performer, who is not funny and will not be called a comic by me, is coming unhinged.
Three comics, three near collapses. I hope that a few others will finally lose their shit and stay off the comedy radar for good. These people are pulling friggin' Kobe Bryant-sized boners out here, just f*cking themselves but good. So if nothing else, I think there are lessons to be learned here. We each carry that shoulder-riding devil, and sometimes it takes us down a few streets with a nudge, a hint, a whisper, or by nearly pulling our friggin' ear off. As adults, we must take note of when the Puckish one is talking loudest, and if you can anticipate when the little hor-ned one will come a-knockin', then congrats, you're way ahead of the games. Still, it's up to each of us to work our crap out, and ridicule those who don't.
Oh, and Tony Moser reminds me of a little something I brought back from Mexico: A Raw Ass.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, December 15, 2004
Holiday Spirits
Whynchoo tell ME what's up? Quit be lookin' at me like you're all THAT. You ain't all THAT, PUNK.
Oh look at MEEEE, I'm intense and serious! OOOOH, I'm better than YOU. Why? 'Cause y'ain't grown up with no cousins? You think I had it better 'cause my cousin's always around? Man, they are CRAZY, you think you're stronger for never knowing your uncles? You are BLIND my friend. Now you just walk around here acting like the uncle you never had to the nephew you never was, and you get off on that. That means YOU are crazy, Mr. RolePlaying whatever.
You ain't no Uncle Superman, bitch! Give me, MMPH, give me that bottle... Look you son of DAMMIT you spilled it! I'm no son of a bit LOOK HOW MUCH YOU SPILLED... you know I only get one chocolate milk a week, dammit. I'm leaving anyway. It's hard for you to be this big an asshole when everyone expects you to stink. You ain't sneakin' up on nobody.
What? Yeah, you do that. You come to my house when I'm home. Good luck getting past the moat. What? Yeah, I'm gonna build one right now, you think I ain't got it to build a OH GOD build a moat? I'll build a moat before OH GRRRGGGGHHFFFF you even wake up from your second wine nap, putz. I'm gonna dig a BLAAARRRRRR I threw up don't worry about that I'm digging a moat, you'll see, I'm BLAAALALALAALAAAARRR it's in my nose MMRRRAAAAAAK oh that BURAAAAAAWWWKKKKKKKK I'm leaving anyway. Whatever.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Oh look at MEEEE, I'm intense and serious! OOOOH, I'm better than YOU. Why? 'Cause y'ain't grown up with no cousins? You think I had it better 'cause my cousin's always around? Man, they are CRAZY, you think you're stronger for never knowing your uncles? You are BLIND my friend. Now you just walk around here acting like the uncle you never had to the nephew you never was, and you get off on that. That means YOU are crazy, Mr. RolePlaying whatever.
You ain't no Uncle Superman, bitch! Give me, MMPH, give me that bottle... Look you son of DAMMIT you spilled it! I'm no son of a bit LOOK HOW MUCH YOU SPILLED... you know I only get one chocolate milk a week, dammit. I'm leaving anyway. It's hard for you to be this big an asshole when everyone expects you to stink. You ain't sneakin' up on nobody.
What? Yeah, you do that. You come to my house when I'm home. Good luck getting past the moat. What? Yeah, I'm gonna build one right now, you think I ain't got it to build a OH GOD build a moat? I'll build a moat before OH GRRRGGGGHHFFFF you even wake up from your second wine nap, putz. I'm gonna dig a BLAAARRRRRR I threw up don't worry about that I'm digging a moat, you'll see, I'm BLAAALALALAALAAAARRR it's in my nose MMRRRAAAAAAK oh that BURAAAAAAWWWKKKKKKKK I'm leaving anyway. Whatever.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
So You've Decided To Quit
Wow. I didn't think you and I would be having this conversation, but I guess it's time.
It appears you've quit. You have given us nothing to go on here. You haven't done anything for yourself and ,therefore, nothing for the rest of us. You made a conscious decision to do nothing. I'm sorry, I thought better of you. And I was wrong.
No, really, it's on me, I shouldn't have given you that much credit. It's my fault to hold you to the standards so high. Dammit, see, I am doubting myself again. You appeared to be able to handle it, and my ability to judge a person's aptitude on this equipment has been clouded by altruism and philanthropic endeavors. I once thought you'd be the best person for the job, and I was wrong.
So now what? I hope you have a back-up plan. For crying out loud, remember when we met, that day you were staring at the 2 in the address of the methadone clinic, pudding in your hand? You didn't even have a cup, just that handful of pudding, and I knew, right there, you had the touch to handle... I'm sorry... I'm just upset by this decision of yours. By not deciding, you've decided, and that's... see? I'm really... I can't do this. Okay, friend. Here's your severance gift card. And here's the last of my SunChips. It's harvest Cheddar. Remember our laugh over that? Cheddar can't be harvested! Yeah... Okay then. Off ya go. You be well. Be well.
Okay call security and get that freak off the grounds in 10 seconds or your family dies.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
It appears you've quit. You have given us nothing to go on here. You haven't done anything for yourself and ,therefore, nothing for the rest of us. You made a conscious decision to do nothing. I'm sorry, I thought better of you. And I was wrong.
No, really, it's on me, I shouldn't have given you that much credit. It's my fault to hold you to the standards so high. Dammit, see, I am doubting myself again. You appeared to be able to handle it, and my ability to judge a person's aptitude on this equipment has been clouded by altruism and philanthropic endeavors. I once thought you'd be the best person for the job, and I was wrong.
So now what? I hope you have a back-up plan. For crying out loud, remember when we met, that day you were staring at the 2 in the address of the methadone clinic, pudding in your hand? You didn't even have a cup, just that handful of pudding, and I knew, right there, you had the touch to handle... I'm sorry... I'm just upset by this decision of yours. By not deciding, you've decided, and that's... see? I'm really... I can't do this. Okay, friend. Here's your severance gift card. And here's the last of my SunChips. It's harvest Cheddar. Remember our laugh over that? Cheddar can't be harvested! Yeah... Okay then. Off ya go. You be well. Be well.
Okay call security and get that freak off the grounds in 10 seconds or your family dies.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Sunday, December 12, 2004
This Is Majorly Sucking
Right now on Saturday Night Live, there's a shitpile passing for a sketch where these dicklumps are putting "Alexander The Grump" and syphillis-gun Colin Farrell through the paces of a "rhyme run." Lots of rhymes to get laughs instead of actual wit or anything. Lindsay Lohan is on the show, also, and there's not one mention of Colin using a sLohan to getting his nicotine-darkened fingers wet. He's a cad, she's a mess, it's a match made in fan fiction. That show sucks.
Good Bye, First Amendment
In Lancaster, PA a city councilman is trying to rid a farmer's market of a picture of President Bush.
Citing that the close and bitter election has cast sadness throughout all of Lancaster, this commie hemmorhoid believes the city needs a "time of healing." Regardless of how you think Pres. Bush should be removed from office, this City Councilman needs to be removed from his car and beaten crotch-wise. Somebody PLEASE hit that guy with the shovel he used to stack bullshit that first got him elected, PLEEEEEEEEEEEAASE! What's funnier is that this guy's name is "Nelson Polite." Hello Sexually Repressed. That has to be a fake name. Satan's in Lancaster, and he's Yellow Paged under "Polite, Nelson." No spouse.
The poster of the poster is a baker, a business owner. W.'s been good to the small business owner. It's at a "farmer's market," a group that is likely quite liberal, what with the shaping, painting, and selling of all kind o' beads, pots, and knitted clothing. It doesn't matter if it's in the middle of a church-run home for out of work porn starlets, THIS IS STILL AMERICA AND YOU CAN SAY, POST, SING, AND EXPRESS WHATEVER THE HELL YOU LIKE.
As long as it's popular, otherwise, don't bother me. Who knew Republicans would become the new hippies? You can't say shit in this country without someone getting offended. Fine. The worst is that nobody will ever take a moment and reflect on why they were offended. Say something offensive, and the person will likely stomp away to tell the manager of the coffee boutique, who will then ask that you please be nice. Or the offended party will quickly and forcefully reach into their pocket, ball up their fist, and retract it violently, wrapped around a cell phone to call their friend and tell them how they were just, ga-friggin'-sp, offended! HOW DARE THEE!
Get a sense of humor about yourself. You're going to die. No matter how much good you do in life, no matter how many petitions you hold in front of supermarkets, nor how many pockets-worth of coins you toss in the "Save Kids Without Playstations" cannister at the store, YOU WILL BE FORGOTTEN. If you can't laugh at that, we'll see you at the open mic. You have three minutes. Don't f*ck up.
Tony Moser reminds me of a white Derrick Cameron.
============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Good Bye, First Amendment
In Lancaster, PA a city councilman is trying to rid a farmer's market of a picture of President Bush.
Citing that the close and bitter election has cast sadness throughout all of Lancaster, this commie hemmorhoid believes the city needs a "time of healing." Regardless of how you think Pres. Bush should be removed from office, this City Councilman needs to be removed from his car and beaten crotch-wise. Somebody PLEASE hit that guy with the shovel he used to stack bullshit that first got him elected, PLEEEEEEEEEEEAASE! What's funnier is that this guy's name is "Nelson Polite." Hello Sexually Repressed. That has to be a fake name. Satan's in Lancaster, and he's Yellow Paged under "Polite, Nelson." No spouse.
The poster of the poster is a baker, a business owner. W.'s been good to the small business owner. It's at a "farmer's market," a group that is likely quite liberal, what with the shaping, painting, and selling of all kind o' beads, pots, and knitted clothing. It doesn't matter if it's in the middle of a church-run home for out of work porn starlets, THIS IS STILL AMERICA AND YOU CAN SAY, POST, SING, AND EXPRESS WHATEVER THE HELL YOU LIKE.
As long as it's popular, otherwise, don't bother me. Who knew Republicans would become the new hippies? You can't say shit in this country without someone getting offended. Fine. The worst is that nobody will ever take a moment and reflect on why they were offended. Say something offensive, and the person will likely stomp away to tell the manager of the coffee boutique, who will then ask that you please be nice. Or the offended party will quickly and forcefully reach into their pocket, ball up their fist, and retract it violently, wrapped around a cell phone to call their friend and tell them how they were just, ga-friggin'-sp, offended! HOW DARE THEE!
Get a sense of humor about yourself. You're going to die. No matter how much good you do in life, no matter how many petitions you hold in front of supermarkets, nor how many pockets-worth of coins you toss in the "Save Kids Without Playstations" cannister at the store, YOU WILL BE FORGOTTEN. If you can't laugh at that, we'll see you at the open mic. You have three minutes. Don't f*ck up.
Tony Moser reminds me of a white Derrick Cameron.
============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Friday, December 10, 2004
Via Con Dios, Cabo. Hi, Seattle, You Bitch.
Not sure if anyone's reading this today.
It's Friday, 12/10/04. I've returned from my vacation to read a blog here and there, caught up on some gossip, and have had the interior of my car defamed, degraded, and metaphorically defecated upon. Being away for a week, I've heard that a few comics have left the area, possibly for good, some have made waves and are doing guest spots this weekend, and some are still boring people with their depressed, repressed, unresolved issues. Yeah, Killorn, I'm talking about you... know who.
There's an old saying from the infamous Cabo San Lucas watering hole "El Squid Roe" that goes like this, "What Happens In Cabo... (everybody screeeeam!) STAYS IN CABO!" I would like some things to stay in Cabo. Like the water puma. The sea cobra. The turtle whistle. DOODLE DOOOO! The trash neighbors. AAAWHA'HA'HAAAAA! The beach dumping. Patrick Swayze. He sucks.
More later. I need a liver-flush tea and shiatsu.
Hey, where's our dawgmanned Governor? Give it up Gregoire, cut your hair above your ears and get on with your golf lessons.
Here's something odd. In checking my website stats, # of hits and what-not, I had over 300 in the past week, which is a lot. Most of them were aimed at my blog, and within that, quite a few searches for Mishna Wolff, the comedian, as well as the close confidant (not sure how attached they are) of comedian Marc Maron. Marc was in town last weekend at Giggles Comedy Club, and I hope, for your sake that you did NOT see him, because the rest of the comedy you see in Seattle will suck sludge in his wake. Mishna's got some great material, as well as a stage presence that is very laissez-faire, like she's bending your ear in front of the organic market. And Marc Maron, well, shit, that's HIM on stage. That's not a character, that's Marc Maron, and that is what most comics strive for, to be themselves on stage.
This weekend, go check out Daniel Tosh at Giggles. Funny? Yes. Off-beat? Uh-huh. Rail-thin? Check. In love with me? A bit, yeah, a bit.
As I return to the drizzle (Snoop-speak for "drippage") and gray skies, I have pants to press, set lists it write, and shows to do. I look forward to seeing y'all soon. Until then, throw $5 or a toy in for Toys For Tots. Just a little something for someone else this time of year.
Tony Moser called, he'd like to come over. I said "no." I'm not zoned for animals.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
It's Friday, 12/10/04. I've returned from my vacation to read a blog here and there, caught up on some gossip, and have had the interior of my car defamed, degraded, and metaphorically defecated upon. Being away for a week, I've heard that a few comics have left the area, possibly for good, some have made waves and are doing guest spots this weekend, and some are still boring people with their depressed, repressed, unresolved issues. Yeah, Killorn, I'm talking about you... know who.
There's an old saying from the infamous Cabo San Lucas watering hole "El Squid Roe" that goes like this, "What Happens In Cabo... (everybody screeeeam!) STAYS IN CABO!" I would like some things to stay in Cabo. Like the water puma. The sea cobra. The turtle whistle. DOODLE DOOOO! The trash neighbors. AAAWHA'HA'HAAAAA! The beach dumping. Patrick Swayze. He sucks.
More later. I need a liver-flush tea and shiatsu.
Hey, where's our dawgmanned Governor? Give it up Gregoire, cut your hair above your ears and get on with your golf lessons.
Here's something odd. In checking my website stats, # of hits and what-not, I had over 300 in the past week, which is a lot. Most of them were aimed at my blog, and within that, quite a few searches for Mishna Wolff, the comedian, as well as the close confidant (not sure how attached they are) of comedian Marc Maron. Marc was in town last weekend at Giggles Comedy Club, and I hope, for your sake that you did NOT see him, because the rest of the comedy you see in Seattle will suck sludge in his wake. Mishna's got some great material, as well as a stage presence that is very laissez-faire, like she's bending your ear in front of the organic market. And Marc Maron, well, shit, that's HIM on stage. That's not a character, that's Marc Maron, and that is what most comics strive for, to be themselves on stage.
This weekend, go check out Daniel Tosh at Giggles. Funny? Yes. Off-beat? Uh-huh. Rail-thin? Check. In love with me? A bit, yeah, a bit.
As I return to the drizzle (Snoop-speak for "drippage") and gray skies, I have pants to press, set lists it write, and shows to do. I look forward to seeing y'all soon. Until then, throw $5 or a toy in for Toys For Tots. Just a little something for someone else this time of year.
Tony Moser called, he'd like to come over. I said "no." I'm not zoned for animals.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, December 06, 2004
Hola America!
Well I sure as hell hope you're enjoying comedy, TV, and your cellphone not ringing. Best I can tell, we're having a liver-flush of a time South of the Border. Mexico, not Portland.
I'm running out of time here in the Cafe Interneto, as the Policia locales are on the trail of a missing marlin statue. You try getting a 7-foot papier mache fish in a cab, see if you don't attract a little attention.
The Ladies are off for massages at 1pm, Shoogs and I are heading to the beach for our daily fitness regime of 8 minutes of swimming followed by looking for the smokes, then it is off to town for some shopping. I kid you not, the girls here are in Catholic Schools, complete with outfits. Tomorrow we snorkel! All of this, and come Friday night, Jefe here gots himself a corporate gig. Oh. Crapolita.
Via Con Dios, Mes Amigos,
ARRIBA
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I'm running out of time here in the Cafe Interneto, as the Policia locales are on the trail of a missing marlin statue. You try getting a 7-foot papier mache fish in a cab, see if you don't attract a little attention.
The Ladies are off for massages at 1pm, Shoogs and I are heading to the beach for our daily fitness regime of 8 minutes of swimming followed by looking for the smokes, then it is off to town for some shopping. I kid you not, the girls here are in Catholic Schools, complete with outfits. Tomorrow we snorkel! All of this, and come Friday night, Jefe here gots himself a corporate gig. Oh. Crapolita.
Via Con Dios, Mes Amigos,
ARRIBA
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
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