What Are You Saying?

In the world of communication, getting your message across is as much WHAT you say as HOW you say it. In fact, the latter may be more important. For example, let's say you have an empty bottle, a full bladder, and a meeting. What makes more sense to say?

1) I'm going to fill my water bottle, use the restroom, and go to the meeting.
OR
2) I'm going to the meeting, after I use the restroom and fill my bottle.

Many, many, far-too-many people are clinically annoying in how they speak, and when they decide to pipe up. Read the comments section of any local news story in an on-line news site. The internet has given people who have - and some who have not - clamored for years to be heard! To be SEEN! To have their existence made known to dozens of strangers who will eventually refer to their FaceSpace profiles before hiring them and cause the hire-er to wonder "Who is this dipsh*t, and why are they always making hand gestures with the hand NOT holding a cocktail?"

I am always delving into my mind and the works of the great cartoonists to find new ways to speak, to communicate, to express what it is that buts a burr in my figurative butt.

So as we get closer to the end of your life, and mine, please take into account a few important quotes about speaking:

A wise man speaks because he has something to say; a fool because he has to say something. -Plato

That's all I ever needed to know.

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Interview Review

I had an interview yesterday for a job I think I'll be really great for. It's been a while since I had an in-person 'view, having a number of phoners and chit-chats in the past year. And the past year has been "interesting" in that "hey, that's an interesting choice of fishnet shorts, sir." Plus, the economy in California appears to be run entirely by mismanaged healthcare conglomerates and DirecTV.

So, from my interview yesterday there were a few areas I think I could have better-represented myself. In the event that the teammembers I talked with are reading my blog - yes, now and then a potential employer will check in on candidates to make sure they aren't leading their meat-alternative lifestyle in an overly-aggressive manner - HERE IS WHAT I MEANT TO TELL YOU when we spoke of these issues.

1) DEADLINES! You asked what I would do if a number of Exec's came to me with simultaneous requests and delivery times. What I really should have highlighted was that I would inquire among the team for bandwidth, as to who could help me out so I can properly deliver on the ask. And make sure I share credit across the board. I don't know why I said "Do a spit-take and flip the bird." That's ridiculous, and the wrong time to go for a laugh. The next day I would surely reward my teammates with cookies.

2) TIME ON THE JOB! I do feel I answered truthfully to the portion of why I hadn't been in a particular job for too long in the past 4 years. Working On-Contract in the Northwest is pretty common, and those contracts with some large software companies help ensure the employed aren't taken advantage of, nor get any real momentum nor continuity. Phew! And moving to (and back from) California is an experience I wouldn't trade for the world. But I also didn't really touch on the fact that I and my family are intent on remaining in the area for quite some time. I am attached to this area, want to raise a family here, have some goals about involvement in the community. Most importantly, my dreams are dead now, so that'll really be the compost to feed the roots taking hold here... yep.

3) PUBLIC KITCHEN USE! I'm no fan of any common area that allows a person to microwave any sort of fish meal. It's wrong. To keep that from happening, all of my meals will be eaten cold, at my desk, in under 12 minutes. AND I BRING IN COOKIES THAT THE TEAM GETS FIRST CRACK AT, before releasing broken ones to the vultures in the kitchen area. Real cookies. Chocolate-laden. None of that Raisin-chunk, store-bought Horse-S people try and pass off as a "friendship offering."

Okay, so hopefully they got all that. I'm a good hire, a good guy, and not involved in any Fantasy Sports this year. Bigger fish to scale. Let's do this, because I have the skills, and a calendar with nothing on it until Memorial Day.

COOKIES.

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Be Your Own, Anonymous Person

Sure as I am that many articles, blogs, and pr0n-spam links have been made about this, I would like to weigh-in on an issue that affects us all when it comes to the use of the Internet.

Our Constitution (for Americans only, I hope) has a number of Amendments, which is to say, the first go-round didn't quite get it all. One of those Amendments is the First one. Luckily, it's the most important one in a society full of people who our Forefathers thought would be smarter than they are. It guarantees our Freedom to Speak, Print, and Worship. Not sure how those all tie in to each other, but ink was pricey then and if you can't tell somebody to read the Bible, what's the use of stealing one from a Hotel?

So we've got this far now into the Web2.0 thing, wherein WE are the contributors of content. This blog, that goat-fighting video, keyboard cat, CHICKEN TETRAZZIIIINI, and your video that nobody was supposed to see.

Oh... who's a pretty little Thai Schoolgirl NOW?

And in the Cyberscape we can often become anybody we want to, and live anonymously, vicariously, and usually, slovenly. And we contribute what it is we (think?) the world wants to hear from us. Or, more narcisistically, what WE want the world to know about us. These plops fall into 5 categories:

1) Boring
2) Pointless
3) Profane
4) A link to some sort of hole
5) Something enraging the easily-enraged shut-in

So yeah, the 'nets full of nobodies. If I were really poppin', I wouldn't be cheek-liftin' blogs out this monster for nobody. Love for my readers, always always. But hey, if I had my druthers, I'd be inaccessible 40 weeks a year. Until then, send me a drink in MafiaWars. Nobody talks anymore...

To prove it, here's a cam pic of me writing this blog.

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Customer Disservice - DirecTV & Costco

Hey, DirecTV...
When your tech installs a dish outside of my neighbor's balcony, instead of on top of the building where we said it would go...
and I have to make 3 phone calls to get it fixed...
and the 3rd person tells me there's a fee...
for the F'up of one of your employees...

and you tell me that the fee is due to a "cosmetic change" instead of one where there's no signal...

I really think you should know that I'm going to tell everyone about it.
There are other options that don't require drilling into the roof and F'ing with my relationships in the neighborhood.

If you have any problems with DirecTV, you're not alone. They are saying there's a $50 fee to move the dish... in this weather, it's almost worth it. News as news warrants.

==========
Hey, Costco...

A few months ago I wrote about how some of your door-greetin', customer-countin' employees dissed me a bit. Hey, we all have bad days, but that's not how I would expect to be treated at a place that I HAVE TO PAY TO SHOP AT...
and I sent that letter to the Corporate Office...
and the Corporate Office had the local manager call me...
and the local manager had moved, so his replacement called me...
and the local replacement only kinda had an idea of what was going on...
and I recounted the incident with the local manager touching on the points that...
1) Many stores are discounting prices in this economy
2) Many stores don't have greeters to pay to act like they have actual power
3) I can go to many stores where I do NOT have to pay a membership fee and be treated just as poorly

and after recounting these for the local replacement manager, Costco, you'd be happy to know that he went the "EXTRA STEP!" or "Bulk Happy Purchase!"...

and agreed with me on all points.

Fantastic. I am happy to know that you know that we BOTH know you can do a better job.

And I apologize for thinking you'd be able to do any of the following to keep me from telling everyone about what you did...
1) Refund my membership fee and allow me to keep my membership. Perhaps you can't afford it. Not a lot of pallets of Pomegranate Acai Facial Beads moving right now.
2) Throw me a half-gross of diapers. Kid's poopin' his way into a community college.
3) Upgrade me to the Gold Star Corporate Early Entry SuperLube program.
4) My own sample station... nobody but I get to eat from it.

So, just some idears. Think it over next time somebody with nothing better to do may get shut down by your front line.
Costco CANNOT have the Basic members mingling with the reeeeally old people buying more food than they can finish, but will have plenty for the wake.

===================
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Blow Me Down

The Pacific Northwest has a broad spectrum of weather, getting both arms around - and both cheeks into - every season. Icy, snowy Springs. Sunny, drizzly Winters. Summers that last only 7 weeks but have temps in the low 100s. And the WIND, oh yes... Mother Nature's Howl.

Recently, while Wife and Son and I were in Culver City there was a really hefty wind-storm. Not a storm just by Los Angeles standards that gusted up to 18mph and threw cigarette ashes all over the back seat of the TT. The kind where, if you were walking home from the bus stop, your legs were being blown into each other and almost tripping you, and you freaked out because normally you can handle that much NightTrain on a 20minute bus ride. Also, you realized that the lights all along the block, up to the Lee SuperLiquor! bodega, were out. HEAVY BLOWIN'. (that oughtta get some more hits to the page)

Power was out for about 3 hours that night. We ordered Italian food from Ugo. It was quality bites. I highly recommend Sun-dried tomatoes and smoked mozzarella on a sammitch. The next day I was driving to work and was on Venice Blvd. A tree had been blown over in the wind, and the branches and leaves and top-half of the trunk were passed out... excuse me... flopped down into the far-left lane. A traffic cone had been placed 50 feet ahead of it to let people know, "YO... we'll get to it!"

The city of Los Angeles has red light cameras all over the place, but not enough to drive revenue from the incredible number of red-light runners (2-per, from my count). A 1-hour rain will flood the streets. The buckling roadways are ground-down and patched-over. Perfectly good comedians are getting shunned for spots at the A-clubs, while horrid hosts with barely 9 minutes of masturmaterial get half-hours on Comedy Central because of their management team. BAD, bad, bad infrastructure.

So that tree, the broken & blocking one, lay there for 2 days before somebody in a city truck came to get it. Sunny weather, clear skies, dry roads. No city utility worker available to clear the roadway. For 2 days.

Last night up on Juanita Drive & 163rd, a tree blew down and knocked power out to Juanita-like areas. The crews were up there this morning getting it handled.

4 weeks ago I had to call the city office in LA about a health inspection. I got a call back TODAY. Thank you, Los Angeles. You proved your point.



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Beggars Can't Be Choosers

FaceBook, Twitter, Blogs, MySpace, and the Taylor Swift FanFiction Forum... all of these are places for you to hang it out there. Call it "Social Networking." Call it "Vanity Web." Call it "Time Wasted." It's a self-paparazz'ing to show off what you gots to show... and it turns many of us into gawking lurkers from the privacy of our Snuggie.

You only have to give as much as you choose on these sites. You need not say everything. Better for you that you don't, unless you're trying to "create a buzz." At that point, fire away.

But do not say you're not going to be on FaceBook for a week while recovering from surgery, and then NOT tell everyone what you're going to have cut off and replaced with Stretch Armstrong doll. You can't ask for attention and then gripe about the kind of attention you get.

Follow me on Twitter at www.twitter.com/GLRules !

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Los Angeles Redux

You wanna know about LA?
You wanna get in the cage with the Beautiful Beast and throw elbows with love?
Do you have what it takes to hone your craft and watch some bimbo get a golden ticket and leapfrog over you because she's more marketable, and then she goes on the road for a year and all she can come up with is 8 new minutes on drinking?

EVERYTHING you need to know about Los Angeles in 2.5 minutes.





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Freakuency

I've taken to calling-out people doing rude and dumb things in public. Recently, at Swapper Jack's, a man's left arm crossed my face to reach for a chutney. It wasn't preceded with any sort of "Excuse me," nor a "pardon, I'm sorry, but there's one guy here who needs some mango chutney on the regular, and it ain't YOU, mang." THAT I'd-a be down fo'.

So I said, about 6 inches from his untrimmed ear:
"Do you need to get in here, sir?"

He said nothing, paused, then beat a retreat with what I can only assume is a life-changing mincemeat of mango, bell pepper, honey, and exotic spices.

Today at the Post Office - which I openly mock because I'm comfortable knowing I will NEVER work there - I was 6th in line when a chick in pig tails, yoga pants, flip-flaps, and a hoodie cut the line to ask a cage worker "Um, like, hiii, can I ask a question?"
(Cage worker was helping somebody who was rather stunned)
The cage worker said "mmmhmmm" or some sort of affirmation.

Dipshit asked "My friend left her diary here a while ago, like, do you have a Lost & Found? It was like 2 weeks ago I think?"

Okay, nobody said anything.
The problem is now everybody's issue. Because this isn't a transaction that will benefit the USPS, and will only hold everything else up, and I'll be Catholic Priest-tickled if that shit's happening when I'm in the building.

And I start to think, "Will Cage Worker take a break from the line and go look for the journal of this dipshit's dipshit friend? NOOOOO, she wouldn't. That would be like Customer Service, and the Post Office ain't that."

Well, she DID go look. For about 5minutes, which is 30minutes in Post Office time. I moved to 4th in line. Journal not found.
Dipshit in PigTails starts asking questions about "Could you look again? Are there ANY books?" and this is WAAAAAAY over the limit...
SO I SAY...

"Excuse me, excuse me? Miss, in the sweatshirt?" Now everyone's looking at me. And I will admit, I FELT VERY MUCH ALIVE.

"Um, yeeeah?"

"We're all waiting in line to do business here, your friend's journal's gone. We need to get going here, okay? Sorry."

Everyone's acting like it wasn't said, except me, Dipshirt, and Cage Worker. Dipshirt takes a second, glances around, acts all butt-hurt, sighs, and says "Thanks" to the Cage Worker and flaps-off out the branch.


YOU'RE WELCOME, WEST HOLLYWOOD POST OFFICE.

Say something. Especially when somebody's doing something wrong and it's hurting the community and if needed, you could kick their ass.

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Do Me A Flavor

The past year of living in Los Angeles has been weird. I've grown a lot as a person. I've had to learn to ask, persevere, promote, and deliver comedy in weirder situations than I've ever been in. That includes the time I did comedy in a cut-out of a wall over a bar, standing on a 12-inch ledge. And everything I've done in Tukwila.

I read a book earlier this year called "The Go Giver." My friend & helper-angel Ann turned me on to it. The premise of the story is that when you can, Help. It greatly changed the way I look at helping, being helped, and the entire WHAT Helping Is. A subtext that I picked up on is that there's a BIG BIG BIG OPRAH EGO-HUGE difference between Helping, and Imposing Your Will With Best Intentions.

Somebody offering to swing a hammer to erect your weekend bone-shed, that's a Helper. They are there to help you get Your thing done.

Somebody bringing a set of blue-prints and one shovel and asking you "Why are you doing it that way? Shouldn't the drain be in the middle of the floor? Are these walls sound-proof? What grade are the leather restraints?" That's a NiceHole. They are coming to help you get things done the way they would like them to be done.

And if you question their intention, up their own ass they go, pursing their lips and saying "Well...
I WAS ONLY TRYING TO HELP."

Would you let somebody pay for your groceries for a month?
If it meant they got to do all the shopping, also?

Would you let somebody buy you a car?
If it meant they chose it, but you had to gas and insure it?

Would you let somebody get you a job that paid pretty well?
If it meant you didn't know what the job entailed?

I believe deeply in helping somebody when you can, simply because you can. It just MIGHT put you out, but you can handle it. Not talkin' kidney-donation, or even any kind of organ trade.
But never, ever helping somebody "on your terms." There is help, then there is Politicking.

Nobody elected you to be a Friend.

Give. Or Get. Graciously.

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The Best Thing I Ever Ate

There's a show on the Food Network, a.k.a. Fat-E! (I love the Food Network), called "The Best Thing I Ever Ate."

The best meal I ever ate was at Café Juanita in Kirkland, WA. The head chef, Holly Smith, is going to be on Food Net's "The Next Iron Chef." Well-deserved.

A few years ago we went there for Alicia's birthday dinner. It was a 5-minute walk from home, so the wine wasn't going to be a factor. Sweet.

When I go out to eat, I try to order something I cannot come close to making at home. Usually I order the healthiest thing on the menu, but if we're going white-tablecloth and I've gone so far as to wear a shirt with buttons on it... well... let's order-up.

So I ordered the Milk-Braised Wild Boar. Not something I was planning on ever working over in the crock-pot, so let's see what's-what with a Crazy Pig.
AMAZED by it.
Tender. Perfectly seasoned. It's the only thing I ever ate where I thought... "This needs absolutely nothing. It is perfect." It was a hand-sized piece of tenderloin luxuriating in a shallow pool of savory cream. It fell apart with a look. Unbelievable.

The other best thing I ever ate were my wife's Pecan Chocolate cookies she made last year while I was off in Las Vegas doing comedy for 10 days. She froze some for me in case I wasn't able to gain a full 10 pounds over the holidays, being on the road. Thems were THA BIZ.

So there you go. Thought I'd share that with you.
The worst thing I ever ate was crow, and some humble pie. Never did like the taste of it.

Then again, for a free-range animal, crow tastes like garbage.

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What's New Daddy-G?

I took a big step this past week by committing to being present when my son was born. Not nearly enough men do this, for any number of well-thought-out, idiocy-inspired reasons. I've seen my son every day since the moment he was born. His head looks much better today.

With due respect to HAX-TV, trips to see Dave Matthews at the Gorge, and stand-up comedy, being part of my son Graham's life is likely the most-meaningful involvement of my existence. I've already had a number of conversations with myself about discipline, drinking, Religion vs. religion, and fighting at soccer games for community U-8 teams. I have a lot of growing up to do, still.

I sometimes envy my friends who had children much younger in their life. As they get older and make more money, they are able to do and give more to the kids. But also, I met the Right Woman later than some do, and our son Graham Gerald Lott came right on time. If I were 27 with a kid, I'd still be itching to go out and drink and act like a Reality TV Housemate. At 35 I just stay home for all of that. Life has its own skej for ya. Stop fighting it and go with your flow.

I have a much better appreciation for all my parents have done for me in my life. Especially after seeing my son being born. He came into the world at 7# 8oz, and I was 9#7oz, so my mom deserves a gift card instead of brunch next year. As a new parent, I have only instinct and some videos and a few chapters of parenting knowledge to go from. Turns out, everybody knows nothing about being a parent. I guess it's all going to be about Love, even if it's tough, even when it's hour 4 of a non-sleeping jag at 3:47a.m. and somebody's on your lap farting like a mariachi tuba, and will just... not... POOOOOOOOP there it was on my leg.

Madly in love with this kid, he's more attuned to his Mom, who is all things a Woman could be. Her strength through 30+ hours of contractions, naturally delivering our son, and recovering to feed him "naturally" has been awe-inspiring. It's the strongest I have ever seen somebody Be, close to my mom's dealing with my dad's illness. I have an amazing wife, and my son's a lucky little boy, blessed with wonderful angels.

In closing, I'm probably gonna blabber on about being a dad here, on and off. In the meantime, I'll also be throwing in some stuff I'm working on for my act about how F'ed up the world has gotten (Thank You, Passive Aggressive Behavior!), and how to handle Bad Apples.

Love you all. As appropriately as I can.

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Obama's Message Failed Us All

President Obama's message to the nation's youth and school children - but NOT the Home-Schooled Children - missed on few key points yesterday. The children, who some believe are our future, of this nation have a daunting task ahead of them when considering the changes needed in Health Care, Reality TV programming, Stand-Up Comedy, and Organic Farming. The President's moment had arrived to speak to the children, directly, and to the parents of those children IN-directly, and to the baby-daddies of many of those children unintentionally. And the ball was dropped.

In such a large forum it was surely important to address education, personal responsibility, mandatory birth control, FaceBook pictures, and not getting a neck tattoo of a basketball before the age of 20, no matter how much of your ass shows above your long shorts, you clown. Those tatts only make it easier to identify you, which the police, and the coroner, will appreciate.











How did President Obama fail?
He had the opportunity to say anything to these kids... ANYTHING... and here's a list of what he should have, and did NOT, tell them...

1. "It is in your best interest at all times to RETURN YOUR EMPTY SHOPPING CART TO THE CORRAL, instead of the empty parking spot or half-way into a planter near your car. And call your mom & dad on this monumental laziness at all times."
2. "Your family pet is a pet, not a tool. Unless you are one of our nation's sight-challenged youth who uses a service animal to help you navigate public areas, DON'T BRING YOUR DOG INTO THE STORE, ever. If it can't survive in the car or the living room, it's probably going to die in Frozen Foods. No matter how cute, eventually, somebody will bring a larger and larger and larger dog until the local grocer aisles are roamed by pumas handled by illegitimate owners. NO. DOGS. IN. STORES."
3. "Your music sucks. Your brains are absorbing a ton of over-emotional drivel from the likes of Rihanna, One Republic, Hinder, Linkin Park, Beyonce, and yes, even Lil Wayne. The list goes on and on. The louder you music has to be in order to sound good, the less intelligent you will be for listening to it. Do what you like with that."
4. "Deadwood should be wrapped up with a movie. Demand it now."
5. "In closing, regardless of the color of your skin, the ancestry of your bloodlines, or the behavior of your friends, nobody likes loud, rude, crass, unintelligent, boorish, mush-mouthed jabber. If you can't say something nicely, keep it at yo' self."

Of course, there's far more to have been covered, but I think we all know what's-what here. In an era of Me First, My Phone, My Face, look at ME ME ME ME... and then ME is very unimpressive... at some point SOMEBODY has to step up and say "ENOUGH."

Don't leave it to the kids. Educate them on how to act with class, tact, manners, and courtesy. We don't need kids acting like prim & proper little dorks, but using the words "F*** Yeah, I gots a HEEYOOJ bowlzak fuh yo mama!" almost NEVER ends with getting invited to the pool party.

As for the Healthcare message, you CANNOT put a price-tag on human life.
They're not all worth the same.

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My Book About Corporate Life, DONE

For those who don't know, haven't read this very often, or just need to be caught-up...
1) I'm going to be a dad in about 2 weeks.
1a) Yes, I'm a little freaked. I choked from rapidly drinking WATER 2 nights ago.
2) I spent a decade of my adult life in cubicles for a few of the Giants Of Industry, and laughed to tell about it. Some on-stage, much of it over drinks I shouldn't have pounded in the parking lot.

3) I decided to write a book about the experiences of #2. Poop joke? Not exactly. And "yes." But not exactly.

The book is about my experiences as both a Full Time employee - sardonically labeled "permanent employee" if you're dumb enough to believe that - AND as a contracted/temp/consulting employee.

There is a class war, a caste system in place among those cubicles and hallways, all based on the color of a person's access badge.

COULD IT BE? Can a person be JUDGED based on the color of their badge, designating their worth, place, input, salary, and attractiveness to a company?

HELLZ YEAH

And THAT is what this book is all about.

The daily work situations of every employee of every major corporation, and how it affects them based on something so small, yet so big... the color of their access badge.

Send me a note, I'll send you a sample chapter, you tell me what you think. Please?

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NiceHoles

I created this term, "NiceHole," about a year ago in a conversation with my wife. We were talking about somebody I had worked with who, though very, very sweet in their intention, was also a full-grown minotaur-sized pain near, if not in, my ass.

NiceHoles are people who annoy you, but do it in a way that they will always be able to hide behind. This particular NiceHole would hear a conversation, hover near it, then impart their similar tale of woe... that's it. Nothing in the way of helpful advice, cheerful outlook, or even a decent recipe for a pot brownie. "Oh yeah, my sister had a problem like that. The doctor had to remove about 60% of her (I blocked this part out, trying to numb my psyche to that family's "parts") and she lived, but yeah... that can be tough."

Fuck.
Off.

NiceHoles hole it out in soooo many ways. SO many 'Hole variations.
* Volunteering to pass around a sign-up for the office "pot luck," then they bring plates. HOLE
* Standing and starting a conversation near a restroom, when you are obviously going TO that restroom so that you don't, you know, talk to somebody for too long outside of it and self-shit the inside of your skinny jeans. (your jeans are shit, BEE TEE DUB)
* Stopping you to converse while you are holding something heavy. They'll talk with their dumb mouth hole while their eyes go blandering off into the ether as if THIS is the conversation they know will change both of your lives.
* Not getting to the fucking point of a story. Hello? Here's a quote from a convo I had with a NiceHole a few months ago.
NH: "So you're a comedian, huh?"
GL: "I am, yes."
NH: "What kind of, uh, what's you're uh... like, what kind of uh... what's your routine?"
GL: "As in, what kind of material do I work with, or ?"
NH: "I used to really like that guy, oh gosh, he was, ah... uh... white guy... really, you know, uh... He would talk about the airplane and how it was unsafe and, what was his name? I'm so bad with names." (to nobody in particular)

Now, he's just trying to make conversation. But this isn't a Supreme Court vetting, we're talking about a stand-up comic. I'm thinking it's probably George Carlin, judging from this guy's age, but when I said "George Carlin?" He replied with...
"Who? George? No... not... what was the last name?"

REMEMBER???? THAT GUY YOU REALLY LIKED?

See, here's a perfectly nice guy who cannot hold a neural connection long enough to converse, to draw names out of his self-admittedly shallow namebank.

Here's another way to NiceHole into the Hole Of Fame.
Keep talking,
TALK TALK TALK TALK, comment on everything you see, just mindlessly make as much noise at a normal volume as possible...

Fill the gaps with a blathering boatload of blithering blabber. Butt hole.

The thing about the NiceHole is this...
They never do anything that you can point out as Mean or Rude. Just annoying. And if you say anything, the Hole will or can quickly retort with "Well, I was only (insert annoying behavior)."

Yeah, but during the entire first act of "X-Men: The Final Stand"? SHIT-CAN YOUR CAKEHOLE AND go silent...

We have to stop this... this horrible Adult Onset Self-Ignorant Idiocy.

NiceHoles... your time has come. You will now be made fun of, chastised, and called out for your behavior.
If we can sue and imprison snooty white guys for raiding pension funds, I can sure-as-our-national-debt-is-a-nightmare tell somebody to SHUT
THE.
FUCK.
UP.

Video to follow, when possible.


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100% Dumbass Behavior

Let me get this right...
You dialed a phone number... listened to all 6 rings... let it go to voicemail... listened to the voicemail greeting in it's entirety...

Then hung up when you could have left a message?

That's the kind of intellect best-described as a "loud HSSSSSH'ing sound."
Get diarrhea and stop using things with buttons.

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Nothing to see here...

There is absolutely nothing I can think of to interest me on this internet. I'm going to couch-flop and rub my wife's feet until she drool-sleeps on the throw pilla.

G'night.

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Fame, Us, People

Today we were in Santa Monica heading to a birthing class to make sure we know how to breathe and where the baby comes out. You'd be really, really freaked out if you knew. It's... wow... ANYway, we get there and gotta... GET TO THE POINT.

I was at the lobby desk and glance to the left as a man in a red shirt, long sleeves, skull-covered, saunters around the corner, hair curly and wild. I think "Tim Burton's got hair like... THAT'S TIM BURTON."

Near him in bright pastels is a bouncy gal with hair in an up-do, and I start totally ignoring the ass-backwards lobby desk "guard" trying to figure out the parking maps. Because I KNOW that this lady has to be... HELENA BONHAM CARTER.

At which point they glance over at me (yes, I was waving as though I was signaling "MINE" for an incoming fly-ball), and I say "Hey, I love you guys! I'm a huge fan of your work."

They said?
"Oh hey, thanks! Cool!"
And they walked outside LIKE NORMAL PEOPLE LIKE ME AND some of you.

I head outside with my parking pass and far too much judgment on what it must NOT take to get a job as a lobby desk guard for UCLA Health Services. As I exit the building I see
TIM BURTON and his wife HELENA BONHAM CARTER! Just a few feet from our car, wherein My Wife! is reading something about our class. I turn to TIM BURTON and HELENA BONHAM CARTER and say "Sorry, I'm geeking out. I love your stuff!"



I peek through the window and tell my wife "Hey, that's (pointing behind me) TIM BURTON and HELENA BONHAM CARTER!"
She waves at them and says "Hiii!"

Whaddyoo think those two did?

THEY WAVED RIGHT BACK AND SAID "Hii!"

Then they walked down the street and off to do what they do when they aren't about to get hugged and cried-on by a guy who has deep emotional attachments to "Beetlejuice," "The Nightmare Before Christmas," and "Ed Wood."

In our birthing class we watched a video where some random lady in Iowa gave birth. They showed her pushing it out of her (business). Hey, how about a heads-up before the Head's out? Jeez. Bloody show, indeed.

Then we went to Calabasas to shop at Babies R Us because they were the only one in the area that had a store where teenagers weren't registering for their showers. And the sling we needed, from what I was told.

What a great day. I love my wife. I love my life. I love that we're Living. Blessed.

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TIM BURTON and HELENA BONHAM CARTER!

Football Football Football Football

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Take Me Home

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Customer Disservice Chronicles, No. 8

The Following Letter has been sent to Costco Wholesale Headquarters. News updates as warranted.

July 21, 2009

RE: Customer Service at
Costco Wholesale
13463 Washington Boulevard
Marina del Rey CA 90292


I visited the above-noted Costco store twice in the past week. In our first visit, my wife and I re-upped our membership dues, even though we shop less-frequently at Costco. But throughout the year, yes, the savings do come back to us, so it’s worth it! We’ve always had good experiences with Costco. Which is why today’s interaction with some employees threw me off a bit.

I arrived prior to 10a.m., which I thought was late for Costco to open, but I’m rarely shopping there at that hour so I don’t know the times well. As the doors lifted we were told this was the time only for “Executive Members.” There were perhaps 100 people there. I can’t imagine a large number of shoppers stayed away due to not being “Executive Members,” but instead were at work to earn money to spend at places like Costco. I didn’t check the hours on-line because I wasn’t near a computer, but also because 10a.m. seems like a reasonable hour to shop.

I was there to drop off a prescription for contacts. That’s all. I wasn’t allowed in either side, not the entrance nor the Member Services area near the exit. The only explanations were “Executive Members only!” and when I asked if I could drop the Rx off and pick it up later, the woman shook her head and said “Nope, sorry.” My time was shot, basically. I wasn’t going to wait an hour just to hand somebody a piece of paper. Was the Optical Department open? I will never know. I got a “Nope, sorry” and she turned to talk to somebody else. Should I come back another time? When is good for you? Are you looking for people who appreciate their jobs?

Perhaps I can have an explanation of why a Gold Star member has to wait until 11a.m? I’m hoping that the Executive Members are treated to special events inside, prior to 11a.m. Free coffee and a scone bar, everybody loves free food. Maybe a private concert by adult-contemporary legend Kenny Loggins, or perhaps a relaxing massage as they stroll the aisles in beautiful, Executive Membership Fee Paid-for Silence. No kids. No screaming. Nobody walking away from their cart which they’ve left blocking the middle of a main aisle while pondering the 3lb. bag of almonds (really a good deal, I have to admit) or make small-talk over a sample of a taquito (they have no intention of buying the taquitos).

Is this the utopian shopping experience I am missing?

I don’t really care. I just wanted to hand somebody my contact prescription and get it later, way out of my normal travel route. And what I left with was a “Nope, sorry.” Next time I want to be treated like my presence is pointless, I’ll do it someplace without a membership fee.

So I’m speaking for at least some of the Gold Star riff-raff when I say that I don’t mind paying my fee for the Savings I get from Costco, but perhaps some of the fee should be diverted to a class for “How to talk to Customers without coming off like you can’t be replAced”-types. Nobody’s perfect. But the effort counts.

Sincerely,

Geoff Lott

Bus, STOP!

Riding on public transportation, one is bound to see a number of abnormal happenings.

Guy staring at the floor while mindlessly sipping from the largest-you-can-legally-buy can o’ Iced Tea? Check.

Woman eating a single Reese’s PB Cup, though it’s been squished near-flat and she’s scrapin’ at it with her bottom tooth-stumps to get the what’s-left out of the cup? DING.

Black guy rollin’ his head and finger-pointing to the beat of music only he can hear… though he’s not wearing earphones? PO PO ZAO.

Mexicans? AY AY AAAAY!

Blacks? Unh. (na-na-na-nAAAA)

Asians? Hai.

White(s)? Yeah.

The Journey of Life is much like dealing with public transportation. Not everybody has to share the same journey, getting in and out, off and on here and 3 stops ago. See, what happened to me a few times the past 2 weeks is this. There’s a schedule drivers are s’posed to keep, from stop to stop. It keeps them from being a giant bus train all over the city, and keeps people from congregating for an hour until their bus comes… or doesn’t.

I was about 3 minutes behind schedule leaving work on foot a couple weeks ago. I walk a quarter-mile to the bus stop at Fairfax & Beverly, home of CBS TV Studios and the occasional transvestite slap-fight. At the corner I get to, I have bus option 1, the 217 that takes about 25 minutes in rush traffic to get to my home-stop. Option 2 is the 780, the Express that takes about 19 minutes and has fewer stops on the way to my destination. They arrive, usually, 7 or 11 minutes apart, then NOTHING for about 15minutes. So if you miss ‘em both, you got 15minutes to contemplate why you left work 3 minutes late. 780, 7 minutes, 217, 11 minutes, 780, etc. Miss one, and your evening drinkin skej goes pear-shaped.

Today, walking home from the store, with a schedule in my head to e-send something to My Wife!, I decided to make it faster and catch the bus. This time it’s a 3minute bus ride or a 20min walk. Bus runs every 12minutes, usually, so even if I miss one, I’m gonna make up the time. Well I hit the stop and wait. 8minutes past when it should’ve come, not bad. Took me 5min to walk to the stop and no bus passed me, so the bus is running late. I waited a few more, then realized, hey, by now, I could be WAY the hell closer to home and further from what botanists call “probably a hobo’s drying pee.”

The bus is late, way late. And things to be done are waiting. Where da bus is, yo?

And I said “well I can’t wait for this power trip, I gotsta GO,” but to myself. In a very H&R Block-friendly voice. And I started walking. I cross the street, parallel to the bus lane o’ travel. The bus stop, not 1minute behind me, is empty. Just me, a bit East of ‘er. Walking.

And then That Bus blazes by. I’m 100 feet from the bus stop. The bus, now 8minutes behind on the day before damn-near ever’bawdow has a day off and traffic is lighter than Heidi Montag’s “Thought Book,” rips by me. RIPS. 50 in a 35. Ain’t my fault.

And a theory of Life hit me as the wind rolled up my back while I said, “Mother ASS BITCH POO STAIN.” It may have gotten racial. Sorry. Public Transit is piloted by some WEIRD people. Would YOU wanna drive strangers up & down the street all day? No. You’re too busy thinking of ways to cook loin of venison with a red wine-cocoa nib reduction. So what was I talking about? LIFE.

We have stops in life. Moments. Milestones. Wait points. Who knows when you’ll get off at one. When another bus comes around, it may not be y’all’s. But those stops are there. As you wait at your stop, some may think, “Look, that sex-diesel is waiting for a bus!” or “If I were at that bus stop, I’d keep my distance from that one. But then again, my raw food diet means I rabbit-fart day long.” But there you are. Bus Stop Waiting.

Because you could just start walking, too. You could up and go. Sun on you. Wind at you. Rain soak you. Breeze cool you. Tiring you out. Because you cannot wait. You can’t. And That Bus isn’t coming around, or hasn’t, and if you walk, you’ll be closer to your destination, and can likely pick up a bus at another stop down the way there.

Or you could wait a bit more. Because when it does arrive, you’re then speeding along at a much faster rate than you can walk (no offense), and back to reading “The Outliers,” ironically, for your present sitch.

Do you know when it will arrive?

Or do you just Know it will, and when it does, you’ll be ready for the ride?

Sometimes it’s better to just hoof it and get there.

Sometimes you miss it by a second and your effort closes the distance.

You may wait much longer than you want.

You may hit it at the right time.

You must know it will come for you. Have Faith. You’re on your way, even if you aren’t moving. But… You can walk and get tired. Or!!! You can wait while others think you’re lazy for not just walkin’. Your faith that it will arrive can save you the effort of “doing it yourself.” And just a bit-more waiting as you read your hot book gets you to where you’re going much, much faster.

Or you can walk and see where a homeless guy OBVIOUSLY took a shit in a Von’s bag and didn’t seal it in front of what was once Culver Nissan.

And no, I’m not saying God is a Bus Driver, nor Black, Mexican, or Multi-ethnic. But he doesn’t have all day. Pay up, get on, and shut your taco-catch. If you can't enjoy the ride, at least enjoy your read.

And some. Well. Some never get on that bus.

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