Today is the first day of the month, so I'm in the office for the first time all week. I worked from home the other days and got a lot done.
The drive to work wasn't any more treacherous than any other normal drive
SANDIE the retard is already laughing... are you shitting me?
Anyway, here's a blow-out.
My productivity has suffered because my boss can't communicate and rolls over when asked to do something.
My stress level is higher than it has been all week thanks to my being in the office.
Sandie just laughed about "rebooting, that's what it needs! UNH UNH UNH UNH!" She is my daily dose of Larry The Cable Guy. KOOOONT!
Dear God, I'm serious, I really need a break today. This place is not for the sane, the adjusted, the unmedicated.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Mitch Hedberg, Dead At 37.
As of last night when this was originally written, the passing of Mitch Hedberg had not been confirmed. This morning, sadly, it has been. Mitch Hedberg, well known and loved stand-up comic, is dead. He was 37.
Mitch is one of the most-quoted, most-copped comics of the past 10 years. The rest of this entry will cover that topic. Heart failure is being noted as the cause of Mitch's death. Apparently he was born with a defect in his heart.
Mitch had is own way of doing things, especially in the past few years. Mitch was famous for less than 10 years. Less than The Dave Matthews Band. Less than Snoop. And he's gone now.
Nobody will ever see Mitch again. That is what really stinks, on many levels. He was talented. He was a good person, from all I'd heard. He was a phenomenal comic. I hope this will begin the downstroke of people copying Mitch's style of drawling, simplified, peripheral brilliance. I hope it will begin the outpouring of stories of what a great guy he was. Appreciate his work and his life. I have removed some of the stuff I had on here about Mitch's personal life, out of respect for a Person, and because he could have died with a cup of green tea in his hand, or a turkey-baster full of smack in his veins, neither would matter to how much he meant to comedy and to what kind of person Mitch was.
My condolences go out to Mitch's family and his real friends. He had a talent so recognizable that we won't see it again until an open-mic'er steals his persona and nicks his material.
To those who stood by while Mitch destroyed his body and career, my middle finger goes out to you. He was your bank account, your dealer, your hook-up, and you can look forward to an eternity in Hell, where every night you host an endless open mic where everyone goes up and "does Mitch."
Terry Schiavo also died this morning. That's for another time, but I really wish politicians and people in tank tops would leave her alone. The question here: If you were Terry Schiavo, would you want to die with dignity, or be kept alive to keep your parents from feeling bad?
===============
(Now back to the original blog)
In my quest to find out who is and is not dead (IS: Johnny Cochrane, Nietzche, Comedy. IS NOT: You, Me, Comedy) I happened upon an exchange of words in the alt.comedy.standup newsgroup in the Usenet world. To spare you the boredom, it's where comics get together and let their egos go wild as they post messages while doing what comics love to do best: Not be interrupted. Perhaps only the comics who read this blog will get any joy out of this, but I figure it's worth sharing.
First off, the topic of Stealing in Comedy. Here are some highlights:
My Blog About My Dad
Mitch is one of the most-quoted, most-copped comics of the past 10 years. The rest of this entry will cover that topic. Heart failure is being noted as the cause of Mitch's death. Apparently he was born with a defect in his heart.
Mitch had is own way of doing things, especially in the past few years. Mitch was famous for less than 10 years. Less than The Dave Matthews Band. Less than Snoop. And he's gone now.
Nobody will ever see Mitch again. That is what really stinks, on many levels. He was talented. He was a good person, from all I'd heard. He was a phenomenal comic. I hope this will begin the downstroke of people copying Mitch's style of drawling, simplified, peripheral brilliance. I hope it will begin the outpouring of stories of what a great guy he was. Appreciate his work and his life. I have removed some of the stuff I had on here about Mitch's personal life, out of respect for a Person, and because he could have died with a cup of green tea in his hand, or a turkey-baster full of smack in his veins, neither would matter to how much he meant to comedy and to what kind of person Mitch was.
My condolences go out to Mitch's family and his real friends. He had a talent so recognizable that we won't see it again until an open-mic'er steals his persona and nicks his material.
To those who stood by while Mitch destroyed his body and career, my middle finger goes out to you. He was your bank account, your dealer, your hook-up, and you can look forward to an eternity in Hell, where every night you host an endless open mic where everyone goes up and "does Mitch."
Terry Schiavo also died this morning. That's for another time, but I really wish politicians and people in tank tops would leave her alone. The question here: If you were Terry Schiavo, would you want to die with dignity, or be kept alive to keep your parents from feeling bad?
===============
(Now back to the original blog)
In my quest to find out who is and is not dead (IS: Johnny Cochrane, Nietzche, Comedy. IS NOT: You, Me, Comedy) I happened upon an exchange of words in the alt.comedy.standup newsgroup in the Usenet world. To spare you the boredom, it's where comics get together and let their egos go wild as they post messages while doing what comics love to do best: Not be interrupted. Perhaps only the comics who read this blog will get any joy out of this, but I figure it's worth sharing.
First off, the topic of Stealing in Comedy. Here are some highlights:
- "Joke-eoke," as in Karaoke. I believe Killorn notified us of this last week, and it's been noted by one comic who started the thread in the forum. He basically was saying that there are so many guys working in comedy these days that you don't even have to be a comic to get work. What is a comic? I can't really define it, but I will say this: If I could get the same pay from comedy that I do from my crappy day job, I would have ass-wiped a signature on my 2 Week Notice a LONG time ago. But Comedy doesn't pay well because, here, catch the 22, there are so many guys working. Question: How do so many guys become funny enough to go on the road? Answer: Who said they were funny?
- Being Unique on stage, being a truth of yourSELF. A quote from the thread:
We need to look at how famous comics selected and developed their personas. Study what "Larry the Cable Guy" did to build his persona. Because jokes come and go, and can't be protected, but a strong, recognizable persona is like a signature and everyone can smell it if somebody tries a forgery.
Basically, as a performer, you are yourSelf, turned up a notch or two. I have heard guys from Portland talk to me in the whitest, most Eddie Bauer'ed tone you can imagine, then go on stage with a slightly Southern-fried accent in order to affect the persona that makes their jokes work. Question: Are they faking it in order to be funny? Answer: Who said they were funny?
- Stealing is addressed in the thread. It goes from the Vaudeville days through to Buster Keaton getting hacked by Red Skelton, hacked by Benny Hill, hacked by whomever. I've heard the freakishly popular Larry The Cable Guy (Dan Whitney, doing a character) do twists on street jokes (those are the ones you get in your e-mail from the official workplace funny guy/gal!) And it's rampant. Here's another quote from one JJay Boyd:
Hell me and the 2 comics I am on the road with had 2 off nights in the
pacific northwest.... we did some open mic nights.. EVERY comic from
this town? Was stealing.. (short of ONE tall girl who had the guts to
do her own stuff and was very promising).. One guy was doing Andrew
Dice Clays Nursery Rhymes but as Jimmy Stewart... so I guess in his
mind thats DIFFERENT. (sic)
pacific northwest.... we did some open mic nights.. EVERY comic from
this town? Was stealing.. (short of ONE tall girl who had the guts to
do her own stuff and was very promising).. One guy was doing Andrew
Dice Clays Nursery Rhymes but as Jimmy Stewart... so I guess in his
mind thats DIFFERENT. (sic)
Does anybody know if JJay Boyd has been through Seattle? First off, saying "EVERY comic" in "This town" of the Pacific Northwest (narrowed down nicely, thank you JJay) steals is a very broadly sweeping statement. However, at an open mic I'm betting a fair amount of the personas seen on stage were direct lifts of well-known acts. And the open mics around here are usually testing grounds for people getting their rocks off without the intent of pursuing stand-up, and/or a few actual working comics either working out a few new bits or getting their rocks off with the intent of pursuing chicks in the audience. The ONE Tall Girl may very well have been the inimitable (it's a good word, relax) Lizzy Pilcher. Just giving props where props be due.
That's a joke.
ANYwho, here's a "blog war" of sorts, a thread flaming if you will. Two guys get into it with each other, and it's really really dumb. Not only do they keep saying "Go away" or "I win," THEY KEEP RETURNING TO THE POST. Insecurity is that voice that tells you to check, one more time, to make sure the door is locked. It's a minor form of insanity, and it's a great lesson in growing up.
Stand back and watch them windmill at each other. I'm really embarrassed to say I ever got involved in that shit.
Anywho, I'm off to bed now. I've been writing for over an hour.
The Moral Of The Story Is This:
If you're going to steal someone's act, and that person's on-stage persona, instead of trying your hardest to be original, make sure you also cop their off-stage habits.
In the corporate world, stealing someone's ideas is called "Middle Mangement."
Good night, get home safely, and remember to tip your cows.
Take Me Home
- Currently bored as shit with that thread (read it yourself) I summarize the stealing thread with this: I always want to be told if something I do on-stage is a lift. There is something called "parallel development" where a topic is viewed in a similar light by different people. A bit I wrote the 2nd month I'd been on-stage is pretty similar to one done by Greg Giraldo (no more links for now, look him up) so I dropped it. I will write more. Other than that, and this goes for any situation in life, don't be afraid to protect what is yours, and don't be afraid to be classy in doing so. You catch more flies with honey than you do with vinegar, that's what my gramma used to say. She always had very crunchy honey. (see, writing Hedberg is easy)
That's a joke.
ANYwho, here's a "blog war" of sorts, a thread flaming if you will. Two guys get into it with each other, and it's really really dumb. Not only do they keep saying "Go away" or "I win," THEY KEEP RETURNING TO THE POST. Insecurity is that voice that tells you to check, one more time, to make sure the door is locked. It's a minor form of insanity, and it's a great lesson in growing up.
Stand back and watch them windmill at each other. I'm really embarrassed to say I ever got involved in that shit.
Anywho, I'm off to bed now. I've been writing for over an hour.
The Moral Of The Story Is This:
If you're going to steal someone's act, and that person's on-stage persona, instead of trying your hardest to be original, make sure you also cop their off-stage habits.
In the corporate world, stealing someone's ideas is called "Middle Mangement."
Good night, get home safely, and remember to tip your cows.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Imagine That
REPEAT, for those of you who ain't gone to vote yet:
My friend Ryan Hamilton is a finalist in the Sierra Mist "Next Great Comic" contest, and after listening to the other dudes, he's got a really great chance at winning. Please check out that site and vote for Ryan. I entered that contest, and didn't make it to the finals. I am really freaking happy that Ryan did. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, myself included.
ALSO, imagine this:
You have been hired to write a tell-all under a fictional name. The story you tell will be close to real life, but you get to embellish it here and there. So you mine the core hell of your daily existence, even if it's small, and deliver some work that weakens some people's knees. They read it and say "You dated someone who called you THAT?" or "You had a boss who wanted to do what?"
Now imagine that either of those people steps forward to sue you for slandering them. Not only did they out themselves as the a-pipes in question, you never mentioned their names so they can't really lay claim to anything you've earned. Why can't they just be happy to be famous and leave you out of it?
I've had a wicked-sweet stomach flu for a good 29 hours now. I'm holding on to food longer, so by this weekend I should be able to leave the house for more than 45 minutes with the confidence that I won't need to be within shouting distance of a restroom.
The more you advance at anything in life, the more you will be accosted by people who are trying to cut you down. That is their jealousy, envy, and ugly green hat to wear. Keep walking. Don't miss your appointment getting into a shouting match with somebody who only knows how to shout. You got a life to live. Now go be the best ClownHooker this town's ever seen.
I am outta here.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
My friend Ryan Hamilton is a finalist in the Sierra Mist "Next Great Comic" contest, and after listening to the other dudes, he's got a really great chance at winning. Please check out that site and vote for Ryan. I entered that contest, and didn't make it to the finals. I am really freaking happy that Ryan did. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, myself included.
ALSO, imagine this:
You have been hired to write a tell-all under a fictional name. The story you tell will be close to real life, but you get to embellish it here and there. So you mine the core hell of your daily existence, even if it's small, and deliver some work that weakens some people's knees. They read it and say "You dated someone who called you THAT?" or "You had a boss who wanted to do what?"
Now imagine that either of those people steps forward to sue you for slandering them. Not only did they out themselves as the a-pipes in question, you never mentioned their names so they can't really lay claim to anything you've earned. Why can't they just be happy to be famous and leave you out of it?
I've had a wicked-sweet stomach flu for a good 29 hours now. I'm holding on to food longer, so by this weekend I should be able to leave the house for more than 45 minutes with the confidence that I won't need to be within shouting distance of a restroom.
The more you advance at anything in life, the more you will be accosted by people who are trying to cut you down. That is their jealousy, envy, and ugly green hat to wear. Keep walking. Don't miss your appointment getting into a shouting match with somebody who only knows how to shout. You got a life to live. Now go be the best ClownHooker this town's ever seen.
I am outta here.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, March 28, 2005
Because It Matters To Some
Wow, we finally got past Easter! I always go so crazy with the shopping and the parties. Lots of my friends are way into Easter, the whole dressing up and traditional feast and what-not. You probably have no idea what a pain it is to coordinate a re-creation of The Last Supper, costumes and all, but the majesty is something else. Some of the people to Dan "Jesus '05" Crandall's left got snarky when I missed a line. Say what you will, Geoff The Baptist asks for little, but if I want unleavened bread, Stacey "Iscariot," I will fuggin' ask for it. Biznatchalacka!
Saturday night was a fun evening out. Killorn O'Neill, Tony "Man Handy" Moser, Queen Alicia, and The Geoff Lott Experiment all tripped Cap Hill-ward to catch Tony opening for Doug Stanhope. It was a disjointed affair, but overall, an entertaining evening. We arrived 45 minutes prior to the doors opening. The normal conversations started up, namely, the problem with the Homeless in Seattle. Not the Homeless Problem (i.e. we can see them), but the reasons that people become and remain homeless. Is it lethargy? Apathy? Scurvy? Perhaps they aren't taking advantage of the many programs designed to help people without homes rectify their situations. The flip side is that if every homeless person DID, there wouldn't be enough room, nor caseworkers, since the business of helping people who need it pays turds, unless you're a doctor. And no, insurance companies don't help people.
So the crowd files in and one dickwad is wearing sunglasses. Saturday night it was raining that sideways, sidewalk-clearing, eye-poking rain. But he's "in costume" to party. At the bar he ordered a "really tall, uh.... dude... Red Bull-Vodka." The bartender held up a small rocks glass and said "this is as tall as we go here." Shades McBallhair says "Yeah, I'll take three." Perhaps you're seeing the kind of crowd that was on-hand. Yes, there was at least one guy with a bandanna, West Coast Choppers jacket, and goatee yelling "Git 'er Done!", which continues to cement it's place in the entertainment world as the new "FREEBIRD!" I think if anybody yells it, as a comic, you HAVE to do 3 street jokes everyone's heard as punishment.
After the show I talked with Doug for a second. I MC'ed a show for him two years back at the Underground, and he was very cool to me. That was the consensus opinion, how laid back and cool Doug was the other night. Two years ago I watched a drunken Doug nail down 75 minutes of hysterical comedy at that show. The other night he wasn't drinking much, turning away shots and espousing the fact that he needs to give his body a rest after 20 years of debauchery. He did a pretty masterful job of wrangling the crowd, which had gotten sauced and rowdy. As he told one beer-farting frat hump in the first row "You have to be a special kind of douchebag to be that f*cked up at 8:20 on a Saturday night." I spend a lot of time watching comics for different reasons. I'm still learning a few things. I learned a lot about how just remaining calm and calling the situation for what it is will eventually sink in with people. I don't think many of the people knew that Doug had been a comic long before The Man Show or the Wild Girls thingy started. 80% of the crowd was there to see what was gonna go down, the others just kept looking around for an appearance by Joe Rogan or a tit, but I repeat myself. I wonder if people pull that shit at Henry Rollins' spoken-word shows. Once they went with Doug, it was easy as pie.
Except for that one really dumb, attention-needing whore-ority sister who kept yelling "EEEEW" when the words "Rubber F*ck My Face" were said. It really astounded me. That many guys who own a volume of "Girls Gone Wild" and not ONE frigging Roofie? BULL'S SHIT! He's trying to close up, quiet her down.
In summation, Seattle clubs seem to be in limbo about promoting comedy as The Hippest Of Entertainment, and when you hear the words "Terry Schiavo," be caller 10 to win tickets to the Pope's funeral.
Open Mic tonight. I pray that I can get up early. Judge not, lest ye be funny and unscripted.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Saturday night was a fun evening out. Killorn O'Neill, Tony "Man Handy" Moser, Queen Alicia, and The Geoff Lott Experiment all tripped Cap Hill-ward to catch Tony opening for Doug Stanhope. It was a disjointed affair, but overall, an entertaining evening. We arrived 45 minutes prior to the doors opening. The normal conversations started up, namely, the problem with the Homeless in Seattle. Not the Homeless Problem (i.e. we can see them), but the reasons that people become and remain homeless. Is it lethargy? Apathy? Scurvy? Perhaps they aren't taking advantage of the many programs designed to help people without homes rectify their situations. The flip side is that if every homeless person DID, there wouldn't be enough room, nor caseworkers, since the business of helping people who need it pays turds, unless you're a doctor. And no, insurance companies don't help people.
So the crowd files in and one dickwad is wearing sunglasses. Saturday night it was raining that sideways, sidewalk-clearing, eye-poking rain. But he's "in costume" to party. At the bar he ordered a "really tall, uh.... dude... Red Bull-Vodka." The bartender held up a small rocks glass and said "this is as tall as we go here." Shades McBallhair says "Yeah, I'll take three." Perhaps you're seeing the kind of crowd that was on-hand. Yes, there was at least one guy with a bandanna, West Coast Choppers jacket, and goatee yelling "Git 'er Done!", which continues to cement it's place in the entertainment world as the new "FREEBIRD!" I think if anybody yells it, as a comic, you HAVE to do 3 street jokes everyone's heard as punishment.
After the show I talked with Doug for a second. I MC'ed a show for him two years back at the Underground, and he was very cool to me. That was the consensus opinion, how laid back and cool Doug was the other night. Two years ago I watched a drunken Doug nail down 75 minutes of hysterical comedy at that show. The other night he wasn't drinking much, turning away shots and espousing the fact that he needs to give his body a rest after 20 years of debauchery. He did a pretty masterful job of wrangling the crowd, which had gotten sauced and rowdy. As he told one beer-farting frat hump in the first row "You have to be a special kind of douchebag to be that f*cked up at 8:20 on a Saturday night." I spend a lot of time watching comics for different reasons. I'm still learning a few things. I learned a lot about how just remaining calm and calling the situation for what it is will eventually sink in with people. I don't think many of the people knew that Doug had been a comic long before The Man Show or the Wild Girls thingy started. 80% of the crowd was there to see what was gonna go down, the others just kept looking around for an appearance by Joe Rogan or a tit, but I repeat myself. I wonder if people pull that shit at Henry Rollins' spoken-word shows. Once they went with Doug, it was easy as pie.
Except for that one really dumb, attention-needing whore-ority sister who kept yelling "EEEEW" when the words "Rubber F*ck My Face" were said. It really astounded me. That many guys who own a volume of "Girls Gone Wild" and not ONE frigging Roofie? BULL'S SHIT! He's trying to close up, quiet her down.
In summation, Seattle clubs seem to be in limbo about promoting comedy as The Hippest Of Entertainment, and when you hear the words "Terry Schiavo," be caller 10 to win tickets to the Pope's funeral.
Open Mic tonight. I pray that I can get up early. Judge not, lest ye be funny and unscripted.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, March 25, 2005
Good Decisions All Around
Good. Friday!
Today is Good Friday in the Christian/New Testament Religions. It is the day Jesus was crucified and buried in his tomb, when the ground shook, the seas ran red, and Hollywood found a cornerstone for blockbuster films.
This morning I'm rafting on mixed emotions. It's my family's first holiday without my Dad at home. I have epididymitis, diagnosed last night by a guy who, were it not for introducing himself as a doctor and wearing a white jacket, would have been touching me inappropriately. I am working from home - unquote - today, and I am quite happy to not have to go into the office. I have a ton to write about, but little time to do it. My friend Ryan Hamilton is a finalist in the Sierra Mist "Next Great Comic" contest, and after listening to the other dudes, he's got a really great chance at winning. Please check out that site and vote for Ryan. I entered that contest, and didn't make it to the finals. I am really freaking happy that Ryan did. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, myself included.
I have a hard time asking for things, but I'm getting better at it. I used to suffer through somebody else's moving day, then when it came time for me to get out of the halfway house, I would just make 200 trips in the Buick Skyhawk and hope somebody would want to grab a beer later. I realized this at work recently. I asked 30 managers to each send me a list of who they manage. They sent me Adobe PDFs of charts with 1500 names on them, and said "I'm in this organization." Lazy shits. That added to the confusion. I ask for very little at work, and that's what I get. Since then I realized that I'm not doing anything extra for anybody I work with. Not a new spreadsheet, not a test-run of an application, zilch.
I'm ready to get on with my life. My dad's condition's progression over the past 18 months has got me feeling a little anxious, realizing that life is short, especially if you're going to keep living after what you knew as Life is gone. Thankfully, and oddly so, my dad's condition brings on apathy as if it were the norm, he cares very little about anything, shows few emotions. He likes the Inn he's been moved to. He likes it so much that he doesn't really relax when we're with him outside of it, and usually gets anxious and wants to go back. We cannot reason with him or calm him down much. This is what Is, now. It's a new Normal. It sucks. Being defiant of it will not help any of us move on. There is anger and hate and compassion. And a lot of Love and prayers. And at the end of the day we just hope that Dad's happy and healthy, and that our feelings of guilt and anger subside.
You should leave work early today. Make it a Good Friday.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
This morning I'm rafting on mixed emotions. It's my family's first holiday without my Dad at home. I have epididymitis, diagnosed last night by a guy who, were it not for introducing himself as a doctor and wearing a white jacket, would have been touching me inappropriately. I am working from home - unquote - today, and I am quite happy to not have to go into the office. I have a ton to write about, but little time to do it. My friend Ryan Hamilton is a finalist in the Sierra Mist "Next Great Comic" contest, and after listening to the other dudes, he's got a really great chance at winning. Please check out that site and vote for Ryan. I entered that contest, and didn't make it to the finals. I am really freaking happy that Ryan did. Couldn't have happened to a nicer guy, myself included.
I have a hard time asking for things, but I'm getting better at it. I used to suffer through somebody else's moving day, then when it came time for me to get out of the halfway house, I would just make 200 trips in the Buick Skyhawk and hope somebody would want to grab a beer later. I realized this at work recently. I asked 30 managers to each send me a list of who they manage. They sent me Adobe PDFs of charts with 1500 names on them, and said "I'm in this organization." Lazy shits. That added to the confusion. I ask for very little at work, and that's what I get. Since then I realized that I'm not doing anything extra for anybody I work with. Not a new spreadsheet, not a test-run of an application, zilch.
I'm ready to get on with my life. My dad's condition's progression over the past 18 months has got me feeling a little anxious, realizing that life is short, especially if you're going to keep living after what you knew as Life is gone. Thankfully, and oddly so, my dad's condition brings on apathy as if it were the norm, he cares very little about anything, shows few emotions. He likes the Inn he's been moved to. He likes it so much that he doesn't really relax when we're with him outside of it, and usually gets anxious and wants to go back. We cannot reason with him or calm him down much. This is what Is, now. It's a new Normal. It sucks. Being defiant of it will not help any of us move on. There is anger and hate and compassion. And a lot of Love and prayers. And at the end of the day we just hope that Dad's happy and healthy, and that our feelings of guilt and anger subside.
You should leave work early today. Make it a Good Friday.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
It's A Question That Had To Be Asked
Listening to LoveLine right now, and the comedic genius who is Adam "Ace Rockola" Carolla is fielding a question from a caller with either a drug problem or... who am I kidding... AND a head injury. For sure, the kid's got a bunk smoke detector that's chirping at 1-minute intervals, Adam timed it a second ago. How punk is Adam? The guy don't even gots a website, BE-AH-YATCH!
The kid on the phone said he was getting some sort of allergic reaction after getting oral sex from his girlfriend.
The guest says "Dude, you're allergic to fellatio?"
Adam asks the question I wish that had to be asked, from a comedic standpoint but would never fly on stage:
"How long before America's got a black kid named Fellatio? Or whaddya think, think there's already one family out there named a kid Fellatio?"
I had to share that with you, it simply could NOT go by the wayside.
Reacharound Jackson
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The kid on the phone said he was getting some sort of allergic reaction after getting oral sex from his girlfriend.
The guest says "Dude, you're allergic to fellatio?"
Adam asks the question I wish that had to be asked, from a comedic standpoint but would never fly on stage:
"How long before America's got a black kid named Fellatio? Or whaddya think, think there's already one family out there named a kid Fellatio?"
I had to share that with you, it simply could NOT go by the wayside.
Reacharound Jackson
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Testing, Testing, Is This Thing On?
By now we all are aware of the Terry Schiavo case in Florida. I expect it to be a punchline in many comics acts very soon as they attempt to appear edgy and "Stanhope-like." But here's how I figure we can end the debate.
Terry Schiavo's brain activity is near zero. Her EEGs are at zero, showing no thoughts or firing of neurons towards cognition of surroundings and Life as defined by medical experts. Her spirit, her aenima has left. Her body is being biologically wheelbarrowed each day by people who are split between dying with dignity, and hoping for a miracle. The Congressman on Capital Hill who is heralding the re-insertion of her feeding tube is also the biggest supporter of the Death Penalty, so that doesn't seem to work out for me. Both subjects, in that case, are being removed from life support by judges.
Anyway, if you wanna see if Terry's still alive, play her an audio cassette tape recording of the works of the inexplicably popular "Larry The Cable Guy."
If she does not react, there's your answer: She's Fine.
================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Terry Schiavo's brain activity is near zero. Her EEGs are at zero, showing no thoughts or firing of neurons towards cognition of surroundings and Life as defined by medical experts. Her spirit, her aenima has left. Her body is being biologically wheelbarrowed each day by people who are split between dying with dignity, and hoping for a miracle. The Congressman on Capital Hill who is heralding the re-insertion of her feeding tube is also the biggest supporter of the Death Penalty, so that doesn't seem to work out for me. Both subjects, in that case, are being removed from life support by judges.
Anyway, if you wanna see if Terry's still alive, play her an audio cassette tape recording of the works of the inexplicably popular "Larry The Cable Guy."
If she does not react, there's your answer: She's Fine.
================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, March 21, 2005
Comedy, Harmony, Tony Moser's Bottom Lip, And My A.D.D.
I would like to give a giant "THANK YOU!" to everyone who came over to Laughs Comedy Live Show And BYOB Lounge this past weekend! You helped sell out both shows, yet had some trouble with the bar staff. I hope you got your money's worth out of the show.
My hair looked really awesome, thanks to Jeni at Salon Rivera in Bellevue. Go check that place out on 3rd and 105th, just to see how tiny a dog can actually be.
Blue (from Canada) was great. He didn't pander Canadian, had a great, loose set that had the crowd going from the start, and really helped kick the night off.
Fahim was Fahim-enal on Friday night, again bringing new and funny stuff to the table. He could really go somewhere with his talents, as long as he doesn't let his mechanical engineering degree trip him up. From his last few blogs, I think he's trying to tank his education so he can go on the road in the next 18 months. Good play, Fahim. Check and mate.
Travis Simmons, hey bud, thanks for doing 15 minutes. Also, thanks for stretching it out over 25 minutes and pushing the end of the show out to nearly 10:45. Again, you took a comedy show and did what you could to make it about you. The best thing I heard from you all night was the sound of your car starting. Be cool to the other comics by not eating that much time with nothing to really solidify your set. Ridiculous.
Didi McCarty had a great set on Saturday night. Everyone was talking about it after the show, wondering who "that first girl" was. She was actually the only girl, unless you count Charles Darby and me. Nice work Didi! I hope you got some ayse this weekend, like you were hopin' for.
Dan Moore eased into a great little set. He's gotten better since he slowed down. At one point he was going backwards. I was surprised, and happily so, to see Dan in attendance and center-stage. Thanks Dan!
Charles Darby did an admirable job with a crowd that couldn't tell if they were ready to laugh or not. I think the bar service threw people off on Saturday night. 3 people making drinks and nobody taking orders or running them, that's what caused the line at the bar. Charles, I hope it all went well at Misty's for ya. Did you see Didi over there?
Yes. I'm kind of a dick.
========
Yesterday I was floating in some sort of abyss, emotionally. I didn't have much to give by way of creativity, likeability, focus, or energy. I would just as soon fold laundry and stare at a wall as lay in bed and stare at Pink Floyd's "The Wall" mirror I have hanging eternal on my ceiling. Anything sounded like it would have been fun to do, but nothing was so fun as to jolt me out of my blueness. I had a caffeine rush that kind of got me moving, but after 80 minutes I crashed back to my reality that is Kenmore:
Tomorrow, I have to go to work.
So here I am again. Last night I dreaded this place. And this morning it's been worse than I imagined. This company is paying some people upwards of $85,000 a year to manage 2 people. And those 2 people are self-contained, technical survival units. So basically the Manager is getting a ganglion cash-cyst for hounding holy hell out of me for numbers they don't really fathom. I'm overpaid for a baby-sitter, but underpaid for making a lot of these turds come up smelling rosey.
I read an article last night about the number of thoughts and brain activity quotients people work within during the day. An average person, such as me, has 3,000 to 4,000 thoughts each day. That ranges from associating a shoe with its color to how much money you have left in that jar under the floorboard next to the ammo and canned soups. The most successful people in the world, such as the top-level athletes, investment bankers, stock-swindling muffin mavens, and Travis Simmons, have a different number of thoughts each day. In fact, they have about 1/3rd the number of thoughts. Why is that?
Confidence? Intuition? Fearlessness? It's a "Thought-Act" process, I believe. It's being "in the zone." Playing loose. Michael Jordan's tongue would wag when he was in it. Relaxed performance, the mind has slowed to process what's important NOW, and not what needs to be done on THURSDAY (Ikea trip) nor what went wrong this weekend (rusty build-up on a few jokes). Letting it go and getting NOW handled.
I focus more when I'm writing. Creating. Producing something from my brain's recesses. I feel more balanced with that happening. Blogging, some days, is my only respite from the MBA-tards I work with/for. I've come out of the abyss, and know what I have to do for now. And that is, sigh... work.
================
Dave Attell tickets go on sale at NOON today.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
My hair looked really awesome, thanks to Jeni at Salon Rivera in Bellevue. Go check that place out on 3rd and 105th, just to see how tiny a dog can actually be.
Blue (from Canada) was great. He didn't pander Canadian, had a great, loose set that had the crowd going from the start, and really helped kick the night off.
Fahim was Fahim-enal on Friday night, again bringing new and funny stuff to the table. He could really go somewhere with his talents, as long as he doesn't let his mechanical engineering degree trip him up. From his last few blogs, I think he's trying to tank his education so he can go on the road in the next 18 months. Good play, Fahim. Check and mate.
Travis Simmons, hey bud, thanks for doing 15 minutes. Also, thanks for stretching it out over 25 minutes and pushing the end of the show out to nearly 10:45. Again, you took a comedy show and did what you could to make it about you. The best thing I heard from you all night was the sound of your car starting. Be cool to the other comics by not eating that much time with nothing to really solidify your set. Ridiculous.
Didi McCarty had a great set on Saturday night. Everyone was talking about it after the show, wondering who "that first girl" was. She was actually the only girl, unless you count Charles Darby and me. Nice work Didi! I hope you got some ayse this weekend, like you were hopin' for.
Dan Moore eased into a great little set. He's gotten better since he slowed down. At one point he was going backwards. I was surprised, and happily so, to see Dan in attendance and center-stage. Thanks Dan!
Charles Darby did an admirable job with a crowd that couldn't tell if they were ready to laugh or not. I think the bar service threw people off on Saturday night. 3 people making drinks and nobody taking orders or running them, that's what caused the line at the bar. Charles, I hope it all went well at Misty's for ya. Did you see Didi over there?
Yes. I'm kind of a dick.
========
Yesterday I was floating in some sort of abyss, emotionally. I didn't have much to give by way of creativity, likeability, focus, or energy. I would just as soon fold laundry and stare at a wall as lay in bed and stare at Pink Floyd's "The Wall" mirror I have hanging eternal on my ceiling. Anything sounded like it would have been fun to do, but nothing was so fun as to jolt me out of my blueness. I had a caffeine rush that kind of got me moving, but after 80 minutes I crashed back to my reality that is Kenmore:
Tomorrow, I have to go to work.
So here I am again. Last night I dreaded this place. And this morning it's been worse than I imagined. This company is paying some people upwards of $85,000 a year to manage 2 people. And those 2 people are self-contained, technical survival units. So basically the Manager is getting a ganglion cash-cyst for hounding holy hell out of me for numbers they don't really fathom. I'm overpaid for a baby-sitter, but underpaid for making a lot of these turds come up smelling rosey.
I read an article last night about the number of thoughts and brain activity quotients people work within during the day. An average person, such as me, has 3,000 to 4,000 thoughts each day. That ranges from associating a shoe with its color to how much money you have left in that jar under the floorboard next to the ammo and canned soups. The most successful people in the world, such as the top-level athletes, investment bankers, stock-swindling muffin mavens, and Travis Simmons, have a different number of thoughts each day. In fact, they have about 1/3rd the number of thoughts. Why is that?
Confidence? Intuition? Fearlessness? It's a "Thought-Act" process, I believe. It's being "in the zone." Playing loose. Michael Jordan's tongue would wag when he was in it. Relaxed performance, the mind has slowed to process what's important NOW, and not what needs to be done on THURSDAY (Ikea trip) nor what went wrong this weekend (rusty build-up on a few jokes). Letting it go and getting NOW handled.
I focus more when I'm writing. Creating. Producing something from my brain's recesses. I feel more balanced with that happening. Blogging, some days, is my only respite from the MBA-tards I work with/for. I've come out of the abyss, and know what I have to do for now. And that is, sigh... work.
================
Dave Attell tickets go on sale at NOON today.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, March 18, 2005
Respite
I have to blog right now because I have no other escape hatch in my day.
So far this morning everyone at work seems to have either the "Short Friday Hurries," cramming as much in before noon so that they can leave early and flop ass-wise into their favorite Starbucks chair, or they're doing what they normally do (nothing, other than annoy me) and therefore they don't actually have to be here, but they would have felt guilty staying at home. I've seen 4 people wearing velour sweatsuits today, and only one of them is female, and that's NoMakeup Sandie who is half-human/half-turtle.
Do not invest in the Orange Jack Phone Company. It is management-heavy, light on leadership, and filled brim-side with too many people who believe it matters. I can't say I'm one of them.
The reporting system I use apparently got corked last night, as it went face-down for an hour, for no reason. Yesterday afternoon I was using Excel, tried to save a monster of a worksheet that was three weeks in the making, and suddenly I get a
So far this morning everyone at work seems to have either the "Short Friday Hurries," cramming as much in before noon so that they can leave early and flop ass-wise into their favorite Starbucks chair, or they're doing what they normally do (nothing, other than annoy me) and therefore they don't actually have to be here, but they would have felt guilty staying at home. I've seen 4 people wearing velour sweatsuits today, and only one of them is female, and that's NoMakeup Sandie who is half-human/half-turtle.
Do not invest in the Orange Jack Phone Company. It is management-heavy, light on leadership, and filled brim-side with too many people who believe it matters. I can't say I'm one of them.
The reporting system I use apparently got corked last night, as it went face-down for an hour, for no reason. Yesterday afternoon I was using Excel, tried to save a monster of a worksheet that was three weeks in the making, and suddenly I get a
"Windows is attempting to install Microsoft Office Professional.
Please wait while the installation puts the brakes on your life."
So, I was using a program within the Office suite, yet it wasn't actually in-use, because it wasn't even installed on the laptop that work shoved off onto me? Every day, The Matrix and 1984 meet for drinks in my kitchen, laughing at the simplicity of Office Space. I am officially burned out on this job as of Wednesday night. I literally stared at a computer screen for 38 minutes straight, blinking but not seeing anything of import or value after that split second of eye-wetting Valhalla.
So anyway, my job sucks, and if anyone wants it, they can have it. Doing the work is not difficult. Finding enough motivation to do it for people who don't remember screaming a request into the phone for it once they get what they want, now THAT will take a special person to fill this chair. I'm looking for a new job, perferably making Dave Attell money for comedy and writing, like $20Gs a pop.
I'm headlining Laughs all weekend. The other night I riffed around at Pegasus with moderate success for 55 minutes, only going through a few real bits. I'm excited to see what happens tonight when I can really drill down into the material and find a new vein of comedy gold. Hope you can make it to a show! 9pm Friday and Saturday.
Pink velour sweatsuit, likely not a new one, probably one that was hanging around since they were last popular. I think she's roller-disco'ing, too.
Live the nightmare.
this blog has been as entertaining as my day at work.
======
Thursday, March 17, 2005
And Another Another Thing
If anyone thought I was the only person who thinks The Stranger is an incestuously "self-made hipster" rag of Biblically Gay-But-Not-In-A-Homo-Way proportions, check out this week's "I, Anonymous" entry.
Compare it to my previous blog regarding that fibrous melange of lines and pictures.
And then wipe your pipe with the local music reviews. And the "Drunk Of The Week" horsecrap of a feature is probably just a bunch of their exes they want to out for being tanked too often. Real drunks don't get their pictures taken while awake. Get with the program.
I stand by my previous quote that "Celebrity I Saw U" is the only thing in that diaper-liner worth reading.
Happy St. Patrick's Day.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Compare it to my previous blog regarding that fibrous melange of lines and pictures.
And then wipe your pipe with the local music reviews. And the "Drunk Of The Week" horsecrap of a feature is probably just a bunch of their exes they want to out for being tanked too often. Real drunks don't get their pictures taken while awake. Get with the program.
I stand by my previous quote that "Celebrity I Saw U" is the only thing in that diaper-liner worth reading.
Happy St. Patrick's Day.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
How To Tell When Somebody Is Lying
You know that feeling you get in your gut that says "there's no way this prostitute isn't a cop."? Yeah, check in with that.
If someone tells you a trait about themselves, an intrinsic trait, not something visible like pretty eyes or a well-tucked fruit-cocktail, then that person's probably lying to you.
You can usually tell something about somebody because you have a sense of decency and smell to let you in on it. It's a gut reaction to the way someone walks, looks around a room, and picks up the tab every time.
So remember, if somebody has the need to tell you a trait about themselves, like "I'm funny," or "I'm a great guy," or "I don't need attention," the exact opposite is true, and they will be on stage in a few minutes.
Behold the finest knifeholder created. At www.viceversa.com
I Care,
Lott
============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
If someone tells you a trait about themselves, an intrinsic trait, not something visible like pretty eyes or a well-tucked fruit-cocktail, then that person's probably lying to you.
You can usually tell something about somebody because you have a sense of decency and smell to let you in on it. It's a gut reaction to the way someone walks, looks around a room, and picks up the tab every time.
So remember, if somebody has the need to tell you a trait about themselves, like "I'm funny," or "I'm a great guy," or "I don't need attention," the exact opposite is true, and they will be on stage in a few minutes.
Behold the finest knifeholder created. At www.viceversa.com
I Care,
Lott
============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Putting The "Con" in Conference Call
I "rushed" into work this morning because, like a lot of days, I had a conference call. The factors of timeliness and building-presence don't affect me emotionally. If I could do my job from home, I wouldn't; I don't want any of these people to know where I live, not to mention that I'd be waist-up naked and likely wine-drunk most of the work day. My focus wanes from moment to moment after the badge scan, even more-so when I know I don't have to be back here for 16 hours.
My "team" is based in California. Perfect. My original boss in this organization is about 12 feet away. The manager I had following her is about a quarter-mile down the road in another building. My current manager is in Calafournee. My next manager will be a naked mole-rat/human hybrid who lives near the center of Sugarloaf Mountain in South America. It helps save $$$ in facilities when the middle-managers are middle-crust dwellers with daylight problems. No cubes, no offices, no badges.
Thanks to technology, I am brought together (interlocking fingers, head tilt, slight smile) with my teammates in California. This conference call is the work-a-day equivalent of a car-wash hangar: Follow the instructions and you can do it yourself! No, now, don't try and throw a curveball, just get it done with and look back at it later to see how many spots you missed. Oh crap, and you've scratched living hell outch-yer protective coat. Wow... was this necessary?
It's the ever-necessary Preview Of The Year's Goals Call. It is vital to have a call of this nature so that we can each look back and say "It was horsesh*t at the beginning, too." As we cover these goals and platitudes to be worked towards, it was made clear to me that the "Scoring" system that a lot of teams are on is based on the work I produce.
And all this time I thought I was powerless.
The work I produce measures workload, efficiency, and trends of each. I pull, format, and produce these reports, or "metrics" if you wanna be corporate about it, for Four teams. I fell into this job as a back-up to the previous guy. The database he built was a house of cards, and one day someone walked by too quickly and it came a-tumbling down. Too bad, because it automated the work I have to do now, with keyboards and mouse-clicks, teeth grinding so hard they barely let any Jameson pass. The work is entered from a raw format into a... hey, wake-up... into a spreadsheet that I have created with formu... hey... are you snoring? Forget this part.
So now here I am. Rock you like a hurricane. My work will affect the scores (imagine grades, but with a mortgage payment attached) attained by many a co-worker. The technician's scores will roll up to the scores hanged by the names of their managers. These are the same managers who, when asked for a list of people they manage, sent me a 3MB org. chart so that my mailbox would be clogged for a week while I found that they manage 2 of 743 people in their regional office. And I get to decide how it all goes!
I have to go now. I am going to send a note to managers to alert them that the scores their salaries and therefore their self-worth are fed from the system that they never use, by people they have minimal communication with, by a guy who is unaffected by how well... or how pathetic... it appears their team is doing. And these folks haven't clued in yet that I can, if necessary, and with fully ethical practices, make it appear that of their 5 direct reports, only 2 of them even work for the company, and that 3 paychecks are all going to an offshore account in the Sugarloaf Savings & Loan Bank for a Mrs. Chandira Rolemat. I found the Golden Ticket, Gobstoppers. Willy Wonka's power is no match for somebody willing to float a Baby Ruth down the chocolate river.
Gotta roll, phone's ringing. Oh look, it's a manager! Unless the first two words uttered are "FREE LUNCH," I see someone with a long Q2 ahead of them.
===========
I will be headlining the Wednesday Show at Pegasus Pizza in Kirkland, 9:30pm, as well as the entire weekend at Laughs in Bellevue. Shows Friday and Saturday night, 9pm, and one Brunch Showcase Sunday morning, 10-10:30am. Enjoy a blintz!
===========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
My "team" is based in California. Perfect. My original boss in this organization is about 12 feet away. The manager I had following her is about a quarter-mile down the road in another building. My current manager is in Calafournee. My next manager will be a naked mole-rat/human hybrid who lives near the center of Sugarloaf Mountain in South America. It helps save $$$ in facilities when the middle-managers are middle-crust dwellers with daylight problems. No cubes, no offices, no badges.
Thanks to technology, I am brought together (interlocking fingers, head tilt, slight smile) with my teammates in California. This conference call is the work-a-day equivalent of a car-wash hangar: Follow the instructions and you can do it yourself! No, now, don't try and throw a curveball, just get it done with and look back at it later to see how many spots you missed. Oh crap, and you've scratched living hell outch-yer protective coat. Wow... was this necessary?
It's the ever-necessary Preview Of The Year's Goals Call. It is vital to have a call of this nature so that we can each look back and say "It was horsesh*t at the beginning, too." As we cover these goals and platitudes to be worked towards, it was made clear to me that the "Scoring" system that a lot of teams are on is based on the work I produce.
And all this time I thought I was powerless.
The work I produce measures workload, efficiency, and trends of each. I pull, format, and produce these reports, or "metrics" if you wanna be corporate about it, for Four teams. I fell into this job as a back-up to the previous guy. The database he built was a house of cards, and one day someone walked by too quickly and it came a-tumbling down. Too bad, because it automated the work I have to do now, with keyboards and mouse-clicks, teeth grinding so hard they barely let any Jameson pass. The work is entered from a raw format into a... hey, wake-up... into a spreadsheet that I have created with formu... hey... are you snoring? Forget this part.
So now here I am. Rock you like a hurricane. My work will affect the scores (imagine grades, but with a mortgage payment attached) attained by many a co-worker. The technician's scores will roll up to the scores hanged by the names of their managers. These are the same managers who, when asked for a list of people they manage, sent me a 3MB org. chart so that my mailbox would be clogged for a week while I found that they manage 2 of 743 people in their regional office. And I get to decide how it all goes!
I have to go now. I am going to send a note to managers to alert them that the scores their salaries and therefore their self-worth are fed from the system that they never use, by people they have minimal communication with, by a guy who is unaffected by how well... or how pathetic... it appears their team is doing. And these folks haven't clued in yet that I can, if necessary, and with fully ethical practices, make it appear that of their 5 direct reports, only 2 of them even work for the company, and that 3 paychecks are all going to an offshore account in the Sugarloaf Savings & Loan Bank for a Mrs. Chandira Rolemat. I found the Golden Ticket, Gobstoppers. Willy Wonka's power is no match for somebody willing to float a Baby Ruth down the chocolate river.
Gotta roll, phone's ringing. Oh look, it's a manager! Unless the first two words uttered are "FREE LUNCH," I see someone with a long Q2 ahead of them.
===========
I will be headlining the Wednesday Show at Pegasus Pizza in Kirkland, 9:30pm, as well as the entire weekend at Laughs in Bellevue. Shows Friday and Saturday night, 9pm, and one Brunch Showcase Sunday morning, 10-10:30am. Enjoy a blintz!
===========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, March 14, 2005
Somebody's Trying To Tell Me Something
Monday again?
Last week I printed out an article from The Onion written by a fictitious author, Jim Anchower. Jim's a late-era hesher, living in a world of broken cars, bad weed, broke friends, and low-paying jobs. I don't know if he's ever been a comic, sorry.
So anyway, I forgot the printed version on the tray and somebody left it on my desk some time between Friday afternoon and this morning. I had the article in an e-mail window, which, when printed, had my mail profile name on the top. I'm stupid sometimes.
The funniest part was that somebody had stapled a note as a cover sheet that said:
Hello,
This was left on the printer, and is not the first document like this. Fortunately, it was found and given back to you by somebody concerned for youre well being. If you are having troubles with work or general life circumstances, this company offers these resources to assist.
So here's what I think is so funny:
1- the cover-sheet person thinks I wrote the article, and/or
2- the cover-sheet person thinks my life is the subject of the article, and/or
3- the cover-sheet person thinks I am having a problem with somebody named Wes, not having any beer, scoring bunk doobage, my car breaking down, and getting evicted from an apartment, if they read the entire article, and/or
4- they also think I call myself a "lone-wolf," which I do on occasion, and/or
5- they have zero sense of humor to have never heard or the ability to appreciate The Onion.
I'm too busy making other people think I give a flip about this job, but the person did write my old manager's name on the paper. My old manager would get a huge kick out of the incident, so I really hope they called my old boss, who has not contacted me. But I do have handwriting to match to, so now I have to peruse the fridge to see who wrote on their lunches, because friggin-A, when you're on a suicide watch at work, you need the sustenance that only a meal in a cheese-sauce can provide.
My job sucks and is beneath me. It's time I look elsewhere.
===
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Last week I printed out an article from The Onion written by a fictitious author, Jim Anchower. Jim's a late-era hesher, living in a world of broken cars, bad weed, broke friends, and low-paying jobs. I don't know if he's ever been a comic, sorry.
So anyway, I forgot the printed version on the tray and somebody left it on my desk some time between Friday afternoon and this morning. I had the article in an e-mail window, which, when printed, had my mail profile name on the top. I'm stupid sometimes.
The funniest part was that somebody had stapled a note as a cover sheet that said:
Hello,
This was left on the printer, and is not the first document like this. Fortunately, it was found and given back to you by somebody concerned for youre well being. If you are having troubles with work or general life circumstances, this company offers these resources to assist.
So here's what I think is so funny:
1- the cover-sheet person thinks I wrote the article, and/or
2- the cover-sheet person thinks my life is the subject of the article, and/or
3- the cover-sheet person thinks I am having a problem with somebody named Wes, not having any beer, scoring bunk doobage, my car breaking down, and getting evicted from an apartment, if they read the entire article, and/or
4- they also think I call myself a "lone-wolf," which I do on occasion, and/or
5- they have zero sense of humor to have never heard or the ability to appreciate The Onion.
I'm too busy making other people think I give a flip about this job, but the person did write my old manager's name on the paper. My old manager would get a huge kick out of the incident, so I really hope they called my old boss, who has not contacted me. But I do have handwriting to match to, so now I have to peruse the fridge to see who wrote on their lunches, because friggin-A, when you're on a suicide watch at work, you need the sustenance that only a meal in a cheese-sauce can provide.
My job sucks and is beneath me. It's time I look elsewhere.
===
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, March 11, 2005
Whoopadoop Ramanaploop
My current managerial umbrella is open, indoors. You know what that means!
Six more weeks of answering dumb questions.
It is because of their lack of vision that I almost quit about 10 minutes ago. Truly, I envisioned myself standing up, running a program to wipe-clean my computer and network shares, and going to the desks of each person I cannot stand and telling them exactly what I thought of them, their clothes, their laughs, their hair, and why the are a-pipes for bringing a 2-liter of Dr. Pepper and SunChips to a potluck.
It gave me a fantastic erection.
But I can't walk just yet. I am reminded of the funniest Red Meat cartoon for my situation:
Titled, The Buckling Beams Of Your Hopes And Dreams, it takes on great significance today. I cannot imagine working for anybody for 40-ish hours a week to make THEM look good. I'm ready to make a move, emotionally, but financially I'm shackled to the oar of the SS WindBreaker for a while. Row, Row, Row... your... bo(siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh)
Oh yeah, and here's another Red Meat 'toon that sounds like a great idea:
Geoff Lott's Exit Strategy
Instead of having one manager, I am reporting directly to one in California, indirectly to four in Washington, and round-aboutly to 15 across the nation. A secret of management is that the more you know about corporate buzz-words and PowerPoint, the less actual work you have to do. You end up with a little office and a door and a little jaunty walk like I get after a good dump. Because that's what Managers do: Crap.
Managers have a way to escape from my prying questions; that's why I envy the door. It's little more than having your own cell in prison. But the door, it's a good status symbol if you're into meaningless status symbols. That, and it blocks annoying laughter, microwaved BBQ-cod, and I could finally fart in peace. But then again, I don't fart at work for relief, I fart at work for revenge. Thank you broccoli and Lo-Carb Monster. But I would not rip in an elevator, because that should be a capital offense.
I dump you not, there's a misManager at the Executive Admin's desk next to mine requesting to be moved to an office with a window. There's the bigger toilet in the cell I mentioned earlier.
I know they are "busy" with meetings. These are meetings set up by other Managers. The organizer of the meeting probably just read some new book on a Management technique that includes using phrases analogous to getting work stalled, held-up, debated, and then denied. "Synergy" is another word for kissing ass and nodding along. "Mission-critical" means the manager actually had an original thought, and gawrsh-durn'it, that new vending machine is going to be installed, even if it is not needed, budgeted, or filled with broccoli and Lo-Carb Monster.
I'm not meant to be here. I don't mean "here" is in this planet, I mean this place of employment. I extract 5000-item spreadsheets out of an archaic system to them manipulate, format, sort, and pivot the data in them so I can tell managers "Hey, this one guy you manage is working less than Larry King's last wife. Drop the conference call, open your door, and get in the game."
In case you're wondering, YES, I will be filming my last day. And NO, this time there will NOT be news coverage. I learned my lesson: Sell Advertising, as it helps pay for bail.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Six more weeks of answering dumb questions.
It is because of their lack of vision that I almost quit about 10 minutes ago. Truly, I envisioned myself standing up, running a program to wipe-clean my computer and network shares, and going to the desks of each person I cannot stand and telling them exactly what I thought of them, their clothes, their laughs, their hair, and why the are a-pipes for bringing a 2-liter of Dr. Pepper and SunChips to a potluck.
It gave me a fantastic erection.
But I can't walk just yet. I am reminded of the funniest Red Meat cartoon for my situation:
Titled, The Buckling Beams Of Your Hopes And Dreams, it takes on great significance today. I cannot imagine working for anybody for 40-ish hours a week to make THEM look good. I'm ready to make a move, emotionally, but financially I'm shackled to the oar of the SS WindBreaker for a while. Row, Row, Row... your... bo(siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh)
Oh yeah, and here's another Red Meat 'toon that sounds like a great idea:
Geoff Lott's Exit Strategy
Instead of having one manager, I am reporting directly to one in California, indirectly to four in Washington, and round-aboutly to 15 across the nation. A secret of management is that the more you know about corporate buzz-words and PowerPoint, the less actual work you have to do. You end up with a little office and a door and a little jaunty walk like I get after a good dump. Because that's what Managers do: Crap.
Managers have a way to escape from my prying questions; that's why I envy the door. It's little more than having your own cell in prison. But the door, it's a good status symbol if you're into meaningless status symbols. That, and it blocks annoying laughter, microwaved BBQ-cod, and I could finally fart in peace. But then again, I don't fart at work for relief, I fart at work for revenge. Thank you broccoli and Lo-Carb Monster. But I would not rip in an elevator, because that should be a capital offense.
I dump you not, there's a misManager at the Executive Admin's desk next to mine requesting to be moved to an office with a window. There's the bigger toilet in the cell I mentioned earlier.
I know they are "busy" with meetings. These are meetings set up by other Managers. The organizer of the meeting probably just read some new book on a Management technique that includes using phrases analogous to getting work stalled, held-up, debated, and then denied. "Synergy" is another word for kissing ass and nodding along. "Mission-critical" means the manager actually had an original thought, and gawrsh-durn'it, that new vending machine is going to be installed, even if it is not needed, budgeted, or filled with broccoli and Lo-Carb Monster.
I'm not meant to be here. I don't mean "here" is in this planet, I mean this place of employment. I extract 5000-item spreadsheets out of an archaic system to them manipulate, format, sort, and pivot the data in them so I can tell managers "Hey, this one guy you manage is working less than Larry King's last wife. Drop the conference call, open your door, and get in the game."
In case you're wondering, YES, I will be filming my last day. And NO, this time there will NOT be news coverage. I learned my lesson: Sell Advertising, as it helps pay for bail.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, March 10, 2005
Masturblogtion
I'm happy that more people are using blogs these days. It saves paper. And paper, as we've been told for nearly a decade now, is what trees are made out of. Therefore, not using paper means that trees are not being cut down for diaries that go tucked away, cradling ideas and dreams, funny drawings and fantasies, Polaroids that shouldn't see the light of an FBI Mag-Lite when the Feds come-a knockin' because, brother, that "woman" you met in the chat room wasn't a "woman"... she was a panda.
And now, you're a Panda-pounder, and they have enough trouble getting them to mate with each other, because you're swooping in with your DSL and your Queer Eye sensibilities and delivering not bamboo but Annie's Organic Burritos, the staple of the panda with cash. Look where that got you. Reading my blog, wondering to yourself "This guy either has been reading between the lines, or 30 minutes ago his glycogen levels dipped and he could use a gram of carbohydrates or 20."
"Supposably" is not a word. It was noted as such on an episode of "Friends" back in 1996 or so, when the one in the closet told the mook that the mook's use of "Supposably" was wrong, since it's not a word. It's Suppos-edly or Oppos-able, meaning "Pretended, alleged, or expected" or "to be in opposition to," respectively. I guess Supposably could mean "Expected to Opposed," but we already have a word for that. It's called "Me At Work With Good Ideas."
In the event you hear on the news tonight of an Indian-burn assault in Bothell, perpetrated on a woman in the early afternoon, you can be damn sure that CackleSnatch Sandie has uttered the phrase "Get 'er (sorry, I almost threw up, can't finish it)" and I have reacted appropriately.
If you've never used the =VLOOKUP function in Excel, you don't know what you're missing. Basically, anytime you have a list of data that you want to associate with another type of data, say "State - TimeZone," then you can use the VLOOKUP to quickly make the association for you. The best part is that you get to make the reference sheet by hand, especially if you use Remedy Helpdesk, work for a cheap-ass company, and are really rather drunk at your desk riiiiiiiight... NOW.
I'm headlining at Laughs in Bellevue next weekend. Their website is chips-up right now, but the details are as follows:
Show is at The Ramada Inn on 8th Ave NE and 112th in Bellevue, on the corner. Walk into the lobby, and the club entrance is to the right of the stairs. If you see old people eating Country Fried Steak, you've gone too far.
Friday and Saturday, 9pm, $10 at the door, $5 if you're on my guest list, which means you gotta e-mail me HERE and I'll add you to it.
===================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
And now, you're a Panda-pounder, and they have enough trouble getting them to mate with each other, because you're swooping in with your DSL and your Queer Eye sensibilities and delivering not bamboo but Annie's Organic Burritos, the staple of the panda with cash. Look where that got you. Reading my blog, wondering to yourself "This guy either has been reading between the lines, or 30 minutes ago his glycogen levels dipped and he could use a gram of carbohydrates or 20."
"Supposably" is not a word. It was noted as such on an episode of "Friends" back in 1996 or so, when the one in the closet told the mook that the mook's use of "Supposably" was wrong, since it's not a word. It's Suppos-edly or Oppos-able, meaning "Pretended, alleged, or expected" or "to be in opposition to," respectively. I guess Supposably could mean "Expected to Opposed," but we already have a word for that. It's called "Me At Work With Good Ideas."
In the event you hear on the news tonight of an Indian-burn assault in Bothell, perpetrated on a woman in the early afternoon, you can be damn sure that CackleSnatch Sandie has uttered the phrase "Get 'er (sorry, I almost threw up, can't finish it)" and I have reacted appropriately.
If you've never used the =VLOOKUP function in Excel, you don't know what you're missing. Basically, anytime you have a list of data that you want to associate with another type of data, say "State - TimeZone," then you can use the VLOOKUP to quickly make the association for you. The best part is that you get to make the reference sheet by hand, especially if you use Remedy Helpdesk, work for a cheap-ass company, and are really rather drunk at your desk riiiiiiiight... NOW.
I'm headlining at Laughs in Bellevue next weekend. Their website is chips-up right now, but the details are as follows:
Show is at The Ramada Inn on 8th Ave NE and 112th in Bellevue, on the corner. Walk into the lobby, and the club entrance is to the right of the stairs. If you see old people eating Country Fried Steak, you've gone too far.
Friday and Saturday, 9pm, $10 at the door, $5 if you're on my guest list, which means you gotta e-mail me HERE and I'll add you to it.
===================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
I'll Give You $5
Today is the 2nd day in a row that I got up and worked out in the morning. I feel really up and at-it this morning. I've also refocused my eating towards some higher-protein, lower-fat, plenty of veggies...
Chimp attack... two headed baby... GAAAAA
This is bullshit. Here's the deal.
NoMakeup Sandie is over 100 feet from my desk right now, hanging half-way into an office. This "Unofficial Office GleeClub Member" is laughing so loud that a guy BEHIND ME just shut his door, and he's at least 117 feet from the offense. A Sandie-dampening door is the only reason I envy management here.
My dilemma is that I know people love to laugh, it feels good. They say laughter is the best medicine. She's over-medicated, she's an addict. We need to have an intervention. I need some help, people.
I can't find it in myself to go up to her and say "Heeeeeey kiddo! How's it going? Sounds like you are having a really, uh... FUNNY day today, yeah? Alrighty, great. As a favor to someone you rarely talk to but can hear every word you say, I'm hoping, oh gosh... I hope this gets really uncomfortable for you, but could you force-jam your head ass-wise until you can see yourself, like in 'Being John Malkovich?' That would really be GREAT! No, no... I'm not here to talk about the John Markovich movie, as you call it. I'm here to try and hold on to my sanity. MMkay? Repeat after me... SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Great then. Wait... why are you laughing? You laugh even when you cry? This has to be Hell, or at the very least, Tumwater."
Here's another problem. She KNOWS she's loud. She acknowledges it, almost prides herself on it. Kind of how Tony Moser prides himself after flopping a set "on purpose." Granted, her resumé states that she was raised in an Abrams tank by braying donkies, but we are nearing a time where we can finally live on the moon or under water with our aquatic mammal brethren, and she's going to be our leader because her laugh can be heard a quarter mile away.
If you have a tactful way of telling her that while her "Up Up UP!" attitude is appreciated while her volume is f*cking-A NOT, send me an e-mail HERE and I'll do what I can to balance myself out. Take care now. I'll be in the file drawer until noon.
Oh gawd, she's got bronchitis now?
============================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Chimp attack... two headed baby... GAAAAA
This is bullshit. Here's the deal.
NoMakeup Sandie is over 100 feet from my desk right now, hanging half-way into an office. This "Unofficial Office GleeClub Member" is laughing so loud that a guy BEHIND ME just shut his door, and he's at least 117 feet from the offense. A Sandie-dampening door is the only reason I envy management here.
My dilemma is that I know people love to laugh, it feels good. They say laughter is the best medicine. She's over-medicated, she's an addict. We need to have an intervention. I need some help, people.
I can't find it in myself to go up to her and say "Heeeeeey kiddo! How's it going? Sounds like you are having a really, uh... FUNNY day today, yeah? Alrighty, great. As a favor to someone you rarely talk to but can hear every word you say, I'm hoping, oh gosh... I hope this gets really uncomfortable for you, but could you force-jam your head ass-wise until you can see yourself, like in 'Being John Malkovich?' That would really be GREAT! No, no... I'm not here to talk about the John Markovich movie, as you call it. I'm here to try and hold on to my sanity. MMkay? Repeat after me... SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Great then. Wait... why are you laughing? You laugh even when you cry? This has to be Hell, or at the very least, Tumwater."
Here's another problem. She KNOWS she's loud. She acknowledges it, almost prides herself on it. Kind of how Tony Moser prides himself after flopping a set "on purpose." Granted, her resumé states that she was raised in an Abrams tank by braying donkies, but we are nearing a time where we can finally live on the moon or under water with our aquatic mammal brethren, and she's going to be our leader because her laugh can be heard a quarter mile away.
If you have a tactful way of telling her that while her "Up Up UP!" attitude is appreciated while her volume is f*cking-A NOT, send me an e-mail HERE and I'll do what I can to balance myself out. Take care now. I'll be in the file drawer until noon.
Oh gawd, she's got bronchitis now?
============================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, March 07, 2005
Mazeltov!
Hey there BeanieWeenie!
I have a lot going on right now, mentally and emotionally, and one thing I'm trying to do is let go of negativity in my life. Shun it, ignore it, set fire to it. When that fails I'll just turn a mirror to it and hope Negativity starts a fight with itself or flies at its reflection for a while. Negativity is all around our lives in different forms, and unlike somebody getting torqued at a Jimmy Buffet concert, second-hand neuroses just don't pop the same high they once did.
The crappy thing about me right now is that I have seen what other people are doing well, yet sliding on my responsibilities to myself. It's time for me to stop the chatter and move forward on what I want to do. Reality tells me to shut off my brain and go inward. What do I need to do more of, in order to accomplish my daily/weekly goals? That's what I'm assessing right now. What do I really WANT? What can I dedicate myself to mastering within my parameters of "mastershippage?"
While shunning negativity has helped me see what I don't like about People (that's capitalized so nobody starts getting and itchy Comment finger or moving metaphors around on their "RISK-The Blog War Edition" board) as far as Personalities go. I'm wearing glass-colored glasses, but the glass changes color depending on the amount of incoming Goodness. My brain collects positive growth signals like some guys collect Star Wars Figures: Sometimes I appreciate them, but overall I just like seeing a person enjoy what they're doing. Not growing is the equivalent of dying. Better, or worse.
So while I step back and assess what my shortcomings have been, I need to be really honest with myself. I've made some good changes, I have things I want to and will work on, and for the most part, I really hope that stain comes out of the carpet. If I can get THAT up, there's no telling what I'll be able to accomplish. I'm going within for a while, and sharing when I need to. In the meantime, I really hope you get some good things moving for yourself, or at the very least, stop stepping in other people's spotlight long enough to applaud for them. Your turn's right around the corner. Especially if you can get grass stains out of a blood stain off a chocolate/cabernet splotch-like stain.
Don't ask, just feel bad for not accepting the evite.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
I have a lot going on right now, mentally and emotionally, and one thing I'm trying to do is let go of negativity in my life. Shun it, ignore it, set fire to it. When that fails I'll just turn a mirror to it and hope Negativity starts a fight with itself or flies at its reflection for a while. Negativity is all around our lives in different forms, and unlike somebody getting torqued at a Jimmy Buffet concert, second-hand neuroses just don't pop the same high they once did.
The crappy thing about me right now is that I have seen what other people are doing well, yet sliding on my responsibilities to myself. It's time for me to stop the chatter and move forward on what I want to do. Reality tells me to shut off my brain and go inward. What do I need to do more of, in order to accomplish my daily/weekly goals? That's what I'm assessing right now. What do I really WANT? What can I dedicate myself to mastering within my parameters of "mastershippage?"
While shunning negativity has helped me see what I don't like about People (that's capitalized so nobody starts getting and itchy Comment finger or moving metaphors around on their "RISK-The Blog War Edition" board) as far as Personalities go. I'm wearing glass-colored glasses, but the glass changes color depending on the amount of incoming Goodness. My brain collects positive growth signals like some guys collect Star Wars Figures: Sometimes I appreciate them, but overall I just like seeing a person enjoy what they're doing. Not growing is the equivalent of dying. Better, or worse.
So while I step back and assess what my shortcomings have been, I need to be really honest with myself. I've made some good changes, I have things I want to and will work on, and for the most part, I really hope that stain comes out of the carpet. If I can get THAT up, there's no telling what I'll be able to accomplish. I'm going within for a while, and sharing when I need to. In the meantime, I really hope you get some good things moving for yourself, or at the very least, stop stepping in other people's spotlight long enough to applaud for them. Your turn's right around the corner. Especially if you can get grass stains out of a blood stain off a chocolate/cabernet splotch-like stain.
Don't ask, just feel bad for not accepting the evite.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Leggo My Ego
I have to begin by giving a warm Thank You to the people who have commented to me, electronically or in-person, about the blog regarding my dad. We are all witnessing loved ones getting older, and suddenly I feel like a grown-up and I wasn't ready for this degree of maturity. But we have no choice. Life brings you a new normal like it's counting to a random number in Hide And Go Seek, and I was lulled to believe I had found a safe, warm place to hide and grow in. Ready Or Not...
The friendship, care, and love people have shared with me is returned to each, and I wish you and your families health and happiness. Be good to those close to you. Some day you may need them without knowing you do. And they may hand you power of attorney.
Okay, get off me, people are staring... wink
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Making a conscious effort to put your self to the side and to listen to someone opens you up to a whole new world. First off, people think you are really nice. This is further evidence against the power to read minds.
Second, you can really learn the subtleties of a personality with how they talk, what they talk about, and how often they use the words "I," "me," and "my mom's only child."
Third, when you are open to a new perspective on life, you begin to take a quick inventory of yourself, and realize that listening to some people is not only a triumph, but a huge mistake.
Finally, if you don't listen and learn about other people, how will you ever be able to manipulate them? And isn't that what you want? Because you just bought a cattle prod and ball-gag off eBay, so let's not beat around the bush, mmkay?
=-=-=-=-=-=
I'm off to Canada with the Amazing Alicia for her friend Rachel's wedding. All I know is that it's in Whistler, B.C., I'm wearing a new suit, and I finally found my passport after searching for just over 2 years. For those wondering, your passport is good for 10 years. Thank you Sweet Jesus, because my picture shows me with hair and no crow's feet.
My feet are really ugly.
=-=-=-=-=-=
My new boss recently asked myself what my ideal position and profession would be. I told him that I've always dreamed of being a satirical columnist who gets paid to shed light on nuances of dead-ends in Western Civilization.
He feigned amusement by asking me if I ever proofread other people's e-mails. I didn't have the heart to tell him that my name isn't George. My new boss and co-workers are all in the same office, about 800 miles away in California.
=-=-=-=-=-=
If you're looking for the hottest releases in Blues Music compilations, classics, and can't-miss discs, you need to go where you KNOW the broken souls of poor, Southern, hard-living black folks can be felt: Starbucks.
=-=-=-=-=-=
I'm out. Check out the new Mars Volta release, "Frances The Mute." Keep the lights on when ya do it, though. It's non-classifiable music, what David Lynch would call "Uh... this is pretty far out. Punch me in the crotch again." Rock, pop, punk, trip, funk.
Gotta go, the turtles are fighting with the T-rex again.
======================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The friendship, care, and love people have shared with me is returned to each, and I wish you and your families health and happiness. Be good to those close to you. Some day you may need them without knowing you do. And they may hand you power of attorney.
Okay, get off me, people are staring... wink
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Making a conscious effort to put your self to the side and to listen to someone opens you up to a whole new world. First off, people think you are really nice. This is further evidence against the power to read minds.
Second, you can really learn the subtleties of a personality with how they talk, what they talk about, and how often they use the words "I," "me," and "my mom's only child."
Third, when you are open to a new perspective on life, you begin to take a quick inventory of yourself, and realize that listening to some people is not only a triumph, but a huge mistake.
Finally, if you don't listen and learn about other people, how will you ever be able to manipulate them? And isn't that what you want? Because you just bought a cattle prod and ball-gag off eBay, so let's not beat around the bush, mmkay?
=-=-=-=-=-=
I'm off to Canada with the Amazing Alicia for her friend Rachel's wedding. All I know is that it's in Whistler, B.C., I'm wearing a new suit, and I finally found my passport after searching for just over 2 years. For those wondering, your passport is good for 10 years. Thank you Sweet Jesus, because my picture shows me with hair and no crow's feet.
My feet are really ugly.
=-=-=-=-=-=
My new boss recently asked myself what my ideal position and profession would be. I told him that I've always dreamed of being a satirical columnist who gets paid to shed light on nuances of dead-ends in Western Civilization.
He feigned amusement by asking me if I ever proofread other people's e-mails. I didn't have the heart to tell him that my name isn't George. My new boss and co-workers are all in the same office, about 800 miles away in California.
=-=-=-=-=-=
If you're looking for the hottest releases in Blues Music compilations, classics, and can't-miss discs, you need to go where you KNOW the broken souls of poor, Southern, hard-living black folks can be felt: Starbucks.
=-=-=-=-=-=
I'm out. Check out the new Mars Volta release, "Frances The Mute." Keep the lights on when ya do it, though. It's non-classifiable music, what David Lynch would call "Uh... this is pretty far out. Punch me in the crotch again." Rock, pop, punk, trip, funk.
Gotta go, the turtles are fighting with the T-rex again.
======================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
A Quick Lesson In Greed
The former CIO of a large Cellular communications carrier was hired by that carrier to lean it out. That is, cut jobs, costs, expenditures, etc. Why? Because it was top-heavy and hemmorhaging cash to pay for the Officer's flights and a boatload... literally... of contractors and off-shore work. Thus, the boat.
Ex-CIO comes in and does what he's known for: Squashing growth. His contractor buddy mismanages a major project costing the company upwards of $250,000,000, all while the contracting company walks with their full payment.
Losing $250-million cripples the Carrier, while the officers begin saying "work harder, and it will all work out in the end."
The Carrier never gets better, and becomes bait for larger, healthier, more bureaucratic Carriers in the world. Finally, someone bites, and the wounded Carrier's mismanagement of projects for 3 years (only 3 since it split from it's parent company) keep it flopping on the deck of a new owner. The Officers of the company, the same officers who caused the problems nobody could fix, all walk with upwards of $9,000,000 in severance packages, while the CEO walks with over $20,000,000.
Do the wrong thing, cut jobs, become a millionaire.
Some people got $140 out of the deal. And a new boss. And a new badge. And a new set of rules and regulations to learn. And they still have their jobs. Damn it.
So Corrado, Zieglis, and the incestuous Turkish Bath of managerial cronies can gargle my groceries. Hell was created for people like you, and deserve to be locked in a spinning HoneyBucket filled brim-side by Motorhead roadies.
If you don't have EBay stock, buy it now. Corrado is the new CTO at that company, which is losing money and pissing off customers. The stock will drop, someone will try to buy it, the stock will go up, you'll make upwards of $140!
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Ex-CIO comes in and does what he's known for: Squashing growth. His contractor buddy mismanages a major project costing the company upwards of $250,000,000, all while the contracting company walks with their full payment.
Losing $250-million cripples the Carrier, while the officers begin saying "work harder, and it will all work out in the end."
The Carrier never gets better, and becomes bait for larger, healthier, more bureaucratic Carriers in the world. Finally, someone bites, and the wounded Carrier's mismanagement of projects for 3 years (only 3 since it split from it's parent company) keep it flopping on the deck of a new owner. The Officers of the company, the same officers who caused the problems nobody could fix, all walk with upwards of $9,000,000 in severance packages, while the CEO walks with over $20,000,000.
Do the wrong thing, cut jobs, become a millionaire.
Some people got $140 out of the deal. And a new boss. And a new badge. And a new set of rules and regulations to learn. And they still have their jobs. Damn it.
So Corrado, Zieglis, and the incestuous Turkish Bath of managerial cronies can gargle my groceries. Hell was created for people like you, and deserve to be locked in a spinning HoneyBucket filled brim-side by Motorhead roadies.
If you don't have EBay stock, buy it now. Corrado is the new CTO at that company, which is losing money and pissing off customers. The stock will drop, someone will try to buy it, the stock will go up, you'll make upwards of $140!
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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