Big Brother Sleeps In, Farts On Little Sister

Let's all admit right now that we have no clue how the government works. You can state all you just copied from a Wiki entry, but on penalty of asshole-waxing you cannot tell me what the Checks & Balances are. (it's how Government sets the standard for all corporations to stifle anything before it gets out of control and actually gets work done) But somehow our government, where the average representative - that's the place where there are 435 of 'em pulling a $174K salary - works a 3-day week in between committee meetings. And getting Lobbyist luncheon BJs. And bathing in slime.

So our Government cannot find a budget that works so they'll just quit and not show up? Sorry, there's no money to keep the lights on for a day? Bullshit. Get in there and fix that shit. This is the GOVERNMENT, it's somewhat important to people who think community activity isn't worth the time. It's maddening, truly. Big Brother wants to sleep in. Wants to roll over, take a rip off the bong, and nap until the weekend. Aren't we throwing firepower down Libya's throat for some reason dressed up to make it not look like oil?

They need to just go in there and push some shit around, look busy. Until now it doesn't appear anything has been done anyway. Seriously. And we're all too upside down in our tent mortgages to have the bag to skip a day of work, and REALLY shut the show down. You want to enact change, you don't vote. You get 50% of a workforce to dis-a-fucking-ppear for a Tuesday with no explanation. Send a message about who is in control.

Same thing in Washington, DC. This article tells the tales of those who are really affected by the stoppage: People making the $30K-$50K a year who're just scraping by in the economy's wet-fart of a recovery. The people who make the coffee, sweep the floors, shine the shoes, cut the hair, fold the shirts, make the meetings, unlock the doors, mop the bathrooms... they disappear for ONE DAY... shit'll get changed. Kinda like a "Day Without A Mexican," but documented.

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Corporate Training & Obedience

Hi, good morning! Everyone?! Good morning, hi...
My name is Denise Szbarski and I am aaaa certified corporate training specialist here, and today I am going to lead our class on the Unified Requirements, Intentions and Negotiations Gathering, or URING, as we like to call it, heh heh heh... NOOOO, not the other word, come on now...

Does anybody have any questions at this point? No? Okay, then why don't we turn our cell phones off or to vibrate, probably better off so that your business emails and important phone calls don't take us away from the focus today while we're all... working through the process and knee deep in URING. Is everybody able to connect to the network? No? You're not? You? No, no, no... huh, 7 of 10 of you can't get on? Okay, well keep trying. Okay then.

Okay, then normally we go around the room to introduce ourselves and say which department we're in to kill time that I can't fill, but instead of doing that, okay let's dive right into our work today. By the time we get to the last person most of us forget who was first anyway and it doesn't really impact our job nor this class, okay then.

Okay, then now the URING process was created out of a need for Senior Leadership like Daniel and Marlia and Steven to impart some change to an otherwise barely-flawed process we were all comfortable and knowledgeable with. After being confused about the actual details that go into planning and design they found a need to get everybody on a new page instead of the same page. Instead of having no answers as to what all has transpired during the gathering and design phases of projects, they now have an acronym they can refer to and feel as if they are at-one with their organization. They don't know any of your names and don't particularly care to, okay then.

Okay, then when you get to the last 72 hours before a project you have worked on is supposed to launch, the URING process will be referred-to. Usually this will happen by one of the Senior Leaders who hasn't attended any of the calls or meetings, and they will ask questions at random times. The answers to those questions will likely, or may not be, in the URING document, so keep it on-hand at all times, okay then?

Okay, then OH is that a phone? Please... please let's turn off our phones again real quick, guys I hate to interrupt class like that, okay? I'm barely qualified to substitute-teach a quiet-drawing class, guys, okay, let's make sure our phones are off. I have control issues, okay then.

So we're going to go ahead and dive right in for the first 2 hours, is it cold in here? Can we turn the heat up? Are any of you guys cold? No? I am freezing, I'm going to get this heat going, I will be freezing up here, okay then.

So we're going to go ahead and dive in for about 2-and-a-half hours as an intro to the URING process, then a 10minute lunch and bathroom break, then we'll wrap up with 3 hours after lunch. Ah, there we go, I just heard the heat turn on. I set it for 78 so if anybody feels warm just imagine you're in Maui on the beach with a Corona, okay then.
===-=-=-=-=-===--=-=-=-=-===

Corporate Training: When done well, it sounds nothing like this. Usually it sounds like this.


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Shit's F'ed

As I watch the upheaval in the Middle East, North Africa, Japan, and Wisconsin, I make note that most other countries live with a passion about politics that America finds barbaric and frightening. We prefer to withhold such emotion until it really matters, like when our team wins a championship, or Black Friday. Nothing says "You get out your the powerseat or we'll burn your house down" like riding your best camel into a duel before the prayer hour.

The threat of arrest is very real when you take a day off work. It multiplies by at least 3 when your PTO coincides with you being fed-the-fuck up with people protesting a war on the corner of a quaint suburban business park. (I'm talking to you, Iraq war protestors in Lake Forest Park!) Yes, we have the right to free speech, to assemble peacefully, and to petition the government without being hole-probed. But to be honest... THAT DOESN'T DO SHIT.

You can vote the bastards and bitchloads out of office. Another fartfactory will take their place. Politics are business, and the business is about Getting Rich, Staying Rich, and Face-Fucking the Opposition but Not In The Good Way. If you aren't sure if I'm fed up, I am. But what can I do about it?

Well, I can be cool as hell to my neighbors. I can be a better dad than I have been. I can get a control on this ridiculous ADD issue I'm having. I can act locally, shop locally, buy organic, and read-up on History. How did this all play out before? This isn't the first time dictators have been moved upon. Africa, by the way, is the world's crotch now. For anybody who wants to debate me about Africa being the cradle of civilization, that was most-likely what is now Southern Europe/Turkey/North Africa. When left to their own devices, i.e. America staying out of their affairs, look at what an incredible job African nations do.

It's up to the world to get Africa back on its feet. Oh wait, Japan is about to melt down because they have been too cheap to pony-up to keep their reactors up to code. Thank you, Japan. Probably gonna get enough cement dumped on you to sink part of that island. Sorry Africa, you'll have to wait. We'll keep sending aid to 47 countries in Africa, you African dictators keep acting like human ass-rashes, and we'll stand by and neglect our education system.

Here's what's so incredibly wrong with our society.

You can have a protest that blocks streets and takes people out of work and screws up people's commutes home, and yet still lose the vote to criminalize caffeinated baby formula.

Or you can get some real shit done by blowing up the factory that makes it and go to jail for it.

I'm happy as hell to see the protests in Wisconsin, and hope to see more.

Washington state is by far the most liberal-minded, conservative-walleted state in America. Our desire to force state and local governments to do "more with less" is crippling social services. Schools are getting hammered. And 27 year-old software designers are driving A-8s to Beer Pong at The Boat night. Awesome. We suck.

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Day Dream Job

I always have loved stand-up comedy. Some of my earliest memories are seeing Steve Martin, arrow through his head, goofin' it up on stage and watching a room full of adults cracking up about it. The people on TV were loving him. He looked like he was loving it right back. That looked like a lot of fun. It wired me, perhaps, to "get" comedy. It tuned my Sense of Humor. Like how blindness accentuates the other senses, or a how dullness of taste excites one's love of Daughtry's music or buffet dining when not in Vegas, my Sense of Humor has always been prominent.

What the hell does it matter? Why pursue COMEDY as a hobby, career, second job, or passion? To make people laugh? I don't like people all that much, in a general sense. As dumb as I project most of them to be, almost every audience I've performed in front of has been nearly 100% people. And I'm supposed to make THEM laugh? They expect me to give them some sort of levity from an existence that is routine, by rote, a rut from their mid-twenties until they go cold and limp in a chair 4 years and one Easter dinner after retiring from Accounts Receivable. And honestly, who deserves it more than them?

I pursue comedy for the same reason some people pursue celebrity cupcake-making, or giving it their all as a Real Housewife on TV.... they have bills to pay and demand attention.

I kid.

I can't NOT be funny. At work, in line for coffee, on the phone with a customer service rep (even if English is one of their top two languages), with doctors... Funny happens with me. And I feel blessed to be able to do what I do, get paid for it, enjoy it, and have strangers enjoy it, also. It's not always great.
Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes I hit a stage without any energy at all and have to be professionally pushing myself to be a bit louder and more animated until I finally HIT with the audience. Non-comedians know it as "every single day." But it is my passion and I can't NOT do it. I no longer question "why" our society - American, that is - has shows that embrace what seem to be waste-of-time pursuits, either. I get it.

Honestly, do we need a SINGLE show on TV, paid-for by advertising and cable bills, that solves the ages-old dilemma of whose group is the most dynamic at dancing? DANCING. If it keeps the kids off the streets and out of malls, great. And they love it. Perhaps they'll learn to appreciate other people's creative passions and shut the fuck up at a comedy club and not send useless text messages while the comedian is talking about how dumb young people are.

But the other part is that until it all clicks, The Passion pays dick. Especially if you're married and have a kid and a mortgage and other things you wanna do. While those inspire comedy, and work, and love, and provision, and Life, they also require a finely-tuned management of schedule that usually escapes most comedians. I've been a lazy joke-sack for a couple of months. And that's not something I love about comedy. It doesn't need me as much as I need it. Until I go to an open mic and hope the audience doesn't think comedy doesn't need me. Because, wow, some people are better off just judging comedy instead of doing it.

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Driving, Me Crazy

We have one car at the moment. It's not a new thing for us. We're not being self-righteous in our single car'edness. In Los Angeles we had one car that we scooted around in. It was convenient for both our budget and parking. This was before our son was born. This was before the demands of life as parents could really use both of us being auto-mobile. Times have changed. We got the one car, and it's a good car, and it's not a commuter, for the most part. Instead, I ride the bus to and from work on an almost daily basis. That's a travelogue for 5 other blogs, mostly centered around how being driven around is as liberating as it is lockdown. Being at the mercy of public transit's +/- 3minute "on time" plan isn't as fun as living with a bi-polar pitbull. Not that I'm calling out any of my ex-girlfriends. They probably all have their licenses by now.

I have the car today... Driving to work this morning was incredibly freeing for me. I've driven since I was 15 years old, most of the time, very well compared to those around me. I took the California written test without studying and got 34 of 36 CORRECT. I can drive. But it's amazing how the timing and judgment of the traffic flow can keep you on your toes, literally. The individual yet combined neuroses of a thousand drivers converging on a time-point preceding a dayjob really ought to result in far more violence. It's amazing that we're as calm as we are. The cars protect us from ourselves, I suppose. I imagine we'd all be road-tackling each other were it not for the amount of insurance paperwork and hassle required after a car accident.

And in driving to work I found myself riffing jokes from news stories, finding the humor in the relabeling of prostitution and how it objectifies both parties, and ripping farts like I was in the World Fart Championship Finals again. All things the bus frowns upon. Self-talk, prostitution, intelligent conversations. Farting, from what I can tell, gets a full GREENLIGHT on the bus. Welcome to the world's cultures in 9 miles, who likes curried broccoli and chickpeas?

In that 30minute commute I feel the drive defogged windows of my brain. Some wiper fluid and a few swipes opened a view of my mind I have been mostly unable to access during my 78minutes of commuting to and from work, listening to some guided meditation (Stop Caring Now!) or a Marc Maron WTF podcast. Accepting the responsibilities of car ownership at 37, yes, I will do it. I have perspective as my license to drive. And I'd like to smell only my own gas being burned. The American Dream; single-occupancy, single farter, single-minded.

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Backing Up

It's been a while since I was regularly on-stage. I don't really know why, but I can easily misdirect any number of reasons to my job, my disinterest in my act, being wiped-out, lacking a stage-hunger, being happy, or any combination of those. There's something lacking in the FIRE department, wherein most of my act should be scrapped while I build up something meatier, more reflective of my attitude towards society. At least the parts that most folks wouldn't label as racist.


After headlining in December, I decided a lot of my material just isn't fun to do, or should be more deeply extrapolated, if not looked into further. I think extrapolated is a great word. Recently I went to a chiropractor for the knot in my back and the displacement of my hips. Turns out that sitting on a wallet for 25 years has pushed my right hip forward and under. It's a half-inch lower than my left hip, causing some issues that include tingling in my leg, a strained right erectus muscle in my back, and mild bigotry. Pain can push us to horrible places. Pile that on top of all the stuff in the first paragraph, and you can start to see why I don't hit the Tuesday night bierhaus shows for 5 minutes between the 2 guys who just broke up with non-existent girlfriends and smoked pot at their sister's wedding.
NOT
INTERESTED


So now I have 3 weeks of shows to handle. Feature work, headline work, and a headline gig at a bar. 2 clubs, one bar, one private show. Mostly I am at the point that the best thing for me is to stop relying on material that works and just let-fly with what I want to do. This of course is the same for Life, overanalyzing every little move to the point that I ruin my Gavin chinos instead of just going into the open stall and gettin' some Tank time. Drop that shit, kid, you have LIFE to do. And a big part of my life is stand-up comedy.


So as I look forward to, and at, the next 10 shows I hope to get some new material to share as it goes along. This includes being able to just go in and riff and be loose and let whatever happens, happen. Being tired, happy, and sore is how much of my life has gone. It's part of the gig. And I have learned to embrace the moments of calmly explaining to people why they are fucking up the process for everyone else. If we let ONE person bring their dog into the store, soon we have to let EVERY Eastern Bloc trashbag bring their Mastiff-boxer mix into Babies R Us, or else it's discrimination. People are not generally good, people are generally BORING. And many of them are decent. But those that stand out are either attractive or annoying as shit. And that's where my comedy comes from. I know I can be that annoying. I just have to try harder.

So really, what I am saying for now is that I am maxed out. I can't take on any more work from the day job. I can't do any more work in comedy. I am at the mercy of a changing, incommunicative bus system (and a socially retarded driver on the 7:23 255 route), and basically unable to do anything more than make money and not power-drink at the bus stops. I am doing all I can to find time to work out to keep the nervous energy low(ish), and operating on adrenaline and the love of/from my family and friends. Without those cornerstones (Love, Effort, Faith, Chocolate), this isn't a workhouse, it's a tent in the wind.


This was pointless. What a crybaby I am.


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Short Stack of Hot Shots

Busy. That's what's up. Good-busy. Money-making-busy.

Busy as all get-out. Busy as heck. Busy busy busy biz-eye. Already, just this short bit of blogging feels good inside my brain, like twiddling nobs at a mixing board, trimming back that hum, dialing-down that buzz, plugging in your SuperFuzz BigMuff and gettin' ready to lay down some tasty licks. Sustain your tone. Alriiight.

I'm a believer but not really a loving follower of Henry Ford's saying, "Lose the shoes, honey, you're walking silk runners from here til Sunday evening when the wife comes back from her hot springs."

Also, "The harder I work, the luckier I get." It's true, and for me it is very much the gasoline additive to the engine of the Law Of Attraction. The Law Of Attraction works by paying thousands of dollars to self-help schysters to sit on a dais and vaguely eschew the value of visualization and intent. It also works by deciding what you want to receive, visualizing it in your head with as much reality as you can - such as the feel of a steering wheel of the car you want, or the crack of a leather riding crop across the flanks - and feeling positive and happy about it. THEN, most importantly, letting that go and doing something else so you don't keep hashing it over and over in your head. That's noise. Static. Brain farts.

Just had my first chiropractic adjustment. Post-workout stiffness last Friday, while on my vacation, ushered me into the office. My right hip is about an inch lower than my left, rotating under, and thus shortening my right leg's stride, and causing much of my back tension, shoulder pain, foul language, and barely-veiled racism. Also, there's a major problem with my posture in that I need to be more erect from the head down. It all starts top-down. I need to make sure my head is up and I'm better aligned. No telling what's going on with my language when I'm not paying attention poopassfuckanoodle.

And some other shit happened and basically my entire home is an ergonomic nightmare.

Bye.

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Rosa Parks It: Tales From The Bus

Today I was late for my first bus. Not always an issue, as the bus I transfer to usually arrives about 12min after I get to the transfer point. In that time, another bus leaves my first stop and gets me to the transfer point with anywhere from 2min to “it’s right in front of us” to spare. Today was one of those days… kind of.

Missed the first bus, so I took a different bus that dropped me at a mid-point to that transfer point. So I think I'll walk over to the transfer, and get about 50yards out when I see the "next bus" I should be getting on pulling up. I scramble/nerd-run back to the stop and hop on, sit down, and then… nothing.
The full bus waits there for about 3minutes while the driver has a delicate and unfunny conversation about how traffic wasn’t bad yesterday and mostly it was just people not paying attention and blah blah blah talking to the woman sitting adjacent to her, in the 4 o’clock position. They had a nice talk while the bus idled, nobody else coming along, for 3 minutes. I’m already thinking “hey… shouldn’t we move now? We’re now a minute behind leaving this point of the trip, and the chatter isn’t getting us anywhere closer to the shitty work coffee I’ll have to endure if I miss the next bus.” The clench-factor of this whole thing was ratcheting quickly.

The driver finally lurches the bus back into gear and off we go, nearing the turn to the transfer point where I need to catch the final bus that drops me off at work. Ahead of us, about 100 yards, leaving the transfer point, is another bus, the route number is too small to read.

Let’s break it down if it’s all going right:
1^st bus (255), 7:15am pick-up (or 7:24am if I miss it)
Off at Transfer Point, 7:27am (or 7:38-ish)
Wait, 15min-ish (or 2-5min if I get that 2nd option bus)
2^nd bus (245), 7:40am-ish and we’re off to work.
Arrive at work, 8:25am-ish.

If I miss that that transfer bus, the 245, it’s another 15min wait for the next 245. In “rain minutes” that is 22minutes. And the time compounds as we move along, because the later we go, we pick up more students for a local community college as we get through the neighborhoods, so 20seconds to every late minute as another kid with dreams of a General Studies degree hops aboard. All the worker-bees are on-board that earlier one. There's really only like 8 of them all headed for Microsoft.

I got off at the transfer point, asked a person at the stop if the previous bus was the 245, the bus I needed, and he said, “Oh… yeah.” So I missed it. 45seconds. 100 yards. Thanks to the idle chatter, literally, of the bus driver we missed that 2^nd bus, the one I should have been on, had the conversation happened while moving. It was literally a 3minute bullshit move that cost me another 28minutes of my day, 17 of which were spent in the rain. She was a minute behind, and it cost me a half hour.

We have no more valuable resource in our lives than our Time. Having a clear understanding of that, and how we should properly use it to our benefit, and to those around us, and to respect the time of other people, is a cornerstone of success. The other cornerstones are Altruism, Perseverance, Core Strength, and Ability to Synchronize-Dance With a Large Group Of Asian Youth.

Don’t give me the argument “Get a car!” or “Get out on time!” Live in the Now, and pay attention. The lesson is that this person’s inability to multitask cost myself and 2 other people the trip on the 245. It cost us TIME. Time is MONEY. And thanks to that bullshit, I had to take time away from my job to write this blog.

I hope that bus driver’s happy.

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A Bus Ride To Downtown Perspective

This morning I walked outta my place without getting to moosh the face of my son, had a good-bye kiss from my wife, and about 5 minutes to hoof it a half mile to the bus stop. Just after 7a.m. it was about 22 degrees. So said the display across from my bus stop at the fitness club when I arrived. But I was up for the challenge having missed the 5:15am workout.

I had to do 2 short jogs to make it on time, which isn't easy in moderately-cushioned lace-ups with a 15lb backpack. Save your military story about humping a 90lb pack through the shit, I'm not enlisted, I understand perspective... MOVING ON... I arrived at my stop about 45 seconds before the bus did. Missing it would result in waiting 15minutes for the next one. 15minutes x 22degrees = 5 hours, so my hustle was rewarded.

As I stood there fishing out my change, a dark Suburban with tinted windows rolled up. I thought for sure that They'd finally come for me, after all my subversion and subterfuge, it was time... the TSA had come to screw up my morning! Instead, a petite gal in a nice outfit hopped as the bus pulled up behind her ride. She shot a "Yeah, thanks" over her shoulder as I moved toward the bus, happy to not be waiting out here, and thinking she wasn't really hearty enough to handle the cold, the walk, nor the rigors of a 20-hour work-week.

So I pay my fare and move to a seat when I hear the gal who was not willing to catch the bus elsewhere, nor walk-to, nor wait-at the bus stop, tell the driver "Oh what? The fares went up? Gawl..."
Yeah. They went up a quarter. They went up to make some money back that people like this chick... CUTTING TO THE CHASE...

I really should have said "You just got dropped off while I walked a half mile in sub-freezing temperatures," and let her process that while she grumped about how awful that she should have to work, being white and somewhat attractive. I hope her work with underprivileged, walking youth whose parents only drive sedans is fulfilling.

Either I got easily red-assed over this chick's inability to equate a car ride in bad weather to being worth an extra quarter and I mis-read the situation and acting "holier than thou," or she's a turd.

=========================
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Take Up A New Career You're No Good At!

Holy shit. I just read one of those stories where somebody went from a great job to the figurative - and literal, at times - dump shack, but rebounded with a big win! They went ahead and did what they love to do and Fate sat on their face!

Not only did this Big Pharma employee (well, HR...) work as the "Severance Administrator" when her company was acquired, she was responsible for making sure people transitioned to a new stage in life without a return trip to the office after a 5-day waiting period. With that kind of work under her belt... SHE MADE CAKES.

And not just any kind of cake... SHAKILY DECORATED CAKES! With uneven lines and easily-criticized versions of recognizable childhood figures! If I come off like an asshole, it's because Patti's throwing out a more expensive version of Safeway's mid-level work, and being lauded for not gobbling a handful of Oxy with a Belvedere chaser when she had a rough quarter at work. Ya-fucking-ay.

This is renardaloo. My sweet chocolate cheese-centered saboteur... these people are going from crotch-poaching to feeling better about their shoelace dyeing/taco-truck venture, and getting press for it.

I believe Arlington National Cemetery has a few plots opening for these heroes.

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Scan You Believe It? (WITH PICTURES!)

The Safety Assholes have implemented a new "security" procedure you will be forced to partake in the next time you decide to fly instead of drive to Vegas.... OOOH, LOOK AT THE HIGH ROLLER! Between a dose of radio waves shot at your carcass - in hopes of finding that bootknife ticked nicely 'neath your man-teat, or perhaps a few extra ounces of Pert you think you can't live without in Iowa - or gruff pat-down by a TSA uniformed person who passed their most-recent drug test, we, as American travelers, are safe at the security checkpoints. I would like to believe these agents are all cast-offs from the CIA, having missed that Director position by just the sliiiiightest of drug tests. They needed someplace to go, someplace to work for and with the United States of America, and the TSA is way better than work-release programs. Usually.


Due to an unplanned interaction with a very sober motorcycle being ridden by a very intoxicated assclown in 1998 and my left tibia, I have a rod in my leg that sets off airport metal detectors. It has done so in all but 1 scanner I've gone through since 1999 (Oakland, CA, 2006). I'm pre-9/11 "Homeland Security" Agent-bait; white guy who usually flies alone in coach with one unchecked bag. Oh yeah... Danger. By now I should be in a database when I check-in for my boarding pass that says "This guy's got a rod in his leg, and acts like it's a stick up his ass. Take it easy."

Usually I get pulled aside, stood in the glass corral and made to wait until the "Male Assist" shows up to frowningly lead me to another area where he waves a wand over my entire body to make sure I'm not lying when I say my body has a rod that cannot be trusted. Takes a minimum of five extra minutes each time. The wait is entirely dependent upon how quickly the Male Assist makes it over to the pen to lead me past other travelers wondering why I'm getting yanked aside, do NOT pardon the pun. It's not fun. It's a nuisance. And it's usually me or some old broad with a re-built shoulder waiting to be given back our effects and get to some airport DRANKIN'. There's a brief pat-down of my bod, then I get to put on all my shoes and belts and grab my stuff and think of jokes to write about how lucky I feel to be getting on a plane where I won't be troubled by dignity. It sucks, I understand why it's done, and issuing me some sort of government-approved card/bar scanner with my photo-ID that says "Cleared, leg/ass-rod" is not an option, because eventually somebody will F up and try to smuggle some beverage on-board instead of just buying the $6 Skyy.


The new TSA scanners grab pics like this one:
This is a test-photo wherein the scanned woman (I believe it is) was digitally reduced to a glowing white, giggling, .22cal-packing ghost. She was not allowed onto the plane in this state of being, deemed by Virgin Airlines as "underattractive." Sorry there, Backfat, better luck on Southwest.
The scanners emit 10,000 times LESS radio activity than your average cell-phone conversation, which is still 100,000,000 times longer than mine, I'm sure. Still, you should be opting-out for the pat-down. And YES, it will include a feel between and under the lady's breasts, and a firm-but-fair hand-saunter through your undergarden. Grandma needs a go, I guess. You're welcome. MEN, if you're truly worried about the radiation, do the right thing: TUCK YOUR FUNDLE UNDER & BACK.

Or if the pat-down is your thing, just sit back, and with a blissful look on your face, repeat the words to the 4th Amendment of the Constitution (link there is for a t-shirt version you should wear):

"The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized."

I do believe that a "reasonable" (i.e. a pre-targeted and ethnically-profiled) search of people getting on a plane is perfectly fine and legal.

We do complain about being REACTIONARY instead of PRECAUTIONARY, going all-out post-facto before the fan stops spinning the shit off itself. However, after 11+ years of groping and wanding and extra time sliced from my calendar with these measures, I have but one thing to say...

http://artsytime.com/x-ray-by-nick-veasey/

Nobody wants to look at your ass any more than you want to have it waxed AGAIN, you beast.
Get the fuck in line and shut up. I've been living this crap for over a decade, and nobody came to my defense, not one time.

And another thing, when you DO go through every metal detector's buzzing alarm and you get used to it time after time for 49 years... that ONE time it does NOT go off... don't say "Sweet, it didn't go off!"

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Bill Nye Passes Out, USC Students Tweet For Help

Further proof that the "iGeneration" or "Millenials" or "DipTwats" are tech'ing their way into deserving a ban of their cell phones...

"If the Science Guy passes out and nobody Tweets, Did It Happen?" (article)

(quote from said article)
"Alastair Fairbanks, a USC senior in attendance for Nye's presentation, told the Los Angeles Times that "nobody went to his aid at the very beginning when he first collapsed — that just perplexed me beyond reason." The student added, "Instead, I saw students texting and updating their Twitter statuses. It was just all a very bizarre evening.""

I think there's a misspelling there. "Bizarre" is actually spelled "a room full of inconsiderate c*nts who should be a-f*cking-shamed of themselves."

Perhaps it's because it was at the University of Spoiled Children, or they thought it was a gag, or because it was Los Angeles which really doesn't need any more reasons to be cleaved from the continent and slid ocean-ward... but I hope the President of the Student Body writes Bill Nye a letter of apology for being absolute shits.

How many asked for their parent's ticket money back?

Abominable.
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Blog Daddy

I've had a number of people tell me recently that I need to dive headlong into the world of "Dad Bloggers," elbowing my way in and throwing-down what I know with how I write. I'm debating it, somewhat 'FOR' the notion of doing so. While I hesitate to dive in, having only been a dad for a year and a month now, I am also wholeheartedly devoted to Dad Life. Prior to that I started my foray into Husband Life. As I've learned that "My Life Is Best Not Lived For ME" I still believe that solitude has many benefits to the human condition/migraine. I love my wife and my son more than I can ever explain without decimating a threatening horde of illegal immigrants or whatever is evil right now. Truth is, however, I am still learning what it is to be a Dad to a son, to a walkaboutz-talkaboutz Toddler guy, and how to be a Husband to a Wife and Mother. Every day, something new. I mess up, frequently, verbally, and sometimes, gastrointestinally.

I am far from perfect, and perhaps perfect from far. But when it comes down to it, I read a few other Dad Blogs and get that deep-rooted feeling that a few of these guys are pandering to the Oprah-watchers who went to college to end up with their "Mrs." degrees. I honestly feel like many of them are just "cute"ing it up on their ad-bannered blog. If I do DadBlog, you can bet my sponsors won't be Alberto-VO5 and the Venus Razor. Probably be some sort of banned fat-burner and a prostate massager.

Being A Man isn't easy. I don't mean the biological travel with testicles and what is, technically, a penis. I am not talking about being the not-Woman in the relationship. I'm talking about Strength, Courage, Heart, Integrity, and Leadership, combined with Love, Tenderness, Intellect, and The Ability To Love-Make upwards of 16 consecutive minutes. The more I study and read and discuss the role of the Man in His Own World, the more I realize we're just people with expectations thrust upon us by society and Tyler Perry movies. How we respond to our own expectations and our own impulses and Life, now, that is totally up to us as Men. Being a Man is NOT a "role" to play, such as Dad or Husband or AdultBaby. It is the overall Being Man, who happens to be... Father, Husband, Worker, Comedian, Philosoraptor, Student of Life, and the like... which intrigues me.

So that's my quest for the moment. To DadBlog, or Not To DadBlog?
Any thoughts?

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Bodyweight Workouts: Gymnasts, Lions, Gorillas, Gymnasts, YOU

Are you strong? Can you squat your own bodyweight 50 times in 50 seconds?
Can you do 40 push-ups in 45 seconds?

Wanna Bet?
This guy's programs kick major ass. Check this out and drop the joint-stressing 225lb bench press rep workout.

Re-introducing Craig's workouts to my regimen, after trying the "90 Days Of Constant Chatter" workouts, I have dropped 5lbs and 2% bodyfat in 3 weeks. This guy KNOWS HIS BIDNESS, and his bidness is giving you what you gotta get to get what you gotta have: Fitness & Health.
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3 Bodyweight Exercise Workout Boosters

By Craig Ballantyne, CSCS, MS
TurbulenceTraining BodyWeight Workout Manual ON SALE NOW

If you're really busy and want to boost the effectiveness of your
fat burning workouts, I have 3 powerful tips for you today.

You'll discover how to get more done in less time, how to train your
entire body in 20 minutes, and how to instantly boost your performance
by 20%.

Get ready for 3 powerful bodyweight exercise boosters...

Workout Tip #1 - Superset Bodyweight & Dumbbell Exercises

This tip is perfect for busy gyms and busy schedules. You're going
to pair a bodyweight exercise with a dumbbell exercise in your
supersets.

This way you don't have to waste time adjusting equipment or
walking around your gym.

For example, if the workout calls for a dumbbell press followed by
a dumbbell row, switch it to:

a) Decline (or other) pushups plus DB Row
b) DB Chest Presses plus Inverted Bodyweight Row in squat rack
c) Pushups plus Pullups or Bodyweight Rows (double bodyweight
option)

Here's another example. If your workout calls for a squat (any
kind) and a dumbbell shoulder press, switch it to:

a) Bodyweight Bulgarian Split Squat (1&1/2 rep style) plus DB Press
b) Squat plus Pike Pushup or Handstand Pushup
c) DB Split Squat Plus Decline Pushup or Close-Grip Pushup

Bottom line: We are focused on movements and muscle groups and not
married to specific exercises (in most cases). Thanks to the
massive variety in the TT workouts, we always have options.

Workout Tip #2 - Ditch the Cardio, Do Bodyweight Circuits Instead

Speaking of long cardio, there is NOTHING wrong with being a runner
and enjoying long runs...but depending on long cardio for fat loss
is ultimately going to disappoint you.

So this holiday season, when given the choice between 45 minutes on
the treadmill (i.e. the cardio confessional) or a 20-minute
bodyweight circuit that you can do in your own home without
equipment, choose the bodyweight circuit EVERY time.

You'll work more muscles and, with the post-workout calorie burn,
still probably burn as many calories as you would with the slow cardio.

Plus, you'll sculpt your upper body and abs, without requiring an
extra 20 minutes of lifting after the treadmill.

Workout Tip #3 - Non-Competing Density Supersets

(This is a world-world-world exclusive...I haven't even shared this
tip with my editors at Men's Health magazine yet!)

Here we'll combine the classic non-competing TT superset method with
the classic bodybuilder method of dropsets.

The results: An instant 20% boost in the number of reps you can do
for bodyweight exercises.

For example, let's use this non-competing superset.

1A) DB Reverse Lunges
1B) Decline Close-Grip Pushups

Do 8 reps of lunges for each leg. Rest 20 seconds. Do 4-6 more reps
for each leg.

Then move immediately to decline close-grip pushups and go 1-2 reps
short of failure. Rest 20 seconds and do another set of pushups
until you are 1-2 reps short of failure. (You should get about 20%
of your original number of reps.)

Rest 1 minute and repeat the entire process up to 2 more times.

Pow!

Metabolic Muscle Turbulence like never before.

Bodyweight training is the fitness world's gift to you this holiday
season. And my gift to you is a 35% off sale on the TT 6-Month
Bodyweight Manual here:

=> Get Started TODAY! You Can Do This! <== Sale ends Thursday Enjoy!


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Time For Potted Meat

No, it's not easy.
Working full-time, being a husband, dad, and comedian equates to a lot of time management. If I had my druthers I would be able to sleep about 4 hours a night and be fully powered to work out every morning, get my son up and play a bit before work, work, come home and play with him more until bath time, put him down for sleepytime, go do comedy, and at least twice a week, have a civil conversation with my wife about how Reality Television is the #1 cause of divorce in this nation... so stop watching it.

But I have to make the most of what time I have. My wife started her own business this year so there are duties for her work, also, on top of being a Full Time Mom!, which is not easy. I've spent days with our son while she's out of town, and it's exhausting. On the days he won't nap, forget it, don't even call me, let alone wonder why I haven't responded to your text about what I did/did not see on the news last night. Thankfully, we have some help with the love of Grandmas (Mimi and Granny-H nearby) and some great friends to watch The Guy when we need a break/drink. But even that requires juggling schedules and attitudes. A friend offered to watch him one weekend, then said "Between 3 and 4."

No thanks, I said, but maybe next time. Honestly, I appreciate the offer and the thought, but the time constraint was too narrow for us to do anything that weekend and...And frankly, I shouldn't have to f*cking explain it. I responded with a "Gosh, I think we're elsewhere at that time, we won't even be home. Maybe next time, but really, thank you for offering." 3pm is not 7pm, and never will be, in the same place at the same time, check your Swatch.

Her feelings were hurt like I'd said "you're a rotten person and you can wrap your hour in a latex sleeve covered in broken glass. And SHOVE IT HOLE-WARDS." Some people can't stomach potted meat. Some folks love it. If you offer it, you can't expect EVERYONE to love it, try it, or be okay with its presence at the potluck. Don't expect an apology if your best effort doesn't meet the standards. You offered, didn't get accepted, move on. (I wish somebody would've laid that on me while I was dating)

What's up with all these analogies and metaphors?
Just tired of the bullshit, that's all. Getting red-assed over the shunning of your potted meat is as mature as being upset that you didn't get a compliment from a stranger on your new haircut. While your efforts should be appreciated, by yourself at the very least, needing constant approval is the sign of a well-developed, oversized lack of self worth. I hope it appreciates, but I can't invest right now.


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Conference Calls - The Townsquare of Corporate Life

If you have ever had a corporate lifestyle, this video will resonate in a painfully funny way.
* late-joiners
* non-mutes
* roll-call
* miskeyed re-joiners
* screaming babies
* screaming parents (my favorite in the past includes a budget-planning meeting interrupted by an irate co-worker/dad reminding his kids that they were to "TAKE THAT SHIT INTO THE GARAGE, DAMMIT!")

Enjoy!



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TidBits, ManBoobs, and PodBeans

My "2-blogs-ago" about the proposed liquor reform initiatives in Washington State have drummed up sentiment, resentment, and conversation! THAT'S AWESOME. I'm ecstatic that people think, read-up, research, synthesize, and discuss these issues. I have great taste in friends and readers. DON'T STOP. While I will never be all-in on how any form of government is run, the wholesale stripping of liquor sales from the state's tax puddle is not the way to reform this area. This draws attention to it and hopefully that results in a more moderate reform, but a reform nonetheless.

MEDIA RELEASE!!! I recently recorded an interview with a great Seattle comedian, Mike Cummings on his podcast, "Table For One, with Mike Cummings." He's been hitting stages for about 5 years now, and has a candid perspective about stand-up. We talk about moving to/from Los Angeles, The Industry, and comedy as part of Married Life and Fatherhood. There's a lot of my subtle wittiness in there, too. I think. I missed some of it, it's THAT good.

Posed a Facebook status question the other day about what it means to be American. I'm not sure anybody knows, or can explain it in a way that doens't sound jingoistic, xenophobic, and/or racist. I think it's almost like asking what it means to be a Man; the definition could encompass so much that it really cannot, but NEEDS to be, simplified. I'm pretty sure both definitions include gun possession and split-rail fencing.

I accept the fact that I am built almost exactly like Fedor Emelianenko. Fedor is the most-dominant heavyweight mixed martial artist in the world (Brock Lesnar not withstanding), and has lost once, legitimately, in a decade. The picture below is from a weigh-in with his opponent Andrei "The Pit Bull" Arlovski, shown on the right. While I spend most mornings before 6:30 putting myself through a circuit workout that almost nearly makes me vomit each time, I have in my head a picture of the guy on the right, while my body resembles the guy on the left.

Fedor won this fight with a thundering overhand right at 3m14sec.

The next few weeks will be interesting, as I am transferring from one job to another, back into the mobile communications industry. I'm excited about the chance to go do something for an industry I don't despise, with a team of people who are interested in the possibilities of the future. Never have I been the type to lean back and say "Yeah, this'll be enough for me until the grave opens." All the same, there's a lack of work, a plethora of bandwidth right now while this contract wraps up, and frankly I am just playing out the streak. Back to work!

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Dad About You

I had no idea that I would appreciate being a dad, nor my parents, as much as I do. Blessed I was to be raised by people who truly did the best they could with what they had to work (me)... I really put them through some sheeeit. If they knew the whole story, wow...

WOW....

I mean that in a Federal sense.

Wow.

So as I move forward in my life with the intent of being the best father I can be to my son, and maybe another kid in the future (homemade or off-shored), I'm learning a lot about the wounds we suffer as we grow. Science tells us all that before about 3 years of age our minds are incapable of hard-coding as much detail to memory as we have now. Do YOU remember all of today? No. Because it was snore-inducing, and that ridiculous excuse for a manager/man-ager/JCPenney shopper should have been kicked in the hamstring until his leg purpled up like his neck sores. And if you remember THAT, you need to get thee to a new job.

There's no real pause in parenting. I'm probably hovering too much - a Helicopter Dad - when I'm around The Boy. I like watching him, playing with him, and discussing what he did today, and what tomorrow's plans hold. (ayayaayayyaaayaaayaaaayaSHISHISHISHAYAAYAAAA! for the record) And anytime he's not in his crib asleep, you better be on your damn toes. I lost sight of him for 7 seconds tonight. Count 'em off....

I found him with lifting wiggling his hand under the toilet seat (With lock in place!) and splashing the water. I had only to hope that it was NOT yellow, and was NOT left to mellow.

There's no rest until he rests. For now. And I'm cool with that. It takes involvement and energy and intent. I can see where parents go nutlog during this time. I can see how people thrive in this pattern. I can see a bottle of Blueberry Vodka waiting for me in Salem, OR in a few weeks when I hit it for a road gig. I can see 5 years from now really missing the time when Graham "was" this age and how easy it was then.

I'm not a benevolent being in all this; I'm a human being trying to do what I think is the best I can with what I have. I didn't take parenting classes for this. I can change diapers and feed him By The Book, but everything else is gut-reaction. When it stinks, get rid of it. Choking is bad. Fire is worse. Spiders are everywhere and are all trying to kidnap the baby. So are Eastern Bloc immigrants, looking for a facial mole antidote.

I don't expect an award or some bullsh*t mug declaring ME as "The World's Greatest Dad." It's incredibly subjective as a competition that shouldn't even be taking place, and scoring is always biased to the older guys who are emotionally detached from work, and multiple kids and distant wives. All the same, there's a different kind of satisfaction in getting my son laughing than there is getting 500 audience members laughing. A bigger one. A better satisfaction unlike anything.

Then again, I haven't made a baby with Salma Hayek.

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Booze Clues on I-1100 and I-1105 (a nod to Chilidog Dennison)

Washington State is broke. We have a deficit for social services which include Police and Fire Departments. Our public education system progresses, but teeters. Voters keep saying "No Taxes" yet forget that Taxes are what keep potholes filled, crosswalks lit, and school programs open long enough for them to go to work and make money to pay to the OTHER F'ed-up Washington.

If you own a bar, drink a fair amount, enjoy alcohol, enjoy sanity, worry about DUIs, and want to see how you'd be affected YOU MUST CHECK OUT THESE 2 LINKS!!!

There are 2 initiatives (I-1100, I-1105) we have coming up for Vote in November in WA State regarding Alcohol. While we can all agree with Homer J. Simpson that booze is the "Cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems." It was actually a great writer, not Homer, but I digress...
These initiatives are intended to deregulate and free-up the current state of liquor sales in the state. They are relatively arcane and do need an overhaul. Currently, you can only purchase hard liquor/spirits through a state-run store. It provides tens to hundreds of millions of dollars each year into the quickly-emptying coffers of our state. Distribution isn't real slick to the bars and restaurants, either.

I-1100 (PRIVATIZE) states, per the WA Secretary Of State:
This measure would direct the liquor control board to close all state liquor stores; terminate contracts with private stores selling liquor; and authorize the state to issue licenses that allow spirits (hard liquor) to be sold, distributed, and imported by private parties. It would repeal uniform pricing and certain other requirements governing business operations for distributors and producers of beer and wine. Stores that held contracts to sell spirits could convert to liquor retailer licenses.

I-1105 (REVISE) states, per the WA Secretary Of State:
This measure would direct the liquor control board to close all state liquor stores and to license qualified private parties as spirits retailers or distributors. It would require licensees to pay the state a percentage of their first five years of gross spirits sales; repeal certain taxes on retail spirits sales; and direct the board to recommend to the legislature a tax to be paid by spirits distributors. It would revise other laws concerning spirits.

So, 1100 removes the State as the gatekeeper to booze.
1105 revises the rules to allow private sellers (Costco, Safeway, Bartells, etc.) to get licenses to sell booze, give a portion back to the state for 5 years and repeal other taxes.

Here's my take as a mid-30's married man whose work as a Comedian happens in bars and clubs with most people drinking a'cahaul:
1) Our state's too broke to give up the nearly $500M we'd lose over the next 5 years if these pass. We're too broke to give up ANY money.
2) To make up the shortfall, booze would have to be taxed so heavily that it basically would revert to the same bottom line it's at now, or people would have to start drinking they way they REALLY want to instead of responsibly enjoying it, and then there's a whole other barfpool to wade through.
3) We need new regulations and we need new distribution allowances; it's too costly and too clunky for bars and eateries to get what they need. These are not the way to do it. Too vague.
4) I don't want booze available in grocery stores, which already have kids stealing Energy Drinks!!! for crying out loud. A minor drinking alcohol should be up to the parents. (wink)
5) California sells booze in grocery stores. How are THEY doing?
6) These don't help small businesses. Costco, Safeway, and other big stores could undercut prices to other retailers, including bars and restaurants. It's not "Free Market," it's "Dominate Market." It favors big chains and high volumes.
7) I like shopping for booze with adults. I don't want to buy booze at a grocery store while I'm silently crying and my son stares up at me from the cart.
7a) Similarly, I don't want liquor available in gas stations and KwikMarts until 2am.

I am voting No on each one. I think there should be reform on the sale and distribution to Businesses that sell/resell alcohol, but the complete Slash & Burn of the State's involvement strips tax money we need, makes it more visible to children, and allows it to get into places with fewer restrictions and regulatory incentives to not sell to minors.

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A Trip Around The Son

My son turned over the One on his Anno-meter a couple weeks ago. It has been a bittersweet week or two, as we get into the YEARS and no longer the months of his age. He was a “baby” for so long. Now a Toddler, he’s been hinting at his need for fewer naps, more food, walking around, and a studio apartment. The past year has, at times, flown by. Other times it was a moment-to-moment grind due to a lack of sleep, not sleeping, bad weather, sleeplessness, and not knowing what to do with a tired baby and wife. I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

Being a dad has made me reassess everything I thought I knew about Life, Love, and Sacrifice. I don’t think that what we’re doing is “special” nor “immaculate.” A lot of folks are doing this by the seat of their sweatpants, or not doing a damn thing. We are doing our damndest to raise a good kid in a loving environment while he poops his pants, learns to talk and read, and teaches us how to take care of him. I love my son, he’s very special to me and to a lot of relatives and friends, and as far as I’m concerned it’s my duty to teach him all I can about integrity, sleeping, and football. And whatever I know about women I’ll bring up in the form of allegories of “some friend” who “slept around” and got “the fire water” in his “weenis.”

The hardest part of the past year is finding out what we don’t know. There’s been a lot of that. And to get advice from people who either are NOT parents, or from parents with kids who have the personality of an un-oiled chainsaw can be very trying on the tired parent’s ability to not headbutt them. I’m grateful for the help we’ve had from our family and friends. We couldn’t have done it this sober without them. It’s tiring, it’s work, it’s a different kind of fun. It feels like the only thing I’ve ever done that actually matters. I see parents who appear to have quit on their duties, which isn’t fair to their kid, their neighborhood, nor the rest of us. If you don’t care a little about what others may think, you are a sociopath and should be sewn shut.

Here’s something that nobody tells you about a kid who starts walking. When a baby is crawling around you can hear them on the floor, slapping and sliding and gurgling. When a baby starts to walking, they will concentrate on their path and become silent. In doing so they enter a room, silently, and will show up behind you, scaring the bejeezus out of you. Awesome.

So as we continue to learn, our boy keeps growing along with us. The TV says he can read, but we’ll have to see if that works. I may just make the cards myself and find out that he can read blitz coverages, tort law, and cat-trapping schematics. Plus, I’ve noticed a glaring lack of toys in the “Professional Occupations” fields. Lots of tractors and tool benches and Li’l Arc-Welder! kits. Not many Lawyer’s Desks or Dentist Chairs or Li’l Protractors! Why pull sparkplugs for 40 years when you can be a celebrity rehabilitation doctor for a decade or two before a prescription scandal hits?

He slept through the night last night. He’s teething. He’s growing. It’s another part of Life, and though it’s not for everyone, I’m all-in, grateful for the chance to Dad it up with a healthy, happy Dootz.




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