While others are giving money, I am giving laughter. Anybody truly dwelling in a large, steamy puddle of Reality cannot say that our government helped the Katrina situation with their bungling.
Imagine something like that in your own home town. A flood, a major fire, giraffe stampede, Starbucks closing all of 'em down… Who will help you then? Our government is largely re-actionary. Bad things happen, then they step in and start cleaning it up and using words like "Lessons" and "American People" and "We care." It will be up to us from this point forward. So let's start with the jokes!
In an effort to share humor about a dark situation, here are some pretty funny lines about the Hurricane Katrina tragedy:
http://politicalhumor.about.com/od/hurricanekatrina/a/katrinajokes.htm
Another good cartoon I saw last week had a hospital bed in one frame, and a floating house in the other, it read:
The Government Stepped In At...
Terry Schiavo - 1 Day
New Orleans - 5 Days
Quotes from Government and News Turds, and some of them will fill your britches on the backside:
http://politicalhumor.about.com/od/currentevents/a/katrinaquotes.htm
Something a little more tasteless:
http://www.post-gazette.com/pg/05252/568282.stm
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Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
Monday, September 19, 2005
Stuff To Do
1: For crying out loud, clean out your dryer's lint trap. Jeez, you could knit cat sweaters with the muck you've gathered therein. Not to mention, you could totally avoid a huge fire in there.
2: Bring steroids back to professional women's sports, or bring back beach volleyball on prime time TV.
3: Send me an email if you know from electrical wiring issues in the home. I've got a short somewhere, post-inspection, when a nimrod likely re-wired my boards to the fritter pan, and now the brian converters are all, whatever. EMAIL ME!
4: Give a couple extra dollars, say... $25 a month?... to the Red Cross. Here's why...
A friend of mine, 'Stina, has v'teered with the Cross for years. The Cross doesn't just roll in and hand out food, set up cots, and tell stories of happier times. Here are a few things 'Stina told me that the Cross is handling in the post-Katrina, pre-Full Realization Of Inept Government Agency Leadership times:
~ If homes need to be built/rebuilt, they contact places like Habitat For Humanity to roll in and help the building efforts.
~ Relocation efforts of families and people trying to rebuild their lives, including food, clothing, and lodgings.
~ Training and placing people with the right intention into areas where leadership and the Cross are needed.
~ Clean-up duties. What... like WE'RE packing a shovel and squeege right now?
~ Work-specific items lost in a tragic situation that, if you don't have them, will quickly diminish your ability to get back on your feet, i.e.; tools, computers, cars, etc.
~ Medical goods and services
Check out more at their website. Give directly to them. Give through your company if your company is matching donations, and then maybe throw 'em a little extra.
Why? Because we have to count on somebody to help, and the truth of a person's character comes out when things are going really well, and when things are going really really horribly. We can each do something to help, and if it's volunteering to gather clothes, cool. Food? Great. Anything helps, everything helps.
And if that doesn't do it for ya, then get with the Red Cross for no other reason than
They aren't run by the government.
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My Blog About My Dad
2: Bring steroids back to professional women's sports, or bring back beach volleyball on prime time TV.
3: Send me an email if you know from electrical wiring issues in the home. I've got a short somewhere, post-inspection, when a nimrod likely re-wired my boards to the fritter pan, and now the brian converters are all, whatever. EMAIL ME!
4: Give a couple extra dollars, say... $25 a month?... to the Red Cross. Here's why...
A friend of mine, 'Stina, has v'teered with the Cross for years. The Cross doesn't just roll in and hand out food, set up cots, and tell stories of happier times. Here are a few things 'Stina told me that the Cross is handling in the post-Katrina, pre-Full Realization Of Inept Government Agency Leadership times:
~ If homes need to be built/rebuilt, they contact places like Habitat For Humanity to roll in and help the building efforts.
~ Relocation efforts of families and people trying to rebuild their lives, including food, clothing, and lodgings.
~ Training and placing people with the right intention into areas where leadership and the Cross are needed.
~ Clean-up duties. What... like WE'RE packing a shovel and squeege right now?
~ Work-specific items lost in a tragic situation that, if you don't have them, will quickly diminish your ability to get back on your feet, i.e.; tools, computers, cars, etc.
~ Medical goods and services
Check out more at their website. Give directly to them. Give through your company if your company is matching donations, and then maybe throw 'em a little extra.
Why? Because we have to count on somebody to help, and the truth of a person's character comes out when things are going really well, and when things are going really really horribly. We can each do something to help, and if it's volunteering to gather clothes, cool. Food? Great. Anything helps, everything helps.
And if that doesn't do it for ya, then get with the Red Cross for no other reason than
They aren't run by the government.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, September 08, 2005
Back To Us
Read this little blurb this morning, on the Yahoo News site:
I
LOVE
THOSE
PASSENGERS!
I'm talking Frontier Justice here, and it needs to come back. Why step up to help AFTER things go bad? Kick someone's ass merely on suspiscion of bad behavior??? Last night at Winged Horse Pizza I started off and immediately got a heckler, a drunken, Looky-Me!, asspipe, shitwad heckler. And he wouldn't shut up, so I laid into him. People loved it. THey were tired of his deal, and his friends wouldn't just reach over and say "Hey man, come on. Head injury or not, don't let your one night off the chain go like this."
I brought up the next comic and then before the headliner, the Drunk, who wasn't even a good heckler, started yapping again. So I told him once more to shut it, and then told the crowd "Alright, I've done all I can, it's on you guys now. It's Vigilante Justice until the end of the show. There's no anti-violence policy here, it's not a cubicle farm. And nobody's gonna tell if one more loser cruiser goes missing."
And he piped down the rest of the time. Maybe it was me, maybe he realized he wasn't getting anywhere with the ladies, or he's just a wad when he's drunk. Or all three. Whatever it is, the past 11 days has shown us that banding together BEFORE things go wrong, and understanding that we're on the same side if it goes down like this, that can get around in a hurry. But it's gotta start somewhere.
I'm off to a wedding in Michigan. I hope Brad and Dave will be very happy.
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In this photo released Wednesday, Sept. 7, 2005, by the Denver Police Department, Jason Glen Tervort, 26, is shown, in Denver Colo. Passengers on a Frontier Airlines plane carrying Hurricane Katrina evacuees from Houston to Denver apparently beat Tervort then tied him up with duct tape after he allegedly assaulted a flight attendant. According to a federal arrest warrant, Tervort walked up to flight attendant Sarah Dinkelman an allegedly poked her in the shoulder and chest while saying, ``I'm a man,''then began pushing and slapping her. (AP Photo/The Denver Police Department)
I
LOVE
THOSE
PASSENGERS!
I'm talking Frontier Justice here, and it needs to come back. Why step up to help AFTER things go bad? Kick someone's ass merely on suspiscion of bad behavior??? Last night at Winged Horse Pizza I started off and immediately got a heckler, a drunken, Looky-Me!, asspipe, shitwad heckler. And he wouldn't shut up, so I laid into him. People loved it. THey were tired of his deal, and his friends wouldn't just reach over and say "Hey man, come on. Head injury or not, don't let your one night off the chain go like this."
I brought up the next comic and then before the headliner, the Drunk, who wasn't even a good heckler, started yapping again. So I told him once more to shut it, and then told the crowd "Alright, I've done all I can, it's on you guys now. It's Vigilante Justice until the end of the show. There's no anti-violence policy here, it's not a cubicle farm. And nobody's gonna tell if one more loser cruiser goes missing."
And he piped down the rest of the time. Maybe it was me, maybe he realized he wasn't getting anywhere with the ladies, or he's just a wad when he's drunk. Or all three. Whatever it is, the past 11 days has shown us that banding together BEFORE things go wrong, and understanding that we're on the same side if it goes down like this, that can get around in a hurry. But it's gotta start somewhere.
I'm off to a wedding in Michigan. I hope Brad and Dave will be very happy.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
Filling Your Holes
Hurricane Katrina has destroyed the city of New Orleans. The water there has 100 times the amount of toxins - many of which are fecal in nature - and the rivers that run through the city streets are littered with debris and corpses. But we can't calm down just yet. It's far from over. Right now we're looking just at the rescue efforts, feeding and sheltering the people who lived through it all. Neighboring states are taking kids from LA, MS, and AL into their homes and school districts. Somehow, people are giving.
Some people are giving a tsunami's-worth of lip service about who screwed up, or how much they are giving to the relief efforts. I've heard that this sports team's owner gave a million, while the company I attend is giving about the same. Just give, and do so without the need to tell everyone how Christ-like your $20 was. People who share the news are probably dropping twice that much each week on coffee and R&B CDs. "Celebrities" are stepping up to ease the suffering by telling everyone else how much they need to give. People in my office are being extra-friendly, as if we all lived through it together and can use this as a Healing Time, okey dokey, smokey artichokey?
You gotta take a look at your Giving Hole. This is the hole that you also Get through. Money will come back to you. Goods will come back to you. Create an opening in your life with the intent of filling somebody else's Getting Hole, and your Getting Hole will be overflowing with goodness. If you constantly draw attention to your Hole, everyone will expect something from it. The Universe can see your Hole under all that ego. Make sure it's pretty enough to be looking into.
Red Cross: Always a good way to go in these situations, but I'm not sure how they disseminate the resources.
WorldVision: Based in Federal Way, this is also a world-wide charitable organization.
Habitat For Humanity: This group will be a key rebuilder of homes when that time comes. Away from Natural Disasters, HfH builds homes for low-income families to get a start in a community. We're all just a couple of bad decisions away from being out on our asses. If you can't see it in yourself to swing your boat around and pick up somebody who's gone overboard, enjoy the icebergs.
FEMA: JOKING! If you see a director of FEMA, kick them squarely in the throat. They held diesel fuel reserves away from New Orleans officials once the Coast Guard notified local officials of it (generator power), they cut local emergency communication lines and set up their own (county Sheriff reconnected them and placed armed guards around switchboxes), and they waited until Katrina hit the coast to tell people to evacuate. Government officials F'ed around and it led to many avoidable tragedies, including not filling school buses with citizens and heading out of town, and Tim McGraw on prime time TV.
Even with all of this going on, people continue to open their homes to the refugees. Bad comedy is still being churned out. Teenagers are still talking on cell phones will driving SUVs. Drugs are still illegal, and now would be a good time to chill out and smell some colors. Everything is back to normal. Sorry.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Some people are giving a tsunami's-worth of lip service about who screwed up, or how much they are giving to the relief efforts. I've heard that this sports team's owner gave a million, while the company I attend is giving about the same. Just give, and do so without the need to tell everyone how Christ-like your $20 was. People who share the news are probably dropping twice that much each week on coffee and R&B CDs. "Celebrities" are stepping up to ease the suffering by telling everyone else how much they need to give. People in my office are being extra-friendly, as if we all lived through it together and can use this as a Healing Time, okey dokey, smokey artichokey?
You gotta take a look at your Giving Hole. This is the hole that you also Get through. Money will come back to you. Goods will come back to you. Create an opening in your life with the intent of filling somebody else's Getting Hole, and your Getting Hole will be overflowing with goodness. If you constantly draw attention to your Hole, everyone will expect something from it. The Universe can see your Hole under all that ego. Make sure it's pretty enough to be looking into.
Red Cross: Always a good way to go in these situations, but I'm not sure how they disseminate the resources.
WorldVision: Based in Federal Way, this is also a world-wide charitable organization.
Habitat For Humanity: This group will be a key rebuilder of homes when that time comes. Away from Natural Disasters, HfH builds homes for low-income families to get a start in a community. We're all just a couple of bad decisions away from being out on our asses. If you can't see it in yourself to swing your boat around and pick up somebody who's gone overboard, enjoy the icebergs.
FEMA: JOKING! If you see a director of FEMA, kick them squarely in the throat. They held diesel fuel reserves away from New Orleans officials once the Coast Guard notified local officials of it (generator power), they cut local emergency communication lines and set up their own (county Sheriff reconnected them and placed armed guards around switchboxes), and they waited until Katrina hit the coast to tell people to evacuate. Government officials F'ed around and it led to many avoidable tragedies, including not filling school buses with citizens and heading out of town, and Tim McGraw on prime time TV.
Even with all of this going on, people continue to open their homes to the refugees. Bad comedy is still being churned out. Teenagers are still talking on cell phones will driving SUVs. Drugs are still illegal, and now would be a good time to chill out and smell some colors. Everything is back to normal. Sorry.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, September 01, 2005
Give a little bit
As I sit writing this, I have returned from Sunny Northern California to Sunny Washington, seemingly a million miles away from the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina.
Mother Nature is a wild woman, not a bitch. She does as she sees fit. And this has happened to America the way it has happened to hundreds of other nations and islands, and millions of other people.
If you have followed the story at all, you know that New Orleans is basically No Man's Land now. It is looted, empty, rotting, soaked, and all but a ghost town. People were taking food, ice, water, and clothing. No problems there, I can understand the need and the gravity of the situation.
But Plasma TV's? Computers? Now we have official criminal acts happening. Disgusting, bottom-rung people. The stories coming from Bayou country are deeply disturbing. People being raped, beaten, car-jacked, mugged. Suicides. Starving people. No medical supplies. No medical attention. Food, shelter, sympathy, and humanity all look to be in short supply. And they can no longer help themselves.
Some day, in this state, we will have our own disaster. Maybe not in our lifetimes. But maybe. And we will depend upon each other to get through it, we'll depend upon people we don't know, people we've never met, who may even live a door or two away. And it's not until the bad things happen and you have a moment to be who you really are that your Character shows.
Honestly, we haven't seen enough of the good that is going on in New Orleans, but there has to be SOME. Right? There's a ton of bad news comin' up the wire. There must be some good in all of this without Leonardo DiCaprio opening his yap on Prime Time TV. We have to get some love and supplies to the area so we can stop Tim McGraw from singing; these people have had enough for one life time.
Give what you can at WorldVision or the Salvation Army. No matter how nice a person on the phone or street looks, people working to help this disaster relief are far too busy to be calling you for donations. Just about anything helps, and the money I'm sending to them will be better spent than whatever I was going to do with it. What comes around, goes around. And hopefully that will come back to benefit me and my community in the future.
Hopefully in the form of neighbors who will take aim and fire shots into the first shitpile looting my place after the first Dolphin War.
My Blog About My Dad
Mother Nature is a wild woman, not a bitch. She does as she sees fit. And this has happened to America the way it has happened to hundreds of other nations and islands, and millions of other people.
If you have followed the story at all, you know that New Orleans is basically No Man's Land now. It is looted, empty, rotting, soaked, and all but a ghost town. People were taking food, ice, water, and clothing. No problems there, I can understand the need and the gravity of the situation.
But Plasma TV's? Computers? Now we have official criminal acts happening. Disgusting, bottom-rung people. The stories coming from Bayou country are deeply disturbing. People being raped, beaten, car-jacked, mugged. Suicides. Starving people. No medical supplies. No medical attention. Food, shelter, sympathy, and humanity all look to be in short supply. And they can no longer help themselves.
Some day, in this state, we will have our own disaster. Maybe not in our lifetimes. But maybe. And we will depend upon each other to get through it, we'll depend upon people we don't know, people we've never met, who may even live a door or two away. And it's not until the bad things happen and you have a moment to be who you really are that your Character shows.
Honestly, we haven't seen enough of the good that is going on in New Orleans, but there has to be SOME. Right? There's a ton of bad news comin' up the wire. There must be some good in all of this without Leonardo DiCaprio opening his yap on Prime Time TV. We have to get some love and supplies to the area so we can stop Tim McGraw from singing; these people have had enough for one life time.
Give what you can at WorldVision or the Salvation Army. No matter how nice a person on the phone or street looks, people working to help this disaster relief are far too busy to be calling you for donations. Just about anything helps, and the money I'm sending to them will be better spent than whatever I was going to do with it. What comes around, goes around. And hopefully that will come back to benefit me and my community in the future.
Hopefully in the form of neighbors who will take aim and fire shots into the first shitpile looting my place after the first Dolphin War.
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, August 29, 2005
Juxtaposin'
New Orleans is evacuated for hurricane Katrina.
The MTV Video Music Awards still has yet to be rained out, or even so much as yelled at for its opulence. The band or singer in the video is given a trophy if the video they were lip-synching one of their songs in is deemed the best in its category. The very thing that makes a band most-famous (Lip Synching) among the teens (legally protected as "people") most likely to spend their parent's money on the computer that downloads the song By Those One Guy-uhs, is then ridiculed for using a backing track in live performances.
The band is out of their element in a live show. The band can only rock in a very small room with a bare lightbulb suspended from the ceiling, or staring directly into a camera from a stark white room, or in the cul-de-sassy surrounded by roughly 58 metric tons of phat ass and/or costume jew'ry teefus. Green Day, the band, was awarded a trophy for Best Direction of their video "Tolerable Rock Tune 55." They also picked up awards for Editing and Cinematography. The bassist, Mike Dirnt, which if you say it loud enough sounds like a car wreck or the last two notes of a good rock song (MIKE Dirnt), has a lazy eye. What graphing did he cinemato? Is Billie Joe's editing ability rivaled only by Tony "Free Cheese" Moser's?
A lot of bands have been influenced by Green Day. Good or bad, you decide. At least we're not sitting here saying "A lot of bands have been influenced by Hootie And The Blowfish." Not even HATB were that influenced by HATB.
Kanye West is talented. Ludacris is good at marketing. Jamie Foxx loves everything that Jamie Foxx does. Paris Hilton is still Biblically clueless, talentless, and fooling everyone that she is clueless, which is her talent. Hillary Duff is irrelevant, but she doesn't know that. Clay Aiken is where? Lindsay Lohan had her boobs removed, but she doesn't know that.
And now gas prices are going up AGAIN because Hurricane MaryKate is drilling America's choad, and that choad holds black gold. What can you do?
Well, for one, fill up, and take the F off. The price is what they suggest you pay, IF you pay. Hey, download your gas and get the F out of there.
Goodbye, New Orleans. Thanks for the beads.
And goodbye, MTV. Thanks for not giving Suge Knight's security detail to Carson Daly.
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The MTV Video Music Awards still has yet to be rained out, or even so much as yelled at for its opulence. The band or singer in the video is given a trophy if the video they were lip-synching one of their songs in is deemed the best in its category. The very thing that makes a band most-famous (Lip Synching) among the teens (legally protected as "people") most likely to spend their parent's money on the computer that downloads the song By Those One Guy-uhs, is then ridiculed for using a backing track in live performances.
The band is out of their element in a live show. The band can only rock in a very small room with a bare lightbulb suspended from the ceiling, or staring directly into a camera from a stark white room, or in the cul-de-sassy surrounded by roughly 58 metric tons of phat ass and/or costume jew'ry teefus. Green Day, the band, was awarded a trophy for Best Direction of their video "Tolerable Rock Tune 55." They also picked up awards for Editing and Cinematography. The bassist, Mike Dirnt, which if you say it loud enough sounds like a car wreck or the last two notes of a good rock song (MIKE Dirnt), has a lazy eye. What graphing did he cinemato? Is Billie Joe's editing ability rivaled only by Tony "Free Cheese" Moser's?
A lot of bands have been influenced by Green Day. Good or bad, you decide. At least we're not sitting here saying "A lot of bands have been influenced by Hootie And The Blowfish." Not even HATB were that influenced by HATB.
Kanye West is talented. Ludacris is good at marketing. Jamie Foxx loves everything that Jamie Foxx does. Paris Hilton is still Biblically clueless, talentless, and fooling everyone that she is clueless, which is her talent. Hillary Duff is irrelevant, but she doesn't know that. Clay Aiken is where? Lindsay Lohan had her boobs removed, but she doesn't know that.
And now gas prices are going up AGAIN because Hurricane MaryKate is drilling America's choad, and that choad holds black gold. What can you do?
Well, for one, fill up, and take the F off. The price is what they suggest you pay, IF you pay. Hey, download your gas and get the F out of there.
Goodbye, New Orleans. Thanks for the beads.
And goodbye, MTV. Thanks for not giving Suge Knight's security detail to Carson Daly.
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My Blog About My Dad
Monday, August 22, 2005
Relief, Reality, Retroaction
As egotistical as it may sound, Saturday night's HAX Premiere Party was kick-ass. I found myself sweating every time a new sketch started, and many times I felt like a teenage girl before her first big date. About to go throw-up, I mean.
The responses to the Premiere ranged from "mildly offended" to "calling the cops." The average responses were "Wow," "Hilairous," "Good work," and "Very impressive." It was a point of pride that our comic friends were laughing, too, as they know Funny. I can't thank everyone enough for coming and sharing that night with us. That was really a cool expereince to put together for everyone who showed up.
I got to meet some really interesting, highly-touted people, too. CEOs, industry leaders, artisans, musicians, a cheesemaker, and a guy who drop-kicked himself down the stairs entering the building. We have really attractive attendees, that's for sure. What did it take to get all of this together? Well...
Killorn O'Neill deserves the majority of the credit for Saturday's just-waxed smoothness. She worked her ass off, creating the artwork, fliers, posters, DVD graphics, and a t-shirt that will soon be available and will kick your fantasy/sci-fi loving ass. She attacts the most lovingly-eccentric people into her life, and I can't say enough about how she pulled this thing together. When you see her, give a tip of the hat, won't you?
Working with everyone on this project was a big growth experience for me. I have had to learn how to communicate all over again, even if I feel like I'm stating the obvious. Sometimes you have to tell something to someone one more time just so YOU know that THEY know exaclty what you're talking about, Moser.
I also realized that I am far more protective of HAX within the group, than when someone tries to bash it from outside. My fear of ever being the one who let the group down came true, in some ways, with the radio fiasco last week. I don't want to be the weak spot in the fence, letting the ego ooze out and stick-ify everything. Accountability to each other and to the 5th Member that is HAX was very important. I didn't want to let anybody down by not keeping my S together. But I don't think about that stuff. My focus is more on keeping my mind open to methods of securing a beer sponsorship. We are the Vulcan Enterprises of Miller Lite in Fremont.
So as I sit here, work-immersed, I am listening to projects being "managed," calls being "conferenced," and raise requests being "laughed at." The reality we created this past Staurday Night is what I'll be doing more of in the future, and almost exclusively within a year. To pull something like that together, and light the fuse on the rocket, takes teamwork, focus, and dedication. Again, thank you for being a part of it, if you showed. I promise to have a more entertaining blog once the invoices are paid.
BTW, Football is back. If you didn't realize that, I'll have to ask you to stop reading until February.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The responses to the Premiere ranged from "mildly offended" to "calling the cops." The average responses were "Wow," "Hilairous," "Good work," and "Very impressive." It was a point of pride that our comic friends were laughing, too, as they know Funny. I can't thank everyone enough for coming and sharing that night with us. That was really a cool expereince to put together for everyone who showed up.
I got to meet some really interesting, highly-touted people, too. CEOs, industry leaders, artisans, musicians, a cheesemaker, and a guy who drop-kicked himself down the stairs entering the building. We have really attractive attendees, that's for sure. What did it take to get all of this together? Well...
Killorn O'Neill deserves the majority of the credit for Saturday's just-waxed smoothness. She worked her ass off, creating the artwork, fliers, posters, DVD graphics, and a t-shirt that will soon be available and will kick your fantasy/sci-fi loving ass. She attacts the most lovingly-eccentric people into her life, and I can't say enough about how she pulled this thing together. When you see her, give a tip of the hat, won't you?
Working with everyone on this project was a big growth experience for me. I have had to learn how to communicate all over again, even if I feel like I'm stating the obvious. Sometimes you have to tell something to someone one more time just so YOU know that THEY know exaclty what you're talking about, Moser.
I also realized that I am far more protective of HAX within the group, than when someone tries to bash it from outside. My fear of ever being the one who let the group down came true, in some ways, with the radio fiasco last week. I don't want to be the weak spot in the fence, letting the ego ooze out and stick-ify everything. Accountability to each other and to the 5th Member that is HAX was very important. I didn't want to let anybody down by not keeping my S together. But I don't think about that stuff. My focus is more on keeping my mind open to methods of securing a beer sponsorship. We are the Vulcan Enterprises of Miller Lite in Fremont.
So as I sit here, work-immersed, I am listening to projects being "managed," calls being "conferenced," and raise requests being "laughed at." The reality we created this past Staurday Night is what I'll be doing more of in the future, and almost exclusively within a year. To pull something like that together, and light the fuse on the rocket, takes teamwork, focus, and dedication. Again, thank you for being a part of it, if you showed. I promise to have a more entertaining blog once the invoices are paid.
BTW, Football is back. If you didn't realize that, I'll have to ask you to stop reading until February.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, August 18, 2005
Oops, I Did It For The First Time Again.
So in the past week I have managed to anger an on-line comedy 'zine and morning radio DJ. The responses by each were, in my opinion, a bit more than necessary, but hey, everyone's entitled to their opinion. Of course, I'd rather have GOOD publicity. I feel a bit bad that I didn't do more for the HAX entity on the radio deal, and that I may have crunched on a friend for vouching for me. Apologies to Nick. Best of luck with the show, man, seriously.
The beneficial sitch here is that the show I was on is almost impossible to listen to. The people who will see the humor in HAX weren't listening to the show where belching on-air is seen as "the hook." Aspire higher. It comes around.
Moral of the story is this:
If you put yourself out there, regardless of your intention, you will be critiqued, mocked, ridiculed, and needled, not to mentioned bothered, shit on, and booed.
Before jumping off the bridge, consider the source of the criticism. Sometimes you make a mistake, and classy people see the mistake and say "Wup, that bombed." Some folks immediately jump on the flub and make it bigger than it is. Why would somebody work so hard to tear someone else down?
Same reason people have done it from the beginning of time.
Because High School is just that important.
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The beneficial sitch here is that the show I was on is almost impossible to listen to. The people who will see the humor in HAX weren't listening to the show where belching on-air is seen as "the hook." Aspire higher. It comes around.
Moral of the story is this:
If you put yourself out there, regardless of your intention, you will be critiqued, mocked, ridiculed, and needled, not to mentioned bothered, shit on, and booed.
Before jumping off the bridge, consider the source of the criticism. Sometimes you make a mistake, and classy people see the mistake and say "Wup, that bombed." Some folks immediately jump on the flub and make it bigger than it is. Why would somebody work so hard to tear someone else down?
Same reason people have done it from the beginning of time.
Because High School is just that important.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, August 15, 2005
Oops, I Did It For The First Time
Apparently SheckyMagazine had an issue with what I posted in relation to a recent Seattle paper’s profile of Ron Reid, and the ensuing though mild FireStorm that SheckyMag sparked. Anyway, I guess it all comes back to, what I said in my comment, which was removed by SheckyMag’s administrators: Having an opinion of someone else doesn’t mean it has to affect that person. And I meant no disrespect to the Shecky staff in my posting. Just offering a comment in the Comments section.
Shecky’s opinion of me is as such:
I am libelous, and posting anonymously.
My Blogger profile name is “comicstripped,” and it links directly to my Blogger profile, which proudly posts my birth name, “Wild Heffron Pescatelli-Phan, III.” But since my mom has such a bad accent from being an immigrant, and my family grew up so poor, we could only afford Geoff Lott.
As for libel, I did opine that much of the material performed by comics on the first two seasons of Last Comic Standing was not very original. Some of it was very unique, but since I didn't say who I didn't love, I won't say who I liked. I also mentioned that nobody had any particular problem with those comics as People, except for Rich Vos, who is short. One is opinion, the other is understatement, which is also a pun. YAY! Extra life. I may have missed something in retelling this tale, as I have a life and minutiae tends to fade.
Anybody who knows me knows that I am far from the guy who snaps and starts giving everyone the throat-slashing symbol for not finding me palatable. But it would be just dumb of me to not step out my front door to find out who is calling me names. My humor, however, is indeed geared towards understatement and mild-roasting. But I’m rarely malicious. And my “libelous” or “defamatory” or “opinionated” was no more heated than the use of the word “stunk” that started it all. I did spell Peter Greyy’s last name with as many as 87 “y”s, however, and for that I fall now upon my keyboard. To some people, being called "funny" is libelous.
My opinion of SheckyMagazine, since they wanted to have a go, is as follows:
They are defending the comedy community (LCS) against the comedy community (Ron Reid), which makes them both oddly divisive and Butt-insky's.
They understand that comedy, in all it’s forms, is only good and progressive when it is Politically Correct and not bothering anybody.
They insinuate that people are libelous, while they themselves prefer to appear atop the regal Comedy Steed, defending sensitive comics everywhere from people who do, watch, write, and have a passion for stand-up comedy.
I honestly have no clue what I said that was libelous, and my anonymity can only be decrypted by the most skilled of those who are able to click a link. It all started with an opinion of an opinion of an opinion and so-on, and now they are in the parking lot waiting for me to come outside with Rich Vos on the Motorola. Oh man, I hope I didn’t hurt the feelings of people who could give a shit if I’m alive.
I wonder if they put up with this shit in the improv community…
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Shecky’s opinion of me is as such:
I am libelous, and posting anonymously.
My Blogger profile name is “comicstripped,” and it links directly to my Blogger profile, which proudly posts my birth name, “Wild Heffron Pescatelli-Phan, III.” But since my mom has such a bad accent from being an immigrant, and my family grew up so poor, we could only afford Geoff Lott.
As for libel, I did opine that much of the material performed by comics on the first two seasons of Last Comic Standing was not very original. Some of it was very unique, but since I didn't say who I didn't love, I won't say who I liked. I also mentioned that nobody had any particular problem with those comics as People, except for Rich Vos, who is short. One is opinion, the other is understatement, which is also a pun. YAY! Extra life. I may have missed something in retelling this tale, as I have a life and minutiae tends to fade.
Anybody who knows me knows that I am far from the guy who snaps and starts giving everyone the throat-slashing symbol for not finding me palatable. But it would be just dumb of me to not step out my front door to find out who is calling me names. My humor, however, is indeed geared towards understatement and mild-roasting. But I’m rarely malicious. And my “libelous” or “defamatory” or “opinionated” was no more heated than the use of the word “stunk” that started it all. I did spell Peter Greyy’s last name with as many as 87 “y”s, however, and for that I fall now upon my keyboard. To some people, being called "funny" is libelous.
My opinion of SheckyMagazine, since they wanted to have a go, is as follows:
They are defending the comedy community (LCS) against the comedy community (Ron Reid), which makes them both oddly divisive and Butt-insky's.
They understand that comedy, in all it’s forms, is only good and progressive when it is Politically Correct and not bothering anybody.
They insinuate that people are libelous, while they themselves prefer to appear atop the regal Comedy Steed, defending sensitive comics everywhere from people who do, watch, write, and have a passion for stand-up comedy.
I honestly have no clue what I said that was libelous, and my anonymity can only be decrypted by the most skilled of those who are able to click a link. It all started with an opinion of an opinion of an opinion and so-on, and now they are in the parking lot waiting for me to come outside with Rich Vos on the Motorola. Oh man, I hope I didn’t hurt the feelings of people who could give a shit if I’m alive.
I wonder if they put up with this shit in the improv community…
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, August 11, 2005
To Be, Or Not To Be. It's Not A Question.
Earlier this week I read this blog entry by Peter Greyy. Peter is an Entertainer; a comic, a writer, a musically active DJ, and fount, a FOUNT I say, of Pop Culture knowledge. It's not trivia with Peter, it's Life. And it's one of the reasons I respect and darn near love the guy.
Peter is as welcoming, honest, and good-natured as anyone I've ever met. He is nice, and not the bad kind of Nice. He's not "I wonder what this talk about StinkFinger is"-nice. He's a great guy. The blog he wrote detailed the straight dope about a kid who came into the comedy clubs in Seattle with a chip on his shoulder and the other chips in his mouth, and then asked if he could have some chips for free. Read Peter's stuff, btw, it's very well written and organized, unlike my trail-mix ideas that come tumbling from my rucksack mind on this blog. Quick synopsis of the blog, for which I am eternally grateful that Peter wrote because it's a story that makes me laugh, kind of like "Where The Red Fern Grows" or "The Story Of O:"
Kid shows up in the comedy clubs, and just starts hanging around, going up when he can, not doing well ever, and then, on the final night, within minutes of each even, figuratively shits himself, but not before literally vomiting on himself.
Not that night, but I had seen his act. I interacted with him. I could barely understand a word he said. I've seen him nod out, face on the table, in the back of clubs. He told street jokes, he told foul jokes, he rarely got laughs. It was what was for his trip through the clubs. But don't cry for him, Rodger Lizzaololola. I feel bad that the kid didn't find the same spark in comedy that other comics I've met and become integrated with have found. Comedy is undeniable in the soul of the comic. Most of us have always been witty, sarcastic, funny, dark, twisted, much the way some people are tall, thin, plum-colored, foul-smelling, or skid-marked. Funny is a trait, and the more people I meet I believe that Funny is in the wiring.
That wiring can't ever be shorted out. Some guys are all-Funny. Some comics cross Funny wires with Smarts wires. Some cross Funny with Hyper. But the wires gotta be there. It can be muted, or there's not as many outlets for it, or the wattage attenuates if the circuit isn't kept clean and free of interference. But some people just don't have Stage Funny. And Stage Funny is miles away from "hanging over your desk, hey, have ya heard this one about Michael Jackson, Larry the Cable Guy, and Mother Teresa's tampon?" (punchline, btw: Sorry Mike, but me and the old gal are gonna feed these hotwings to the hungry, Get 'er doodles.) The kid in Peter's blog Did Not Have It. And anybody who thinks everyone should be super nice and coddle anybody who Does Not Have It, well, they Do Not Get It.
How else can I say this. The guy just won't make it in comedy. Most people won't. That's what makes comics different and unique, the way that Walter Payton was unique, the way Roger Clemens is unique, the way that Rosa Parks is unique. There's something else "in there" that certain people in society have, and others don't. If you've ever looked at paintings by different artists, you may have seen one and said "Wow, I get it. Okay, yeah, it's not a Thing, it's mostly just red and upside down it looks like an eye or Cousin Oliver, but I get it." The other painting just made you go "F*ck this a-hole. What a masturbatory waste of time. Trees can't crap rainbow turds to be eaten by Willard Scott, no matter how hard I wish. At least the bar's free."
At first, after reading Peter's blog, I had to stop laughing. Then I felt some empathy for the kid because he was hoping comedy would just fall into his lap. Instead, it was just a cocktail of HandiSnaks and Robitussin that expired when Lewinsky was a cigar cutter. After that, I just felt like, eh, sorry kid, it's not your thing. Stand-up comedy is one of a very limited number of things I am passionate about in my life. Stand-up is NOT the person on stage, it is an Entity. Baseball is not the players, it's the Game and the parking and the smell of Mexican steroids wafting from the first baseman after the Winstrol was muled into New Mexico by a Venezuelan prospect. Football is not Terrell Owens, it is the legends and the fans and living until you're 57. Comedy is not the Comic, but the Comic can't help but do their best to be Comedy.
The good news is that the kid will soon return to the clubs with a new focus and drive to get on stage. When that happens, I hope I'm wearing Kevlar.
I just spent 40 minutes saying this:
You can't win 'em all.
I'm a turd.
======
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Peter is as welcoming, honest, and good-natured as anyone I've ever met. He is nice, and not the bad kind of Nice. He's not "I wonder what this talk about StinkFinger is"-nice. He's a great guy. The blog he wrote detailed the straight dope about a kid who came into the comedy clubs in Seattle with a chip on his shoulder and the other chips in his mouth, and then asked if he could have some chips for free. Read Peter's stuff, btw, it's very well written and organized, unlike my trail-mix ideas that come tumbling from my rucksack mind on this blog. Quick synopsis of the blog, for which I am eternally grateful that Peter wrote because it's a story that makes me laugh, kind of like "Where The Red Fern Grows" or "The Story Of O:"
Kid shows up in the comedy clubs, and just starts hanging around, going up when he can, not doing well ever, and then, on the final night, within minutes of each even, figuratively shits himself, but not before literally vomiting on himself.
Not that night, but I had seen his act. I interacted with him. I could barely understand a word he said. I've seen him nod out, face on the table, in the back of clubs. He told street jokes, he told foul jokes, he rarely got laughs. It was what was for his trip through the clubs. But don't cry for him, Rodger Lizzaololola. I feel bad that the kid didn't find the same spark in comedy that other comics I've met and become integrated with have found. Comedy is undeniable in the soul of the comic. Most of us have always been witty, sarcastic, funny, dark, twisted, much the way some people are tall, thin, plum-colored, foul-smelling, or skid-marked. Funny is a trait, and the more people I meet I believe that Funny is in the wiring.
That wiring can't ever be shorted out. Some guys are all-Funny. Some comics cross Funny wires with Smarts wires. Some cross Funny with Hyper. But the wires gotta be there. It can be muted, or there's not as many outlets for it, or the wattage attenuates if the circuit isn't kept clean and free of interference. But some people just don't have Stage Funny. And Stage Funny is miles away from "hanging over your desk, hey, have ya heard this one about Michael Jackson, Larry the Cable Guy, and Mother Teresa's tampon?" (punchline, btw: Sorry Mike, but me and the old gal are gonna feed these hotwings to the hungry, Get 'er doodles.) The kid in Peter's blog Did Not Have It. And anybody who thinks everyone should be super nice and coddle anybody who Does Not Have It, well, they Do Not Get It.
How else can I say this. The guy just won't make it in comedy. Most people won't. That's what makes comics different and unique, the way that Walter Payton was unique, the way Roger Clemens is unique, the way that Rosa Parks is unique. There's something else "in there" that certain people in society have, and others don't. If you've ever looked at paintings by different artists, you may have seen one and said "Wow, I get it. Okay, yeah, it's not a Thing, it's mostly just red and upside down it looks like an eye or Cousin Oliver, but I get it." The other painting just made you go "F*ck this a-hole. What a masturbatory waste of time. Trees can't crap rainbow turds to be eaten by Willard Scott, no matter how hard I wish. At least the bar's free."
At first, after reading Peter's blog, I had to stop laughing. Then I felt some empathy for the kid because he was hoping comedy would just fall into his lap. Instead, it was just a cocktail of HandiSnaks and Robitussin that expired when Lewinsky was a cigar cutter. After that, I just felt like, eh, sorry kid, it's not your thing. Stand-up comedy is one of a very limited number of things I am passionate about in my life. Stand-up is NOT the person on stage, it is an Entity. Baseball is not the players, it's the Game and the parking and the smell of Mexican steroids wafting from the first baseman after the Winstrol was muled into New Mexico by a Venezuelan prospect. Football is not Terrell Owens, it is the legends and the fans and living until you're 57. Comedy is not the Comic, but the Comic can't help but do their best to be Comedy.
The good news is that the kid will soon return to the clubs with a new focus and drive to get on stage. When that happens, I hope I'm wearing Kevlar.
I just spent 40 minutes saying this:
You can't win 'em all.
I'm a turd.
======
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, August 05, 2005
Pre-Weekend Wrap-up
Let's see here, what to do this weekend...
Well, PosterMidget has come through and is printing up all kinds of posters for the HAX-TV Premiere Night Happygasm... you'll be there. I got that to do tonight.
THE Marc Maron is supposedly at Giggles Comedy Club, but I'm not sure who exactly will Terry that I used the word "supposedly." I hope Maron's there, because he is a phenomenal comic, in the sense that he can make you laugh by talking about the everyday things and how they affect him.
Frankly, I hope he's there because I could stand me some Maron. Mishna Wolff, his wife, is gonna be there, too, and she's a great comic, as well. So it's a good weekend of comedy here in Seattle. I have no idea who is at the Comedy Underground, but only because I can't remember, not out of any spite.
If you go to a comedy show and see a comic who is non-white, you can count on a few things being said while that performer is performing:
Funny ways parents of other cultures talk, financial problems based on skin color, financial problems while young, silly and/or crazy food eaten by their famiry WHOOPS- famiLy, a scenario in which a stereotype of their culture comes back to haunt them, and the use of words "White People," "Caucasians," and whatever derogatory term is used for their ethnicity.
Those are the basis of most non-white comics' material. It is the sticky rice, the collard greens, the frijoles, if you will. And I think that you, as a comedy-goer, deserve better.
So as I sign off with my blonde hair and blue eyes, I will say this:
Stereotypes are not assigned, they are earned by mentioning the observation of repetitive actions of large numbers of people that look like you do. To break them, we have to stop eating dogs, stop having sex with fat white women to cover rent, stop not doing anything, and stop trying to blow things up because we're mad at the court. From here on, we're all one big happy family, so look out Gay People!
I'm Geoff Lott, and you can hands-free eat my ass.
==========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Well, PosterMidget has come through and is printing up all kinds of posters for the HAX-TV Premiere Night Happygasm... you'll be there. I got that to do tonight.
THE Marc Maron is supposedly at Giggles Comedy Club, but I'm not sure who exactly will Terry that I used the word "supposedly." I hope Maron's there, because he is a phenomenal comic, in the sense that he can make you laugh by talking about the everyday things and how they affect him.
Frankly, I hope he's there because I could stand me some Maron. Mishna Wolff, his wife, is gonna be there, too, and she's a great comic, as well. So it's a good weekend of comedy here in Seattle. I have no idea who is at the Comedy Underground, but only because I can't remember, not out of any spite.
If you go to a comedy show and see a comic who is non-white, you can count on a few things being said while that performer is performing:
Funny ways parents of other cultures talk, financial problems based on skin color, financial problems while young, silly and/or crazy food eaten by their famiry WHOOPS- famiLy, a scenario in which a stereotype of their culture comes back to haunt them, and the use of words "White People," "Caucasians," and whatever derogatory term is used for their ethnicity.
Those are the basis of most non-white comics' material. It is the sticky rice, the collard greens, the frijoles, if you will. And I think that you, as a comedy-goer, deserve better.
So as I sign off with my blonde hair and blue eyes, I will say this:
Stereotypes are not assigned, they are earned by mentioning the observation of repetitive actions of large numbers of people that look like you do. To break them, we have to stop eating dogs, stop having sex with fat white women to cover rent, stop not doing anything, and stop trying to blow things up because we're mad at the court. From here on, we're all one big happy family, so look out Gay People!
I'm Geoff Lott, and you can hands-free eat my ass.
==========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, August 04, 2005
I'm Too Busy, Spank Your Own Self
I haven't written in a while, very busy with the HAX-TV Premiere night, comedy, and acting like work matters. I'm enjoying the weather, a recent run of strong sets, and learning all that it takes to get a production like the HAX-TV Premiere Night Extravagasm fired up.
I know I said I would try to make every blog count, but I ain't got the cheese today, dear moppets. I have too much else going on to talk about how www.tonx.org was voted as Seattle's best blog (read it for yourself. Totally the best blog about Coffee Shop Life that you'll ever rezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....). And I'm far too busy to discuss the fact that bitter old queens don't make for very fun people to be around, especially when they need constant dabbing and changing of their ego diapers. Check my schedule and you'll see that I have NO TIME, sorry, to tell you that we can help the police in our neighborhoods by handling our own business like adults, who have guns, or attack cobras. And wow, it would be impossible for me to fit in the fact that recruiting a squirrel army is harder than you'd think, especially when it comes to organizing meetings, filling out paper-work, or even telling them apart without itty bitty fur-sticking nametags.
In the meantime, get your plans together for the HAX-TV Premiere Special Blowout Of Your FunnyBones And Pants. Hit the Media page, get ready for the Advertising blitz, and start conditioning your laughter holes.
And quit telling me what to do. I'll get my army together if I have to give every last nut.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
I know I said I would try to make every blog count, but I ain't got the cheese today, dear moppets. I have too much else going on to talk about how www.tonx.org was voted as Seattle's best blog (read it for yourself. Totally the best blog about Coffee Shop Life that you'll ever rezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.....). And I'm far too busy to discuss the fact that bitter old queens don't make for very fun people to be around, especially when they need constant dabbing and changing of their ego diapers. Check my schedule and you'll see that I have NO TIME, sorry, to tell you that we can help the police in our neighborhoods by handling our own business like adults, who have guns, or attack cobras. And wow, it would be impossible for me to fit in the fact that recruiting a squirrel army is harder than you'd think, especially when it comes to organizing meetings, filling out paper-work, or even telling them apart without itty bitty fur-sticking nametags.
In the meantime, get your plans together for the HAX-TV Premiere Special Blowout Of Your FunnyBones And Pants. Hit the Media page, get ready for the Advertising blitz, and start conditioning your laughter holes.
And quit telling me what to do. I'll get my army together if I have to give every last nut.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, July 31, 2005
The Church Of Wit and The Guiding Light Of Funny
Interminable story-telling.
Need for attention.
"Look at me!"
"Keep doing that!"
More stories nobody cares about.
Bitterness.
Mindless drinking.
I'M NOT LOOKING AT YOU, so shut up.
It's not about you.
Life will be around to write your check when it gets done with the those who have died from ethnic cleansing, drunken drivers crossing the median, and being born with a bad heart before ever having a name.
I don't like telling people what to do without it being solicited, but the way you take yourself so seriously is the funniest thing you've ever done. I see why you play your Game For One. It's the only way you can never lose.
What am I thinking? You always beat yourself!
==========
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My Blog About My Dad
Need for attention.
"Look at me!"
"Keep doing that!"
More stories nobody cares about.
Bitterness.
Mindless drinking.
I'M NOT LOOKING AT YOU, so shut up.
It's not about you.
Life will be around to write your check when it gets done with the those who have died from ethnic cleansing, drunken drivers crossing the median, and being born with a bad heart before ever having a name.
I don't like telling people what to do without it being solicited, but the way you take yourself so seriously is the funniest thing you've ever done. I see why you play your Game For One. It's the only way you can never lose.
What am I thinking? You always beat yourself!
==========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, July 29, 2005
Bob, Tony, And Cake I'll Eat, Too
Anyone who takes themself seriously should be forced to watch every Ethan Hawke movie on a 6-day reel. Because on the 7th day, they are going to be strapped into a seat listening to Alanis until they either grow a vagina or theirs grows a skin flap.
And that only kind of was intended for the person who restricted my access to a doorless hallway full of pictures while the FedEx guy peeled off with BOXES, the number two method of potential scary time, and wasn't even questioned.
"Well, he's the FuxEd guy, I mean... HE HAS A CLIPBOARD." You can't argue with that logic.
Oh dear, if anyone needs me I'll be "in my place." (braaaap) Gotta make sure people like me don't go wreckin' the Alan Jackson displays.
Now... BIG Thank You to the Bob Rivers crew for having me on this morning. I get a little nervous about radio because it's a small crowd and they all know each other. But I let go of the fear because I'm a comic and can make the best of a bad situation. I once gave a 45minute Excel presentation and was getting laughs, so radio's no sweat. Some people go on and eat it, but I got a total of 3, count 'em, 3 bells this morning, including a DOUBLE-DINGER. So while I got one bell, then got no bells for a few minutes, I made up for it with...
oh hell, who gives a rip? The point is that I had fun and hope to be back with the Bob Rivers gang again in the future. Those guys are great! Sadly, they compete with my other favorite morning show of MadFab and Maynardo but like my grampa used to say, "Some days, it's all you can do just to get the body in the trunk." Got that right.
Giggles, Tonight, 8:30 and 10pm. 206-526-JOKE for reservations
Tomorrow is the party for Tony "SteakLimbs" Moser who is a phenomenal video editor and a grade-A SakeBomber. He likes it hot. We're kickballing until our balls get kicked to kingdom come, granted that Killoojy O'Handwrappascar will be plying us with wrapped weiners and a tapped pony keg. Standard rules, no skirts on the ball field, 3rd inning is In Your Cups inning, where the infield has to play while holding their Solo, both teams. 5th inning, if we're still alive, is Double in The Gap, where we chug at 2nd before advancing.
That's the kind of intensity I like to see at the Cobra-Kai dojo.
www.haxtv.com
================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
And that only kind of was intended for the person who restricted my access to a doorless hallway full of pictures while the FedEx guy peeled off with BOXES, the number two method of potential scary time, and wasn't even questioned.
"Well, he's the FuxEd guy, I mean... HE HAS A CLIPBOARD." You can't argue with that logic.
Oh dear, if anyone needs me I'll be "in my place." (braaaap) Gotta make sure people like me don't go wreckin' the Alan Jackson displays.
Now... BIG Thank You to the Bob Rivers crew for having me on this morning. I get a little nervous about radio because it's a small crowd and they all know each other. But I let go of the fear because I'm a comic and can make the best of a bad situation. I once gave a 45minute Excel presentation and was getting laughs, so radio's no sweat. Some people go on and eat it, but I got a total of 3, count 'em, 3 bells this morning, including a DOUBLE-DINGER. So while I got one bell, then got no bells for a few minutes, I made up for it with...
oh hell, who gives a rip? The point is that I had fun and hope to be back with the Bob Rivers gang again in the future. Those guys are great! Sadly, they compete with my other favorite morning show of MadFab and Maynardo but like my grampa used to say, "Some days, it's all you can do just to get the body in the trunk." Got that right.
Giggles, Tonight, 8:30 and 10pm. 206-526-JOKE for reservations
Tomorrow is the party for Tony "SteakLimbs" Moser who is a phenomenal video editor and a grade-A SakeBomber. He likes it hot. We're kickballing until our balls get kicked to kingdom come, granted that Killoojy O'Handwrappascar will be plying us with wrapped weiners and a tapped pony keg. Standard rules, no skirts on the ball field, 3rd inning is In Your Cups inning, where the infield has to play while holding their Solo, both teams. 5th inning, if we're still alive, is Double in The Gap, where we chug at 2nd before advancing.
That's the kind of intensity I like to see at the Cobra-Kai dojo.
www.haxtv.com
================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Like A Hickey
Whaddayoo mean you ain't seen The HAX-TV Promo Reel yet? It's never going to work without YOU!!!
===========
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My Blog About My Dad
===========
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, July 25, 2005
Buttons, Knobs, and Globes
I often find myself walking up to the line in the sand that says “Cross, and… well, I don’t know what’s going to happen.” For a long time I have been a firm believer that if you shake your own Sno-Globe before some-one/thing/a-pipe does, you are never going to be unable to handle thethings coming your way. And by “shake” I don’t mean that you should go to the extremes of pet adoption, jingoism, or divorce. Hey, you marry Gay, YOU STAY GAY. Challenging your own status quo is a great way to grow at your own pace, instead of being racked and rolled.
The first half of last week I lived like a man on a mission. Tons of phone calls, some of my best writing, fearless comedy deliveries, planning my future, re-working my budget, trimming the bustle in my hedgerow, etc. I was getting things DONE, people. Then, come Saturday, I hit a wall or a pothole or a bump or a dip or a crater. I dumped the tanks on the “Balance Cruiser” and spent Saturday night in a haze, and Sunday in a weird state of confusion and dread. I felt as if I was being either punished or tested, for what I did not know. So my head started making laps like qualifying for the Freud 500, and every gauge was showing low pressure, but redline revving.
I felt like I had no shields to deflect any thing coming my way. My sensors needed re-calibrating. Some were wide open, some dim, some just read everything as incoming artillery. I then started wondering if what I was feeling was of my own creation, instead of someone else’s . Ah, the thin line of Rational Thought and Emotional Presence:
If I Choose To Be Happy, Do I Become Blind To My Troubles, or Do I Light The Way For Others?
And THIS my friends is the bane of my existence. Since I was a kid I have been able to see either side of an argument quicker than you can say “Michael Jackson, Guilty Of Thrillin’ You.” Thusly, I rarely see a benefit in taking a side unless I have some throbbing, purple-headed reaction to the sitch. I see small decisions having giant ripples, and big decisions as flaccid and shriveled. And why the hell am I being told what this person is telling me? How can I be told such a thing and be expected to stare back, blankly, when, isn’t it obvious, that this is the kind of information that someone tells you when they WANT AN EMOTIONAL REACTION? And if you are attempting to elicit a reaction, you are reaching under my console to push buttons you shouldn’t push. One of them is, after all, The Button. Boom.
Perhaps yesterday was a Perspective Day. It was the Blink that cured the Highway Hypnosis of my “Business side.” I gained insight into some key areas of my life that I would not have seen had I held blind allegiance to the Happy Nation flag. I re-established the link with things and people that are most important to me. But I did realize how little I like to feel tested, and how much I truly care about the people in my life. I’m not always right, but I can at least see when I’m wrong. And I’m rarely wrong, although I am often mistaken. I can’t sweat the small stuff. And if my small stuff is big stuff to you, remember, I’ll always think it’s smaller than it is, until I think it’s bigger than it is, at which point somebody will tell me, no, Geoff, it’s not that big.
Stuff, I mean.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The first half of last week I lived like a man on a mission. Tons of phone calls, some of my best writing, fearless comedy deliveries, planning my future, re-working my budget, trimming the bustle in my hedgerow, etc. I was getting things DONE, people. Then, come Saturday, I hit a wall or a pothole or a bump or a dip or a crater. I dumped the tanks on the “Balance Cruiser” and spent Saturday night in a haze, and Sunday in a weird state of confusion and dread. I felt as if I was being either punished or tested, for what I did not know. So my head started making laps like qualifying for the Freud 500, and every gauge was showing low pressure, but redline revving.
I felt like I had no shields to deflect any thing coming my way. My sensors needed re-calibrating. Some were wide open, some dim, some just read everything as incoming artillery. I then started wondering if what I was feeling was of my own creation, instead of someone else’s . Ah, the thin line of Rational Thought and Emotional Presence:
If I Choose To Be Happy, Do I Become Blind To My Troubles, or Do I Light The Way For Others?
And THIS my friends is the bane of my existence. Since I was a kid I have been able to see either side of an argument quicker than you can say “Michael Jackson, Guilty Of Thrillin’ You.” Thusly, I rarely see a benefit in taking a side unless I have some throbbing, purple-headed reaction to the sitch. I see small decisions having giant ripples, and big decisions as flaccid and shriveled. And why the hell am I being told what this person is telling me? How can I be told such a thing and be expected to stare back, blankly, when, isn’t it obvious, that this is the kind of information that someone tells you when they WANT AN EMOTIONAL REACTION? And if you are attempting to elicit a reaction, you are reaching under my console to push buttons you shouldn’t push. One of them is, after all, The Button. Boom.
Perhaps yesterday was a Perspective Day. It was the Blink that cured the Highway Hypnosis of my “Business side.” I gained insight into some key areas of my life that I would not have seen had I held blind allegiance to the Happy Nation flag. I re-established the link with things and people that are most important to me. But I did realize how little I like to feel tested, and how much I truly care about the people in my life. I’m not always right, but I can at least see when I’m wrong. And I’m rarely wrong, although I am often mistaken. I can’t sweat the small stuff. And if my small stuff is big stuff to you, remember, I’ll always think it’s smaller than it is, until I think it’s bigger than it is, at which point somebody will tell me, no, Geoff, it’s not that big.
Stuff, I mean.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, July 22, 2005
Of Accountability and Satchels
My debit card was one of a trailer-load that MAY have been compromised when somebody left their IM open at a bank and threw most of King County into terror.
I got a new card a week ago, but no PIN number, as something went to, then back from, my old address. The one thing that I needed, that PIN, was returned. I have a shiny new card, money in the bank, and no access to it without, gulp, filling out a withdrawal slip.
I had no idea the revolution was going to happen so soon. I had it penciled in for early October, but I've been really busy, so...
In the event somebody DID steal my identity, I'm only gonna say this once:
You do so much as ONE hacky joke, and I'll personally Horse you Enumclaw-style.
============
In response to the tragedies of the London transportation bombings, New York City's police and/or Port Authority officials are going to start conducting random bag searches.
"WHAT?!" somebody exclaims. "INFRINGE ON MY FREEDOM?!?!" No. Infringe on Privacy. Big diff. And if you're trying to hit the subway and tell a badged person to "put (their) head in (their) ass and a bag and search THAT for a sign of intelligence, DoucheNozzle!" or something to that effect, well gosh, you just ain't gettin' on the train.
People don't want to trade privacy for security. The invasive searches step all over privacy, and by privacy I mean the right to hide embarrassing things in a bag or sack. These Peeky Petes are looking for bombs, explosives, hazardous materials such as guns or children. It's a measure to keep things safe.
Take a deep breath. It's not illegal to carry a bag. Nor is it illegal to carry, in that bag, something that makes the search-party question why they even took the assignment. In their search for boombooms, they may come across a pickle jar filled with a gooey, brown substance interlaced with Romaine lettuce, the jar be-labled "July 5, '05." They don't have to know it's only brownie batter. It's a hassle, it's annoying, it's invasive, and until people stop acting batshit-crazy in the name of their false god, it's 100% necessary. I don't think that ALL Muslims are psychotic suicide bombers. I don't even think .001% of them are.
Don't worry, if they do it right, only the shifty Middle-easterners are going to get searched, every friggin' time. Profiling? Yep. The extremists who are blowing things up and killing innocent, hourly workers, 99% of the time, have the same complexion, hairline, and belief system. YES, white people blow shit up, too, but the subway staircases are too narrow for "Something Ray Something-kins" to get the rental van down it. Eventually, if done correctly, the searches will take place in our homes, where we'll be surprised and stripped down, then made to dance like a tiny ballerina, dooty doo ballerina DANCE FOR FREEDOM.
OR, we can fast forward 10 years and say "These bombings could have been avoided if they'd just started checking people's bags, I mean, who wouldn't stop for 2 seconds just to, hold on... yes, please fill my StarBucks Bag with 1/2-caff and one Sugar pill, I'll turn the drip on later." Win or lose, I need to stop carrying the alarm clock and road flares HA HA HA HA HA thank you Open Mic skills!
I speak from experience when I say that these added security measures are inconvenient. Each time I fly somewhere, I get stopped and wand-searched because I have a rod in my leg as a result of an accident that the government said was due to terrorists. The guy piloting the motorcycle that caused me to have a really shitty Thursday morning was high on heroin, which probably came from Yakima or Kabul.
His decisions back THEN caused me to get searched each time NOW, and therefore Terrorism affects us all, so sayeth the Gubment. I guess they have to be careful.
Whatever, I'm tired. Put weird shit in your bag so they can search away, don't wipe your ass for two days before flying, and you'll be fidgety enough to get strip searched. F*ck You Right Back, Patriot Act. Look into my ass-eye.
===================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
I got a new card a week ago, but no PIN number, as something went to, then back from, my old address. The one thing that I needed, that PIN, was returned. I have a shiny new card, money in the bank, and no access to it without, gulp, filling out a withdrawal slip.
I had no idea the revolution was going to happen so soon. I had it penciled in for early October, but I've been really busy, so...
In the event somebody DID steal my identity, I'm only gonna say this once:
You do so much as ONE hacky joke, and I'll personally Horse you Enumclaw-style.
============
In response to the tragedies of the London transportation bombings, New York City's police and/or Port Authority officials are going to start conducting random bag searches.
"WHAT?!" somebody exclaims. "INFRINGE ON MY FREEDOM?!?!" No. Infringe on Privacy. Big diff. And if you're trying to hit the subway and tell a badged person to "put (their) head in (their) ass and a bag and search THAT for a sign of intelligence, DoucheNozzle!" or something to that effect, well gosh, you just ain't gettin' on the train.
People don't want to trade privacy for security. The invasive searches step all over privacy, and by privacy I mean the right to hide embarrassing things in a bag or sack. These Peeky Petes are looking for bombs, explosives, hazardous materials such as guns or children. It's a measure to keep things safe.
Take a deep breath. It's not illegal to carry a bag. Nor is it illegal to carry, in that bag, something that makes the search-party question why they even took the assignment. In their search for boombooms, they may come across a pickle jar filled with a gooey, brown substance interlaced with Romaine lettuce, the jar be-labled "July 5, '05." They don't have to know it's only brownie batter. It's a hassle, it's annoying, it's invasive, and until people stop acting batshit-crazy in the name of their false god, it's 100% necessary. I don't think that ALL Muslims are psychotic suicide bombers. I don't even think .001% of them are.
Don't worry, if they do it right, only the shifty Middle-easterners are going to get searched, every friggin' time. Profiling? Yep. The extremists who are blowing things up and killing innocent, hourly workers, 99% of the time, have the same complexion, hairline, and belief system. YES, white people blow shit up, too, but the subway staircases are too narrow for "Something Ray Something-kins" to get the rental van down it. Eventually, if done correctly, the searches will take place in our homes, where we'll be surprised and stripped down, then made to dance like a tiny ballerina, dooty doo ballerina DANCE FOR FREEDOM.
OR, we can fast forward 10 years and say "These bombings could have been avoided if they'd just started checking people's bags, I mean, who wouldn't stop for 2 seconds just to, hold on... yes, please fill my StarBucks Bag with 1/2-caff and one Sugar pill, I'll turn the drip on later." Win or lose, I need to stop carrying the alarm clock and road flares HA HA HA HA HA thank you Open Mic skills!
I speak from experience when I say that these added security measures are inconvenient. Each time I fly somewhere, I get stopped and wand-searched because I have a rod in my leg as a result of an accident that the government said was due to terrorists. The guy piloting the motorcycle that caused me to have a really shitty Thursday morning was high on heroin, which probably came from Yakima or Kabul.
His decisions back THEN caused me to get searched each time NOW, and therefore Terrorism affects us all, so sayeth the Gubment. I guess they have to be careful.
Whatever, I'm tired. Put weird shit in your bag so they can search away, don't wipe your ass for two days before flying, and you'll be fidgety enough to get strip searched. F*ck You Right Back, Patriot Act. Look into my ass-eye.
===================
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
The Kid Stays In The Picture, His Dad Can Eat It
President Bush 2: Son Of Ridicula, nominated John G. Roberts, Jr. for Supreme Court justice sometime in the past few weeks. I don't watch much news unless I'm on it. So John G. Roberts, Jr., who may be even whiter than his name belies, brings his family to the White House for the announcement by W. of John G. Roberts, Jr.'s nomination.
The nation that kind of cares watches as the Prez recites what is written for him on a Kid's Menu from Air Force One (re-named Air Force Fun on Saturdays). And as John G. Roberts, Jr. stands near the 6th Most Powerful Man in the Nation (behind Jordan, Dr. Phil, and the alien controlling Cheney's pacemaker -tie- Tom Cruise, and whomever has Lance Armstrong's preserved jingler), Robert's son starts GOING FOR IT!
YOU WANT A HERO, YOU F*CKING GOT A HERO
Let's go over this picture, clockwise.
Left to right, dad's trying to keep his composure. He's realizing that he can't do the normal beating of the boy on TV, even if the President would be cheering him on, but he's planning a good guilt trip the boy will take with him into his career as a GloryHole. Daddy John's got a sort of sick pride in the boy, and likes that he's rambunctious enough to off-set the queer saddle shoes.
W., well, he may be oblivious. It's not uncommon for him to blank out when kids fidget, if you remember story-time on that fateful September morning. The script doesn't say anything about acknowledging child-like, gleeful seizures, so words words words "say, I sure could go for a twirl myself right now."
Wifey's mortified. That boy would be stifling sobs right now if it weren't for the 3 Xanax she chewed down with the mimosa. She can't even look at what her loins have produced. She's either counting backwards from 10, or trying to remember the name of that homeless man she gave a dollar to in hopes of plotting a child abuction. "the code word is... damn him... the code word is FootLoose."
The daughter's got a death-grip on mom, trying to kill little John with her thoughts, knowing that if she so much as sighed she'd get a Richter-scale shaking. This is one moment that will be replayed when she's found at a party with a joint and 4 hickeys, two from her gym teacher, Ms. Danskin.
And finally, our Protagonist, Little John. Crunkin' the conference up like it ain't got nothin' to do with nothin' but sugar and a Little Titans marathon. He's a mascara smudge and tear-drop away from the first-ever televised Honky Krumpin'. And that soundtrack that kids have when they are in the flow, oh man:
"My dad, is the KING and my sister is a FART, and my mom is a BRAT, and I can DANCE like a ROBOT and a ROBOT goes like THIS and I FART and my sister SMELLS it because she is a FART BRAT and I go pee on the CAT that my sister cannot HAVE because Daddy ran it OVER in the car that Mom THREW UP inside, after all that JUICE at Uncle DAN's party farty farty fart fart BUTT BOOBS..." (to the bridge)
Unhinged, unsolicited, unconscious. The kid's got style. Rock on, little weirdo. You may never be able to drive a car or understand why your first family left you at a Toys R Us, but I'm in your corner. I hope your dad gets the appointment, and I hope you dance so well that someday you get Britney Spears' sister pregnant.
I hope you dance.
============
the preceding blog is a challenge to other Seattle comic bloggers to Krump my Blog. Whatchoo got?
============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The nation that kind of cares watches as the Prez recites what is written for him on a Kid's Menu from Air Force One (re-named Air Force Fun on Saturdays). And as John G. Roberts, Jr. stands near the 6th Most Powerful Man in the Nation (behind Jordan, Dr. Phil, and the alien controlling Cheney's pacemaker -tie- Tom Cruise, and whomever has Lance Armstrong's preserved jingler), Robert's son starts GOING FOR IT!
YOU WANT A HERO, YOU F*CKING GOT A HERO
Let's go over this picture, clockwise.
Left to right, dad's trying to keep his composure. He's realizing that he can't do the normal beating of the boy on TV, even if the President would be cheering him on, but he's planning a good guilt trip the boy will take with him into his career as a GloryHole. Daddy John's got a sort of sick pride in the boy, and likes that he's rambunctious enough to off-set the queer saddle shoes.
W., well, he may be oblivious. It's not uncommon for him to blank out when kids fidget, if you remember story-time on that fateful September morning. The script doesn't say anything about acknowledging child-like, gleeful seizures, so words words words "say, I sure could go for a twirl myself right now."
Wifey's mortified. That boy would be stifling sobs right now if it weren't for the 3 Xanax she chewed down with the mimosa. She can't even look at what her loins have produced. She's either counting backwards from 10, or trying to remember the name of that homeless man she gave a dollar to in hopes of plotting a child abuction. "the code word is... damn him... the code word is FootLoose."
The daughter's got a death-grip on mom, trying to kill little John with her thoughts, knowing that if she so much as sighed she'd get a Richter-scale shaking. This is one moment that will be replayed when she's found at a party with a joint and 4 hickeys, two from her gym teacher, Ms. Danskin.
And finally, our Protagonist, Little John. Crunkin' the conference up like it ain't got nothin' to do with nothin' but sugar and a Little Titans marathon. He's a mascara smudge and tear-drop away from the first-ever televised Honky Krumpin'. And that soundtrack that kids have when they are in the flow, oh man:
"My dad, is the KING and my sister is a FART, and my mom is a BRAT, and I can DANCE like a ROBOT and a ROBOT goes like THIS and I FART and my sister SMELLS it because she is a FART BRAT and I go pee on the CAT that my sister cannot HAVE because Daddy ran it OVER in the car that Mom THREW UP inside, after all that JUICE at Uncle DAN's party farty farty fart fart BUTT BOOBS..." (to the bridge)
Unhinged, unsolicited, unconscious. The kid's got style. Rock on, little weirdo. You may never be able to drive a car or understand why your first family left you at a Toys R Us, but I'm in your corner. I hope your dad gets the appointment, and I hope you dance so well that someday you get Britney Spears' sister pregnant.
I hope you dance.
============
the preceding blog is a challenge to other Seattle comic bloggers to Krump my Blog. Whatchoo got?
============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Shopping list: Sponge on a stick, Spray Deodorant, Apology Cards
Last night I went to the home of A-Bomb, Moses In JamShorts, and The Ghost Of Warranty Past. The Ghost done sliced up her hand this past weekend, her right hand. It's giving her troubles, to say the least. I'm happy she's okay.
That being said, the weather's been warm, unkind to the mammals of the planet who perspirate. Let's just leave it at this:
When your right hand is bandaged and needs to stay dry, sometimes, just sometimes, your left armpit can pack quite a wallop. Compared to that, my nose has been more delicately punched.
=============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
That being said, the weather's been warm, unkind to the mammals of the planet who perspirate. Let's just leave it at this:
When your right hand is bandaged and needs to stay dry, sometimes, just sometimes, your left armpit can pack quite a wallop. Compared to that, my nose has been more delicately punched.
=============
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
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