Of Things Purple and Throbbing

Spam is hitting blog Comments, an even cheaper way of invading the public domain with stuff we don't need. I think spammers should all be stripped of their finger meat.

We Get It.
Enlargements, re-financing, OTC, OEM, etc.
If someone has a blog, or knows what a blog is, they are probably savvy enough to search out the remedies for their own situations. We've had this type of marketing for many years, and I don't think many folks thought they needed it when there was a Bible or vacuum involved.

It is the nature of the beast, truly, in a Free Society. Anybody can say anything they want. They should also have to deal with the consequences, which should fall within certain boundaries of the law, and whatever is most easily concealed in an old area rug. It's the nature of the beast, it's annoying, but, eh, it beats not being able to see what's happening on MySpace for GASP... up to 7 minutes.

And if you are getting overly angry about spam it's probably because you have a small cock.

===
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Communicating And Other Provocations, How NOT To Steal A Sidekick

I am currently paying less for my cellular communication plan than I was in the first few months after I had quit working at Cingular. They set me up... oh, NOW I get it... on some "basic" plan. It didn't include any of the kind of stuff you may need, like the phone actually working. It was my bad, I should have turned it over earlier.

But when I look back at that place, it was like eons ago. And by "eons" I mean "Tabasco-filled hemorrhoids."

I don't have hemorrhoids.

Speaking of searing ass-pain, have you been following THIS STORY? It's what happens when dishonest people do the wrong thing meet up with technology in the hands of the tech-savvy.

To summarize it, Person A lost their CellPhone/Sidekick. Person B found it and claimed it as their own instead of saying "Hey, someone lost this and should get it back." Person B then used it to upload her social life, including a frighteningly grotesque gordo who may be the father of her child (she's 16, he's 20-something), and her brother who is in the military. What unfolds is a step-by-step account of using the antagonist's information and low-class nature against them.
For real entertainment, peek at their MySpace profiles, and look at their "associates."

The police are involved. TV is involved. MySpace is involved. It's captivating, it's voyeuristic, and some dunderheads are going to get some neck-slaps for it!
WHAT MORE COULD YOU WANT?

Ooh! Me, too!
GARÇON! MORE PINOT!


===

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

RETORT!

There are many false claims made against people on a regular basis. Those people, in this case, are me, Geoffrey Brandon Amazing Shaquille Shouldermeat Lott.

I have been called a hack, a loser, a fat-ass, a jerk, and a dork. I have had my sexual orientation questioned... in fack I think all of those came in one post on a message board earlier this year. As a side-note, I have found that when one makes a critical remark about someone else, you must be prepared to deal with any sort of consequences.

And thus I move to the most recent remark made about me... at least that I know of.

In Killorn's recent-ish blog about her new car, she included some pictures of what happens when people speed down side-streets after three-too-many double-martinis. In the background of the picture is Killorn's new ride, a Turbo VW Beetle, 2004 or some-such. Very slick ride, very quick off the line. However, the feature of the article is not the feature of the pictures. Instead, a ferociously unusable 1988 Accord Hatchback, minus the hatch and back, takes center-frame. According to Killorn, the reason her car is unfeatured is as follows...

See? GORGEOUS. Even with Geoff and the Giant Melon Noggin effin it up for the people out in the streets.

Interesting... Now, I'm not POSITIVE that Killorn is blaming me for taking the "tortured trust-fundle-turned-art-student" perspective photo, Juxtaposing the Old and Dead with the New and Vibrant, but if you know Killorn the way most of the guys in Kirkland who drive lowered trucks know Killorn, then she settled her sights on me and fired a shot.

To which I retort as such...
Geoff and the Giant Melon Noggin are seen in the background of the photo leaning into the passenger door of the Turbo VW Beetle. While fleet of foot and thick of loin, not even I had the energy to set the timer and then sprint back to the Beetle to rifle through Killorn's purse, which I was not doing for very long.

So eat a crap taco.

And if I'm way off base here, then that's for Killorn and I to work out. Let this, instead, be a lesson to all readers that when I catch wind of injustice, I'm gonna pounce and go for the throat. And you shall wear the hickey of righteousness.

I am a lot of things, but a bad-picture-snapping-Clone, I am not.
How dare you.


p.s.
Note the last photo in Killorn's post...
Self-taken, with her favorite items:
Laptop, digital camera, hairspray, and wine. All of these eventually end up in her hair.
===========
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Loose Ends

The title of this post is NOT, but could be, the name of a stag film.

When's the last time you heard the term "stag film?"

Oh, Tuesday? Okay. Gotcha.

A lot of things are moving along right now for me. I'm usually a pretty private person, when it comes to my life that is the Daily items. That bothers some people, because when it comes to these blogs, reading up on "the dirt" is always sexier than "oh wow, another opinion." Like I have said...
Opinions are like buttholes.
EVERYBODY has one,
and they're saving it for marriage.

I know, I should write greeting cards.

So I'll indulge you a bit with some dirt. Why not? I'm paying for this, one way or another.

First off, the new season of Last Comic Standing!
This is the season I tried out for in Arizona. I wouldn't trade the experience for anything short of a shot at the showcase night and being on the TV show and winning it all. So far, everyone who has been on it is repped. They have an agent, or are dating someone who is involved with the show, or has been bubbling under. We have yet to get enough of Ty Barnett on that show, but mark my words: Ty will rock this thing.

I am not real close with Ty, but I have worked with him in Seattle on a number of occasions. A very good guy, a really strong and smart comic, and frankly the guy's got what it takes to win this thing. He is likely to get even bigger in the next year, so if you get a chance, GO SEE HIM. He is as original as anybody I have ever seen; what you get on stage is Ty's attitude and perception, not a character that is a mish-mash of other voices. Ty gives you what is inside his head when the premise struck him, it is his voice. It will be really fun to watch Ty go further.

Comedians, bands, movies, etc, attract audiences that they appeal to. That's why a "certain kind of person" likes Nickelback, movies with lots of explosions, and anything with Johnny Knoxville. Same thing with the "Sex & The City" crew. Possibly the worst-acted, most popular TV show of all time. Yet, the characters in the show, The Mom, The Debutante, The Worker, The Goody-Good, all appealed to a certain part of each audience member. Living vicariously through the character, that's what Entertainment is about. I, too, have tied terry-cloth "capes" to my neck and run the length of the block, feeling I was about to fly. Yes, that was last Sunday.

Does anybody want to help me get a job writing greeting cards?

In the meantime, the United States military took out the #2 guy of al-Qaida the other day. I can always tell the pulse of America by checking the Yahoo Photos section under "Popular News" on their home page. Usually it's one of 2 things: Something cute, or a nipple. With all of the macabre pictures in circulation, the top-two pics this morning were three tiger cubs, and two kissing parakeets. Aaaaaww... cute beats dead guy again.

Thank you very much, boo the hacks!

=====================
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Check Engine. And... A Note To A Friend.

I know.
I KNOW!
Sad, huh?

Yeah, your life. Sad.
Huh? I know it is. You have no drive, nor direction, which is what traffic reporters call "a stalled vehicle." The rest of us have to go around you. The least you could do is catch on fire so we have something to look at while you try and hold everything up.

Don't worry, somebody will be along to get you started again soon. You probably just need an oil change or some new plugs. Check the interior, too. You are likely leaking again. This time of the year does that to some.

You need to lay off the horn, though. That is old news. One note, that's all you got under the hood. One. Note. And it's off-key.

The best part, though, is that you never seem to pay attention to your own warning lights. Gas, oil, temp, battery.

For someone that concerned about paint jobs, it's odd that you can't see your own dings. Maybe best to stay out of the brighter lights, then. That will keep you from ever hearing about them. Or about how much better you could be running, if you would just have that maintenance handled.
===============

Hey, I know you don't always do this, but could you blog something? You're a writer, and a great one at that, so USE IT.
Some folks may see Blogs as superfluous, useless, pointless.

I see mine, and yours, as an outlet, a creation, the End Result of Talent. Why the hell would we read and retain and work on it, if not to share it?
So you can shit on everyone else's work? that would be easier, huh? produce nothing, complain about everything, but then you'd be an asshole like the asshole in that previous thing up theres.

Hurry up widdit. Asshole.
================

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

The Hitchin' Post, Part 2: Eloping Begins To Look Better

Alicia and I have begun to look at venues that think they could adequately host our "to-be-legendary-if-not-causing-new-statutes-to-be-passed" Wedding Reception. I think a better way to say it is that we have begun to look at places that we will not be having the reception. When I was 23 and looking for apartments, anything that had parking close to the door and on-site laundry was worth my pro-rating a security deposit I would never see again. Sometimes, you just have to see how well the seal on the bathroom door would hold, you know, in case a monster made of Grape Jell-O and Old Crow whiskey were to come up out the tub drain. And as a health tip, do NOT drink wine you left in your car trunk for all of August.

Digression, sorry. I beg your pardon.

Yesterday we looked in-depth at one venue. I got to do two of my favorite things: Find new material, and make other people nervous as I glanced around the room before furiously scribbling on a notepad. We attended an Open House, and this is where the good stuff starts happening. Substitute the word "Free" for "Good," and I think you will see why it was smart of me to not where sweatpants to the event. Besides the fact that I do not own a pair, they would have revealed my "excitement" at the amount of gratis items. FREE SHIT, is what I'm talkin'! Gore-met chocolates, the finest cheeses (including goat), a hosted bar, and breads with herbs INSIDE THE BREAD. Also, a gorgonzola/pear-stuffed flank steak roll, served by a man with one hand.

Yes, he had one hand. He, being the guy in charge of the cutting duties of said meat, well, he would have to do SOMETHING to handle those duties, right? It may sound cruel, but if you were a chef and had one hand, wouldn't you think it a wise move to have an Inspector Gadget-like kitchen utensil prosthetic?
BECAUSE THAT GUY DID! Where his hand once was, there was a replaceable chef's knife! He made the best of his situation. He goes on the Hero board.

With my focus on issues such as the number of hands on the service staff, or what kind of free stuff I was NOT getting (skimpy goat cheese balls!), Alicia had the duties of perusing the various weddingly accoutrements. When a couple does this, usually it is by flipping through a picture book of the vendor's work at other weddings, and therefore, we got to see other people's wedding photos. And that's when the REAL judging begins.

But let's not get there just yet. The place we looked at, while lovely, isn't right for what we are planning. One venue's "rustic" is another couple's "chipped paint and easily-clogging toilets." It is now that I must remind each of us, including you, and you, not you, you , the two of you, you're not included, and ... YOU, yes, right there in the silver hot-pants... Know What You Want. That makes the rest of it easier. Decisions can be made much more quickly, and your options magnify themselves when you are fully aware of what you desire.

So, this weekend, we are off to look at more places to not have a reception at. Before I am too hasty, however, I should refer to my list, have my questions ready, and not act until I feel I am leaving with a properly-kissed ass. These people are going to be working hard and I should give each of them a fair shot of impressing me with their assortment of free stuff and knife-handed kitchen commanders.

VIVE LE CHEVRE!

====================
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Were We Taken

I am not one much for conspiracy theories. I have never, however, believed that the lives lost on September 11, 2001, were taken solely by the actions of terrorists.

Every move.
Every thought.
Every plan.
Every flight lesson.
Every pass through metal detectors.

All of it done in America, under the noses of our governmental bodies. And they never knew of it. We had no warnings. They were just too smart, too sophisticated. They killed thousands.

Over 3,000 people died.
If you want to wonder how the terrorists did it, WATCH THIS VIDEO.
It runs over one hour. You will be amazed, if not sickened, when you aren't outraged.

At some point, you will probably say...
"There is just no way."

If you have seen the M. Night Shyamamaammalalana film "The Village," you know about paranoia, fear, closing ranks, and how leaders can create it all under the guise of "security." The best defense is a good offense. Go to them before they come to us. That will get pricey. Well, War is good for business. Everyone comes out a hero.

I am pro-America, in spirit, at all times.

When you have time, watch the video. Or don't. Watch something else.
I often wish I had, because I will never be the same after watching it.

God?
Bless America?
Please?
==============
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

The Hitchin' Post , Part 1: Love Comes To Town

If you have been following the pages here you know that I am now engaged to be married. If you’ve been following the archives you know that you are more surprised than a bartender serving a Kennedy a Diet Coke. I have never been anti-Love, I just have not really grasped how it correlates with Marriage. Until a couple years ago.

Alicia and I met through our mutual friend, vodka. Killorn was also there. Killorn and Alicia have known each other through a number of Presidencies, some of them even ASB-style. I had been unattached for a few months when I met Alicia, and Alicia had also been single. It would not have mattered, really, the timing. I would have likely charmed, bribed, led, and/or groped her away from anybody she had been dating. Something clicked. I had to be with her. To allow Killorn her chance to record some of this story as well, I will refrain from too many details of the early days. Look for that entry some time near our 4^th Wedding Anniversary. Encapsulated, Killorn introduced me to Alicia. I could not be cool. I was in Her presence.

A lot of people, since the announcement of the engagement, have asked me “To a woman?” They’ve also asked me how it all went down, because I hang out with guys who run these streets, see? And because I look around this world and see so much that can be cast in a negative light, I want to bring, instead, levity to my space of the InterWeb. The mere appearance of the words “my” and “space” probably just cost me a copyright royalty.

In MySpace… No on can hear you perv.

So here is how this all culminated. Alicia and I have been dating since late September of 2004. We went to Mexico together, if you wanna flash back to those blogs. Last year we went through the moves, her to Fremont, me to Juanita. Late in 2005 I asked her to move in with me. We tend to get along pretty well when we are awake, and I figured since she would be closer to work, I should try and collect a little help for the mortgage. And I love her. So she moved in, officially, around Decemberish. I knew that would buy me a little time.

Then things started getting really serious…
WE BOUGHT FURNITURE.

Pick your chin up, I’m serious. I wasn't kidding around. She found the style of couch she wanted, and Lord knows I needed a new one… literally, it was an old Youth Group rec-room couch. I am sure it was infused with the Lord's blessings, not to mention the echos of fumbling zippers. Anytoots, we got us a great, off-white couch and chair/ottoman set. I AM NOT AFRAID OF COMMITMENT, as long as it comes with a Warranty.

Prior to this, I had made a very key decision: To be Happy. It’s a very simple decision. Instead of waiting until I had X, Y, or Z (they are Icelandic triplets who live across the way when they aren’t modeling the latest in seamless unmentionables), I decided that I Am Happy. Instead of seeing Happiness as Contentment, and therefore, as Resignation To Mediocrity, I saw Happiness as Consistency. It is how I am, and it is to anybody’s credit if they are Happy and go toward their Best Self. Happy is the oil in your crankcase. Desire is the gas. The seats are genuine pleather.

Here I am, happy and focused, and moving forward. Alicia had been really encouraging of my comedy and writing, and not just in a way that is shouted lazily from the other room when I am off to a gig. I shared my goals with her, and we sat and devised a plan for it. I don’t understand why it involves watching her get a hot oil massage by the Florida State linebackers, but a goal is a goal. God Bless.

I wanted to marry Alicia because I love her, and because relationships take the kind of work we cooperate on. The energy I can put into my relationship with Alicia doubles when I am not dodging phone calls from wom..
When I’m focused on just US, that will go a long way. We have not compromised our independence; I still do whatever I want to when she’s not looking. She still gets her breakfast made by a smoking-hot stud in workout pants. (thank you Tyler. Next time, less tumeric in my eggs)

I wanted to do things right, so I knew I was going to have to ask Alicia’s parents for their permission, not to mention the dowry, to marry their daughter. And that’s when things started getting so good, somebody humped a camel.


Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Kenneth Lay SHould Not Go To Prison

Kenneth Lay, former Enron Top-Turd and current "Legion Of Complete AssTools" Chapter President, was found guilty of wire fraud, conspiracy to commit wire fraud, and homeliness this morning. He will be sentenced at a later date.

I say "No" to the sentencing. Shouldn't have to do jail time. Nope. None.

Enron already stripped pensions of its employees. And a few million, if not hundred million, if not billions, from the Government in something that I cannot find on the internet. (ed.note, there are no returns when searching for the phrase "How much did Enron totally ream the average taxpayer's face, if not their ass, via Government bailouts?" Smells fishy.)

Now Lay is maybe going to a Federal prison, where he will get a place to sleep, a job of some sort, clean clothes, limited opportunities to meet in a conjugal manner (shudder), food, and health care. Odds are he'll write a book about his experiences as the local Chapter President of the"Greed Is My Viagra Brotherhood." Proceeds will pay for his crimes.

OR... and this is just a wild suggestion...

Ken has to get two day jobs working in the food service industry. He can't quit either of them. He uses that money to get a place to live. He has to get a roommate. He cannot drive a car, vote, or get health coverage. He starts from scratch.

OR...

He has to do the jobs the Mexican immigrants are doing in our country. Prison is supposed to be a perspective and a punishment. He should have to face the public every single day for the rest of his life. Among the everyman, the hoi polloi, those he took from with his greed.

Then again, I could be cold here as I declare some people's every day lives as a punishment.

Okay, they get to rape him. Happy now?

BANG, case closed.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

May 24th, 8:17a.m., Juanita Village

Hey... Hey lady, seriously... what are you...
Yeah, you, riding solo in the Lexus 450 MonstroLuxe. The one you're lollygagging down the middle of the parking rows while staring at the chic phone you don't know how to work.

>HONK<

Oh Hi! Now you see me. Can you move to your right a little? The Right. It's the side with the hand that you drink from all night. It's opposite the side that four men have mistakenly put rings on.

You look exasperated at my motioning to you, but I'm not really sure why you're driving down the middle of the aisle here. I understand this is a busy parking area near the Starbucks, it's packed this morning, but I'm on my way out... What are you pointing at?

>HONK<

Move your car. Now. Move it. I swear I will get out of this car and knock your window and ruin the majestic feathery wings flying from your head, you idiot. Move. Now.
What are you pointing at?

Lady, that parking spot is one of 3 that you passed, and you gotta get beyond me, first. Which, if you MOVE THE CORN TO YOUR RIGHT YOU WILL BE ABLE TO DO. If you want a staring contest, you got one. I'm not moving. I'm on my way somewhere, and you're where you need to be. You won't get in until I get out. Same thing with elevators.

You look really exasperated. This is NOTHING. Seriously, I'm trying to get to work, you're working on another divorce. The world will continue turning, and I'm sure we both are cursing each other's existence. I cannot move over any further unless I learn to manipulate solid matter with my mind, but that Whole Foods class is not until NEXT week. This one's up to you.

The guy behind you is honking now.
Now HE is motioning for you to move to your right. The spot you want is now open.
The lady behind me is honking, too. This is awesome.

Oh great, here comes a cop out of Starbucks.
Yes, PLEASE roll down your window and... you're doing it!
Are you going to talk to him?
You ARE talking to him!
He's looking at me... now back to you. Now back at me... he's nodding...

AND NOW THE COP IS TELLING YOU TO MOVE TO THE RIGHT TO PASS MY CAR.

Why isn't he reaching for the pepper spray? What the hell do I pay these guys for? GO FOR THE SPRAY, THROW DOWN WITH THE SPRAY! DROP THE HOT SAUCE ON THIS WALKING REASON FOR A PRE-NUP!

There ya go, now you're doing it. The officer is waving me through, shaking his head. I shrug, he shrugs.
--------
This was my first outside human interaction today.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Blessings On The Well-Heeled Hoof

Some day, when you are engaged to be married, perhaps for the 4th time, you should be praying that you have a friend like Killorn O'Neill.

Let's all get it on the dancefloor that Killorn can sometimes bring the kind of grace to a party that can only be described as "Full Contact," both in word and into-the-curio-cabinet-cross-check. Well that was on hold last night, as the dearest Kilo-G put on an engagement party for my fiancee Alicia and me. It was as moving as it was loving as it was bubbly. In attendance were some of my closest friends and their significant others.

Mike & Lucia. Tara & Cody (Cody can cook, wow, seriously, y'all missed out). Desi & Perryn. Kim. Ali. Geoff & Tasha.

Some of the smartest, funniest, most creative, most life-loving people I've ever met. And they are my friends.

And as glasses were raised to toast the next step of the relationship Alicia and I are always building, I sat in awe of the amount of care that had gone into the table setting, the lighting, the champagne purchase. (side note, we gotta lay off the champers for a while.) Our food was perfect. The conversations were lively. The wine flowed. We poured the "beer of champagnes," and eventually got to the High Life. I thank my lucky stars for them folks.

When pressed for a date, I can drum up when I met these people. But honestly, it feels like I've known them all along. I had the spaces in my life for them and they appeared. I am very blessed.

As Alicia has been welcomed into my family, and I into hers, I have begun to see how great marriage can be. It's a cornerstone, not an anchor. It is a pillar, not an obstruction. And I know it will take a lot of work at times, like when you spend your entire gorgeous Saturday making two trips to the rockery because somebody mis-measured for the walkway.

I am surrounded by some of the best people put on this earth, and I have the dulcet brain warmth of a champagne hangover to prove it.


ADDENDUM!
Monday night's "Girl's Night, Heeeeey!" party at the HQ here had the following items to share:
Almond Flavored Sparkling Wine
M&Ms
Salad Deluxe
Roasted Veggies
Skirt Steak, post 36-hour marinade
and the phrase...
"You mean the doctors like, go UP IN YOUR HOLE?!?!"
===========================
To Come This Week!
The Engagement Story, a.k.a. Lord Of The Rings, With Cheese!
Comic's Trip: My Travelog
Recipes For Disaster: Something to Try Out At Work
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Fuelling My Anger

The reports are that oil prices could soon top $100 per barrell. That is 1,000% growth in about ten years. The oil, mind you, has not changed in quality. It's all about supply and demand. And I am outraged at the sins of our fathers!

...for not investing more in oil, what were they thinking?

Hindsight is always 10w-40.
======================
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Headlong Into The Fan

Comedy Blog!

Last night I performed a gig out in a somewhat rural town in East King County. The joint wanted to host a comedy show. Apparently they did NOT want to advertise it. Zero pub, zero media on it. It was a microcosm of bar comedy, but the crowd... well, the 8 people in the room who weren't comedians... they were very nice.

On the way to the gig there were a few wrong turns and nearly-missed streets. We got there about 15min before show time. Did the show, it was what it was, like trying to do comedy in the lunchroom at a plant that makes boxes to hold other boxes. One lady stood at the bar the whole time. Eye-level comedy can be discomforting. I also felt as though I were auditioning for somebody booking a comic for their brother's probation party.

On the way home I nailed every turn, every road, and every green momo-fofo light. And I learned a lesson. I'd like to share it with you now.

When MapQuest is your guide, you may go a bit slower to make sure you find your way to your destination.
When The Knowledge That Your Destination Is A ShitPile is your guide, and said Pile is in your rearview, you can drive perfectly away with your eyes closed before the last cocktail glass hits the pavement, post-window toss.

Sloshing back and forth in the shit-bucket, sorry World, I'm all full up.
Save your lessons and nestle up to my man-flower. Not that you owe me, but for crying out loud, could you not cause ONE F*CKING TRUCK ROLL-OVER in that town after a guy's been out pounding beer in a Kroger parking lot? And not a high schooler this time. One of those burned out guys who tucks his t-shirt into his pleated cargo shorts, tube socks slunched around his ankles, just like his outlook on life after his SECOND mail-order bride left him. Because if that could happen right in the parking lot of that gig next time around, I would really, really think everything is in order and stop winging backhanded compliments at co-workers.
"Shane is a multi-tasker. He can both confuse and bore you in the same sentence."

Thanks for indulging me there. You know how you feel after a 20-min nap? Take an Old Testament-styled shit after that nap, and THAT is how I be feeling.

Thank you, I'll be here all night.
In your liquor cabinet.
===========================
Oh, one more thing, hun.
I'll be posting more "Jokes That Barely Work," as well as a Cruise Journal, and the story of my engagement, from Ring Shopping to Proposal. Gonna be good times.

Thanks for reading. Love ya.
===========================
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Joke That Never Worked # 1: Gay Friends

The following material never does well on stage.

Is Gay The New Black?

For a while, people would say things like "I have a friend who's black," or "I work with a lot of
black people," like we were supposed to spread the word to the streets, or it would up their coolness.
Hey guys, guys? I heard that Matt over in Finance knows a black guy. Holler.
Right? Holler?

It's the Political Correctness movement, that's what did it to us. I have friends, some of whom were born with darker pigment. But they're all good guys, even the Mexicans.
It's not MexiCAN'T… it's MexiWON'T, that's what I've learned. MUY MACHO!

We have to include EVERYONE in EVERYTHING, or else we appear to be insensitive. And some of us aren't insensitive, we just usually spend our inner-city time buying drugs, not hugs.
But now, it's all changing. Everyone had the black friend, and now, everyone's getting a gay friend. They want the fashion tips, the grooming, the off-beat androgyny that stirs up emotions inside, so much that you just lay in bed stairing at the ceiling, confused, throbbing, listening to ABBA, wearing hotpants that were a gift from… well, none of your business MISTER MAN!

The women's gay male companion has been around for centuries, thank you Liza Minelli's husbands. But now straight guys, or "Heteros" as I call me, are getting street cred with the old fashionable "I have a black friend," but replace "black" with "gay," and "Friend" with "We were at the river in a canoe, and there was some gin, and well, nevermind! Until after this Cosmo." I don't drink Cosmos, but I have had a cosmo to drink. It did little more than kidney-punch me, when it wasn't busy making me look "open for business."

And I understand the grooming and the fashionable dress and the presenting one's self to society in a way that is classy and proper. But guys are shaving their arms now, and the eyebrow waxing... It's not manly. They look like the third henchman in that one Bruce Willis movie. And the arm shave, come on. No straight man should shave his arms, unless he was in a bad fondue accident, and if you're a guy who does the fondue, you're probably gay, so shave away. Wow, I came full circle on that one, which for $50 I will do at your party on Saturday.

People aren't novelties to be collected. Unless we're talking about Angelina Jolie's so called "adoptions." Why is Paris Hilton carrying around an ape born to a lab-chimp that was injected with crack... oh, that's Nicole Ritchie, sorry. She's not gay, I don't think.

People love to say they have a gay friend, though. It's all the rave. In fact, Gay is The New Black. As in Fashion, so in Friends. Ya work with 'em, ya love 'em.
(if you're offended by any of this material, please understand that there's a reason I don't do this on stage. It's not funny, as much as it is an observation of how people be talkin' and conductin' themselves. Don't call Jesse Jackson or Rosie O'Donnell, not yet.)
============
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

The Beginning Of The Empire

The past weekend was a culmination of not only a few weeks of planning, but a few years of my life.
My girlfriend Alicia and I headed to Northern California's Wine Country, heretofore referred-to as "Napa" because it's shorter. The trip was Alicia's birthday gift from an adoring boyfriend, and I'm really happy he sprung for it. Napa is known for it's wineries, Mona Lisa-beautiful scenery, and white people. Any time we were not admiring scenery, it was for a very good reason: The winery did not have outdoor tastings.

While the wine, scenery, and grapey buzz of the weekend were all very nice, this blog isn't a travelblog (to follow). It's for a much more important reason. See, I did something to Alicia that I have never done to a woman before.

And I wouldn't suggest any man do what I did if that man is still "just kind of dating around," or is "not over that rogue 3rd-grade boner," or sees Casual Friday as "the other day of the week to wear sweatpants to work."

I asked Alicia to Marry Me.
AND SHE SAID YES!!!

I am engaged!
She is My Fianceé!

I am excited, happy, blessed, and fearless.
She is beautiful, wonderful, perfect for me, and amazing.

For now, this is all I can share.
Stay tuned for "How It Happened!"
=============================
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Imitation Immigrants

A friend of mine...
Well, "friend" to the extent that he doesn't drive me to start my five-day waiting period...

We were talking about the immigration hub-bub that's been clogging our streets and leaving our Mexican restaurants slower than usual as of late. We talked about the jobs they immigrants worked, where they lived, the money they made, and the Pros y Cons of the whole situation.

He said "well, we're all immigrants, except for the Native Americans."
To which I replied, "No, we're not all... okay, we're gonna have to move because I had some dairy product last night, sorry about that, wow, go go go..."

Then I re-started with, "No, we're not all immigrants. I'm not. I was born in America. I'm a Native American. I have single citizenship. I speak one language. I try to remember to vote but I just can't bear the thought that they don't have some bribes to get me to go in there. The Northern Europeans were here prior to Columbus, like 500 years earlier, and turned around because they thought the place blew. There were people here already, sure, but all of those first, say... 20 generations, assuming 25 years per generation... they're all dead. It's all new people now. Native American, Chinese, Japanese, African-American, Hispanic, Latin, Caucasian, Other, those are just check-boxes for you to fill-in so marketers know what kind of porn you dig, or what kind of person signs their name with a Winky Face ;^]
So NO, I don't buy that we're all immigrants. I didn't come from anywhere. And with the grace of God, I'm not going anywhere."

To which he replied, "Huh? I was MySpacing a sec there. Something something, Chinese porn?"

This is, of course, just how I see things. The Truth on this matter is subjectivo. Immigrants are working a lot of jobs that most Americans, i.e. White People, would say "don't pay me no f*ckin' money, not enough to finish this barbed wire arm-band tattoo, so I ain't gon' work it!" Then a racial epithet and PITOO with the tobacco spit.

You wanna work? Work. You don't? Fine. They're not all gems. Somedays all I want to do is mow lawns, rake bark, and actually see something get done. Fewer meetings, fewer mission statements, fewer re-orgs. But, after all, I have a degree in History. I'm underqualified for landscaping.


Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Searing Gas Pain.

8 miles. 40 minutes.

That's the distance from my home to my work, and the time it took me to cover that in a car this morning. I left the house at 8:13. I swung into a parking spot at 8:53.

My clock clicked off 20 minutes in just the first 2.4 miles. I could have jogged it faster. I went through I was only at one stop-light prior the majority of the wait. I traveled 1.3 miles, then hit the slog. .5miles later I was at the back of a 1.1mile-long line to a stoplight near the on-ramp of Southbound I-405. 90% of the traffic at that light gets onto I-405. The rest of us who travel through, and don't work in Bellevue or, (gross) Factoria get to sit and wait, when we're not sitting.

Every now and then a few lead-footed commuters would fly by in the left-hand turn lane, using it for travel. This is dangerous because some folks use it for travel to the left-turn light, some are on-coming to turn left across the exodus line and into a business, and some use it to get past the exodus so they can drop their kids off a daycare.

So here's the dilemma. There's no carpool lane, so making friends isn't going to help at this point. The trip to the main release point of the exodus is as long as the rest of the trip, yet only 25% of the total travel distance. All roads out of the Juanita Beach area are clogged like this on a daily basis from 7:30 to 9:30... yeah, I'm sometimes late to work, even when I'm not hungover.

With gas prices what they are, my question is this:

Who is responsible for the career of Nickelback, and why aren't they being attacked with a sleeping bag-full of terribly upset pit vipers as we speak?

America is all about Having Options, and Waiting in Lines for Them. Then again, in other countries, I could have been stacked in with 90 other people on a flat-bed rail car hoping to get work 80miles away. Carpool lanes, only in America.

Please, Dolphin Army, attack! ATTACK NOW WHILE WE SLUMBER AT WORK! Because I needs me a day off.


=============
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Jokes That Are Stage-Death: Pro-Logue

In my comedy act I have worked out quite a few bits that never seem to do as well as I believe they should. I speak not of the jokes that are guaranteed groaners, by which I mean "gross out material/potty humor,"and anything derivative of those genres. I'm talking about bits that, when I wrote them I knew they they had shed their cocoons and were ready to start beating their wings. Maybe they needed a little more time as a pupa.

I once took such a huge pupa I changed colors!
That was easier than your mom on a three-day weekend.

Psssh, it's CAKE, my friends... CAKE.

I can't say I believe whole-heartedly in everything I bring to the stage. But I work from the 80-20 rule when it comes to matieral. 80% of the audience will get it, while the other 20% will be broken up into 10% who REALLY get the joke, and 10% are only laughing because I stopped talking. That majority percentile, the 80%, which on an average night in Seattle is about 8 people... which is for another blog on why comedy isn't as hip as music in this city... that big group has to "go with me" from the get-go on a bit. And if you don't have attention early, you may as well be trying to get your money back from the hooker who could only muster a golden shower when you paid for a Rusty Trombone AND the... FOCUS, Lott...

Forthcoming will be a number of blogs that are the bits I wrote, best I can remember them. They will include, but not be limited to:
Gay Friends
Rubber Band Bracelets
Drugs Should Be Illegal
Sometimes, Death Means God Cares
Self-Deprecation

And Many More!
They appear, at first glance, hacky. But hey, these bits have developed over years of re-writing and untreated psychological abuse. You can expect the best.

More to cheese, please... Take care.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Humor Strike Show TONIGHT!

About a month ago I got the idea to throw together a fundraiser in the guise of a Comedy Show to benefit BoomTown Cafe. After some hand-wringing and street-peeing (totally involuntary, officers), the show is upon us! It is called Humor Strike! I think that's because Killorn, the designer of the ads for it, likes the word STRIKE! She's very much a puncher.

BoomTown Cafe provides low-income citizens and families a place to eat that is like a diner, not a soup kitchen. In exchange for a hot meal in a clean and dignified setting, the diner themself must pay a small fee, or work 15-30min for their meal. Working for your keep can add a lot to a person's self-worth.

BoomTown is trying to re-open its doors, after losing most of their government funding in the past year the way that most non-profits have. Tax breaks, budget cuts, war chest, whatever it is, the need to help people never gets a break. We create our own. A lot of small waves create a large ocean. The same holds true for when I eat popcorn and then sleep in a tent with other people. Sorry guys.

Please check out their website at the address below. If you can, please give, and spread the word?

www.BoomTownCafe.org

Was it me, or was Azteca like EXTRA slow on Monday?

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Mario Williams ... Huh...

If you needed 4 different tools, and could get one tool that would do all the jobs, you'd buy that tool, right?

Now let's say you had one job, and one tool could probably do that job really well. But the job is going to be tougher than any other jobs it's been asked to accomplish. Tool 1 and Tool 2 do NOT perform the same functions, mind you. You can have one or the other.

I would go for Tool 1. In this case, it's Reggie Bush, Heisman Trophy Winner, stellar college running back out of the University of Southern California. He can run, catch, return, and fly with the best of them. He's a 4 Tool Machine. At 6-feet, and 200lbs of wrought-iron wrapped around mercury heated to a sizzling 1,000 degrees. 1,000 Degrees of Awesome, that is. Check out someof his highlights on-line. You'll see. He's been compared to Gale Sayers. If you're not sure who that is, go Here, Now.

Tool 2 on the board is Mario Williams, a Defensive End out of South Carolina. Monster-sized. 6'7", 290. And yoked. The guy's huge. And fast. Huge and Fast. And Muscular. Even if he went to college to be an All-America French Horn polisher, he'd still be Scary. The guy's got freakish talent, speed, strength, and attitude. This guy worked as a Subway Sandwich artist throughout college. Tell me that's not cool.

Now, the Houston Texans have already decided that they're going to suck for a long time. They chose Mario Williams with the first pick of the NFL Draft, which, as I write this, is about 5 Grey Goose away. This is the day that hundreds of college football players dream of: Being drafted, making millions, and seeing their lifelong dream of making their ex-girlfriends jealous come to fruition.

When you're the worst team in the NFL, record-wise, and by "record" I mean "Ability to do anything other than find the field," you get the first pick in the NFL draft. Everyone knew it was the Texans choice to pick Reggie Bush. Then they wanted to "keep it interesting" by talking up Mario Williams this past week. Well, when you need to fix a lot of things, you need a lot of tools.

Long story short, take a multi-talented, 1-in-100,000 team player whenever you can. And never, ever objectify people.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad