Get Paid For It
I did a headline set at Taster's Wok last night in Lynnwood. It sucked. But it was just a show. I made a little coin off it, and it was simply a tune-up for my shows this weekend. Check out my calendar if you want to come to either of those. And you do.
I have to lay myself on the altar of the Muse soon. I feel like I have a ton of jokes that are floating on top of the surface of the Sea of Hilarity, and some of them I just can't get a hold of. I guess I don't feel one way or the other about some of the material yet, as I seem to write from my gut. This is good because it provides me the most original comedy, something that is MINE, and nobody else can do it properly.
The bad thing is that some of the stuff I want to talk about I'm not really inclined to discuss at this point in my life. I'm seeing some of the most horrendous treatment of people lately, and there's nothing funny about it, except for when those Iraqi prisoners played possibly the worst game of Twister ever. It's war, f*ck those guys. And if you say "You wouldn't want it happening to YOUR troops." F*ck You. No, I wouldn't, but maybe we need something like that to push the next step faster. Venus and Saturn have returned after an eclipse you freaks, things are going to change for the better, but it's going to get realy dicey for a bit. And if you question my patriotism, believe me, I question YOURS. Knee-jerk Jingoism is pretty close to bigotry and facism and Jenny McCarthyism (that's going to get me on TV, you understand me?). My patriotism is a love of country much like the way you love a child or a pet, depending on your methods of birth control. I love this country and the opportunities it provides, even for the dumb and ugly, but that's no reason to think it is never astray or misled or belligerent. That happens because people are involved, which means anything is possible.
Even making money doing comedy in the bar of Chinese Restaurant.
Take Me Home
Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Friday, May 14, 2004
Monday, May 10, 2004
A Weekend of a Weak Week
Yo. Whaddup? Thanks fer readin'.
This past week was really odd. I'm at a point in my life where I feel ready for the next stones to be stepped on. I am not talking about "okay, new job, new place to live, yay." I am fogging up the windows of The Big Break mansion, I want to live in the kingdom of the Fortunate.
Luck is when opportunity meets preparation. The first man to say this was then shot by the guys he'd just broke at a poker table. But it's true. I believe we make our own luck. The "cosmic forces" at work put things in order, and if you're open to them you will find them at the right times of your life. If we all have that luck waiting for us, then how would I explain homeless people?
Like this: Without homes or continuous resources of hygiene.
Nah, more like this: Making choices in your life leads you to the next step. Good choices keep your mind and heart open to more good things. Bad choices cloud your judgment and your view of yourself, either through tears of sadness or tears of pepper spray, so maybe you think you're not worth anything, you're no good, you won't ever win a comedy competition, whatever it is for YOU, not me, I'm not talking about me.
I'm not.
Now I am. Yes, I'm looking to move along here. For me, not for the happiness of anybody else. At the end of the day, it's just me, and maybe a kimono-wearing animatronic Koala... cute, huh? How will I do this, make this next step?
First of all, weigh my options. What's heaviest? What will yield the greatest rewards, financial, personal, intellectual, culinary, technical, physical, granular, dairy-like, and/or follicular? What is really best for me? Incorporating the 80/20 rule, if a decision benefits me in 80% of the instances, I should go for it. On the backside, things are going to work out, because nothing is ever perfect, and the imperfections are overcome by your skill and want to grow, adapt, and be pitied and given free stuff. And then the other 20% will either be overcome or cause me a wretched stomach ache of regret, if I'm not an emotionally and spiritually steadfast person, or at least really stinkin' rich.
I think God thinks I'm going to be an asshole if I get rich, and God doesn't want me to become an asshole. All I can say is that not being rich is WAY played, big G, so throw me a little green, and I'll prove that I'm thankful by erecting a golden statue of, who, ME! But I'll at LEAST be wearing a T-Shirt that says "Jesus Is My Homeboy."
Second, in weighing my options for "what's next," I have to assess my skills. I am of the mind that I can do anything well, and a few things REALLY well, and maybe three things so deftly that even the experts call it sublime. One of these skills is illegal in Utah, even between consenting farm animals, so I'll call it TWO things I do really well. Know Thy Self. I am WAY into Self Actualization, (for the Mazlow's Hierarchy devotees), to find the maximum Me that's in here. So get the fear of success out of the way, and the next thing you know, you're sitting across a boardroom table with a schiddy comb-over looking into a TV Camera saying "You're Fired... Up For Insurance Savings With Vern Fonk!" See, I could totally work for an ad agency. Or a pharmaceutical company. Mostly I need to feed my worksoul a little bit. I know what I can do. It's diverse, as long as I'm not working with total f*cking idiots. GAWD, dumb people ruin EVERYTHING in this world. It's a sad fact that some lives are ended before they really start, and some aren't.
Oh, and I just heard this on the TV... "How do improve a Toilet Brush?" Uh, give it to your butler? YEAH, you gots a butler, bee-atch, all things just keep getting better!
I have enough thoughts to fill a Cure fan's empty soul. So now I must go.
You take care. Come see me on stage. I miss you.
Take Me Home
Yo. Whaddup? Thanks fer readin'.
This past week was really odd. I'm at a point in my life where I feel ready for the next stones to be stepped on. I am not talking about "okay, new job, new place to live, yay." I am fogging up the windows of The Big Break mansion, I want to live in the kingdom of the Fortunate.
Luck is when opportunity meets preparation. The first man to say this was then shot by the guys he'd just broke at a poker table. But it's true. I believe we make our own luck. The "cosmic forces" at work put things in order, and if you're open to them you will find them at the right times of your life. If we all have that luck waiting for us, then how would I explain homeless people?
Like this: Without homes or continuous resources of hygiene.
Nah, more like this: Making choices in your life leads you to the next step. Good choices keep your mind and heart open to more good things. Bad choices cloud your judgment and your view of yourself, either through tears of sadness or tears of pepper spray, so maybe you think you're not worth anything, you're no good, you won't ever win a comedy competition, whatever it is for YOU, not me, I'm not talking about me.
I'm not.
Now I am. Yes, I'm looking to move along here. For me, not for the happiness of anybody else. At the end of the day, it's just me, and maybe a kimono-wearing animatronic Koala... cute, huh? How will I do this, make this next step?
First of all, weigh my options. What's heaviest? What will yield the greatest rewards, financial, personal, intellectual, culinary, technical, physical, granular, dairy-like, and/or follicular? What is really best for me? Incorporating the 80/20 rule, if a decision benefits me in 80% of the instances, I should go for it. On the backside, things are going to work out, because nothing is ever perfect, and the imperfections are overcome by your skill and want to grow, adapt, and be pitied and given free stuff. And then the other 20% will either be overcome or cause me a wretched stomach ache of regret, if I'm not an emotionally and spiritually steadfast person, or at least really stinkin' rich.
I think God thinks I'm going to be an asshole if I get rich, and God doesn't want me to become an asshole. All I can say is that not being rich is WAY played, big G, so throw me a little green, and I'll prove that I'm thankful by erecting a golden statue of, who, ME! But I'll at LEAST be wearing a T-Shirt that says "Jesus Is My Homeboy."
Second, in weighing my options for "what's next," I have to assess my skills. I am of the mind that I can do anything well, and a few things REALLY well, and maybe three things so deftly that even the experts call it sublime. One of these skills is illegal in Utah, even between consenting farm animals, so I'll call it TWO things I do really well. Know Thy Self. I am WAY into Self Actualization, (for the Mazlow's Hierarchy devotees), to find the maximum Me that's in here. So get the fear of success out of the way, and the next thing you know, you're sitting across a boardroom table with a schiddy comb-over looking into a TV Camera saying "You're Fired... Up For Insurance Savings With Vern Fonk!" See, I could totally work for an ad agency. Or a pharmaceutical company. Mostly I need to feed my worksoul a little bit. I know what I can do. It's diverse, as long as I'm not working with total f*cking idiots. GAWD, dumb people ruin EVERYTHING in this world. It's a sad fact that some lives are ended before they really start, and some aren't.
Oh, and I just heard this on the TV... "How do improve a Toilet Brush?" Uh, give it to your butler? YEAH, you gots a butler, bee-atch, all things just keep getting better!
I have enough thoughts to fill a Cure fan's empty soul. So now I must go.
You take care. Come see me on stage. I miss you.
Take Me Home
Friday, May 07, 2004
ReCrap of the Week
I haven't done a word of comedy since Sunday night. I'm actually writing again, which is nice. It's been a while since I had any sort of inspiration for the funny. I revisited a couple of old premises I've been working on, such as how technology and dumbasses don't mix, or how our culture is obsessed with body image, and how rough women really have it. I call it "Jenny McCarthy-ism," and you should look at the C-cup as Half-full, don't be such a breastimist. There's a common thread of personality among true comedians, where the desire to create, perfect, deliver, and then evolve is constant. As you do this longer you may not find as many funny things, but what you DO find comes to you in your voice, your style, and you are able to "put your finger in the puddin' " with a little more style. So I'll be working out the new stuff and hope to lap the puddin' up as I have actualy paying gigs over the next couple of weekends.
If you think the puddin' thing is some kind of innuendo, you're dirty. I didn't say you were wrong, mind you.
The woman I'm dating has been out of town, enjoying a well-earned trip to the exotic locale of Twisp, WA. She said they had a great time yesterday watching "Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead" and making crystal meth in a car trunk.
I keed, I keed. She won a trip for her work efforts and is in the U.S. Virgin Islands (oh, THAT'S where they are), and has reported perfect weather, amazing blues, and enough rum punch to floor Keith Richards. I'm really happy for and proud of her, as the reward is for the top sales performers in her company, and she's only been there one year. However, other people don't really grasp the idea:
When I say where she is, everyone automatically assumes that, since I didn't go with her, there must be some major rift and that I'm a big pussy for not demanding my tickets. That's an external perception of the situation, one where the Perceptor (wasn't he a He-Man villain?) makes a snap judgment and goes apeschidt over what they appear as her slighting me and my taking it with my nuts in her purse. I have this knack for staying the F out of other people's business and not always imparting my "view on the world" into their lives. Discussion is one thing, forceable entry by a mentally deficient whiskey-prophet should ellicit at least one headbutt. I don't expect anyone to care about my opinion, no matter how well I present it and am in a forum for presenting, i.e. the Castle SuperStore men's room.
So M, who's funning and sunning, decided to take her little brother on the trip. We'd only known each other a couple weeks when she won the trip, and were it not for her gesture of thoughtfulness and her brother being a cool guy, he may never have taken such a trip in his life. It worked out best all the way around.
That's the truth, not an opinion.
Perhaps... YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!
I just made that up.
Dick Cheney's daughter is a lesbian. Some lesbians are born gay, and some just don't like Dick.
Photos of naked Iraqi soldiers appeared all over the world this past week. First of all, that's what the Iraqis get for passing out early at a Military drunken function. Second, I have no problem with this. Iraqis would do it, and worse, to American prisoners. So the military stripped 'em down and posed them with bags on their heads. There are a lot of people in this country whining that they have to pay $500 for such treatment, and the Iraqis got it for free!
And if some 8th-Century misogynist were trying to put a bullet in my brain and I had a chance to go man-to-"crap with feet" with him, he'd be getting off easy if all that happened was few games of Troublingly Naked Twister with extras from "Ishtar."
U S A! U S A!
Take Me Home
I haven't done a word of comedy since Sunday night. I'm actually writing again, which is nice. It's been a while since I had any sort of inspiration for the funny. I revisited a couple of old premises I've been working on, such as how technology and dumbasses don't mix, or how our culture is obsessed with body image, and how rough women really have it. I call it "Jenny McCarthy-ism," and you should look at the C-cup as Half-full, don't be such a breastimist. There's a common thread of personality among true comedians, where the desire to create, perfect, deliver, and then evolve is constant. As you do this longer you may not find as many funny things, but what you DO find comes to you in your voice, your style, and you are able to "put your finger in the puddin' " with a little more style. So I'll be working out the new stuff and hope to lap the puddin' up as I have actualy paying gigs over the next couple of weekends.
If you think the puddin' thing is some kind of innuendo, you're dirty. I didn't say you were wrong, mind you.
The woman I'm dating has been out of town, enjoying a well-earned trip to the exotic locale of Twisp, WA. She said they had a great time yesterday watching "Don't Tell Mom The Babysitter's Dead" and making crystal meth in a car trunk.
I keed, I keed. She won a trip for her work efforts and is in the U.S. Virgin Islands (oh, THAT'S where they are), and has reported perfect weather, amazing blues, and enough rum punch to floor Keith Richards. I'm really happy for and proud of her, as the reward is for the top sales performers in her company, and she's only been there one year. However, other people don't really grasp the idea:
When I say where she is, everyone automatically assumes that, since I didn't go with her, there must be some major rift and that I'm a big pussy for not demanding my tickets. That's an external perception of the situation, one where the Perceptor (wasn't he a He-Man villain?) makes a snap judgment and goes apeschidt over what they appear as her slighting me and my taking it with my nuts in her purse. I have this knack for staying the F out of other people's business and not always imparting my "view on the world" into their lives. Discussion is one thing, forceable entry by a mentally deficient whiskey-prophet should ellicit at least one headbutt. I don't expect anyone to care about my opinion, no matter how well I present it and am in a forum for presenting, i.e. the Castle SuperStore men's room.
So M, who's funning and sunning, decided to take her little brother on the trip. We'd only known each other a couple weeks when she won the trip, and were it not for her gesture of thoughtfulness and her brother being a cool guy, he may never have taken such a trip in his life. It worked out best all the way around.
That's the truth, not an opinion.
Perhaps... YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!
I just made that up.
Dick Cheney's daughter is a lesbian. Some lesbians are born gay, and some just don't like Dick.
Photos of naked Iraqi soldiers appeared all over the world this past week. First of all, that's what the Iraqis get for passing out early at a Military drunken function. Second, I have no problem with this. Iraqis would do it, and worse, to American prisoners. So the military stripped 'em down and posed them with bags on their heads. There are a lot of people in this country whining that they have to pay $500 for such treatment, and the Iraqis got it for free!
And if some 8th-Century misogynist were trying to put a bullet in my brain and I had a chance to go man-to-"crap with feet" with him, he'd be getting off easy if all that happened was few games of Troublingly Naked Twister with extras from "Ishtar."
U S A! U S A!
Take Me Home
Tuesday, May 04, 2004
1) The Rotund Mound Of Sound, a.k.a. "Stumpy McWhistlah" just used the word "ludacrousT." He added a "t." This guy is using analogies like crazy today, and none of them are funny. He's a total dooooosh.
2) The Seattle Comedy Mafia is not up to speed on their blogging. Oh my dad, it's already May 4th, update your crap.
3) If you know a good headhunter or someone not scared to hire a guy with a great analytical mind, energy to spare, and enough sarcasm to fill and office and choke the life out of a whistling urethra of a human being, have them e-mail me at This Address, GBLott@Hotmail.com. I'm more ready for change than your grammy's jammies.
4) Example 4,731 of why this place sucks. There's a pretty fair number of East Indian contractors, consultants, and willing-to-work-all-weekenders here, and many of them are taking over the jobs from here when we go Orange. In a gesture of welcome and sportsmanship, some self-appointed "Event Planner" scheduled a BBQ with them. Let's hope the planners remember that India is big on not eating cows. "Mm, good stuff! Ever try your god with gouda?"
5) No more analogies. Bye.
Take Me Home
2) The Seattle Comedy Mafia is not up to speed on their blogging. Oh my dad, it's already May 4th, update your crap.
3) If you know a good headhunter or someone not scared to hire a guy with a great analytical mind, energy to spare, and enough sarcasm to fill and office and choke the life out of a whistling urethra of a human being, have them e-mail me at This Address, GBLott@Hotmail.com. I'm more ready for change than your grammy's jammies.
4) Example 4,731 of why this place sucks. There's a pretty fair number of East Indian contractors, consultants, and willing-to-work-all-weekenders here, and many of them are taking over the jobs from here when we go Orange. In a gesture of welcome and sportsmanship, some self-appointed "Event Planner" scheduled a BBQ with them. Let's hope the planners remember that India is big on not eating cows. "Mm, good stuff! Ever try your god with gouda?"
5) No more analogies. Bye.
Take Me Home
Thursday, April 29, 2004
This Is What It's Come To
I had planned vacation days for today and tomorrow. No work. Play. I'm at work today for a couple of reasons. The main reason is that I have 4 managers. None of them talk directly to me until they F up and need to tell me to fix something. The good thing is that whatever they think is broken probably ISN'T, because I don't do enough work to break anything anyway.
I have a project in front of me that I was handed on the 16th of April. It was going to be due for presentation on 5/13 to a group of people who feel that what they do for this three-legged dog of a company actually amounts to a hill of disposable cell-phone batteries. It doesn't, by the way. So in this report I'm supposed to gather and manipulate the data for the month of March on the efficiency of a few processes we run here at Turkish Prison Cellular, as per our conversation on the 16th of April.
Yesterday one of my 4 managers, whom I shall refer to as Pigtit, because he's bulbous and pinkish in hue... (I just threw up a little)... stops by my desk after a meeting with another Director-level mopey waste of organs. He tells me that we'll need the numbers for April, but that will be odd because the end of the month isn't until Friday. No schidt? aaaand NO SCHIDT! So he's changed the criteria for a deliverable one week before it's due. It's important that I point out to you, dear reader, that I pointed out to him, Pigtit, that I had written down in my notes from the 4/16 meeting that our main priority was March metrics. His comeback?
"Well yeah, but that's because it wasn't the end of April yet."
Does this make sense to you? The words make sense, but the idea, the gyst, the REASON FOR OPENING THE PIGTIT PIEHOLE makes no damn sense whatsoever. Luckily I'm ahead of schedule for the actual work I need to do on this report, because...
later on I get a Pigtit-mail that is a reply for clarification on a few issues so that I knew what I was doing from here on out and made myself look good. It's the corporate equivalent of reverse psychology: This is what you told me you wanted. Are you wrong? Turns out... he was! STOP THE MUSIC, this shouldn't be a surprise to any of us at this point. Other than finding the M&Ms in trail mix, this guy's ability to sift through information is suspect at best. He tells me that the big report due on the 13th isn't due on the 13th anymore. Yeah, that's due on the 6th. They moved the date up a week.
Nowhere in here have I used the words "apology" or "sorry." See, when I goof up and it affects someone else, I apologize and I mean it, because my goof messed with someone else's day or life or happiness, and I am sorry for doing that. Pigtit's head-in-the-hamhock maneuver not only could have REALLY f*cked himself over, but it almost put me in a position to look really bad and maybe get fired. Instead I'm in the office on a gorgeous day working over some files for schidt that means NOTHING to the future of this planet, mankind, or making out with M, who's leavin' on a jet plane in a few days. I don't want to be here. There's really no cosmic reason to be here. It's only a job, not THE job, it's just money. It helps. I shut out the pain and find the hilarity of it all. And THAT my friends is WORK.
I'm checking the company handbook to see if it's true that you can get fired for hitting a co-worker. Pussies.
Take Me Home
I had planned vacation days for today and tomorrow. No work. Play. I'm at work today for a couple of reasons. The main reason is that I have 4 managers. None of them talk directly to me until they F up and need to tell me to fix something. The good thing is that whatever they think is broken probably ISN'T, because I don't do enough work to break anything anyway.
I have a project in front of me that I was handed on the 16th of April. It was going to be due for presentation on 5/13 to a group of people who feel that what they do for this three-legged dog of a company actually amounts to a hill of disposable cell-phone batteries. It doesn't, by the way. So in this report I'm supposed to gather and manipulate the data for the month of March on the efficiency of a few processes we run here at Turkish Prison Cellular, as per our conversation on the 16th of April.
Yesterday one of my 4 managers, whom I shall refer to as Pigtit, because he's bulbous and pinkish in hue... (I just threw up a little)... stops by my desk after a meeting with another Director-level mopey waste of organs. He tells me that we'll need the numbers for April, but that will be odd because the end of the month isn't until Friday. No schidt? aaaand NO SCHIDT! So he's changed the criteria for a deliverable one week before it's due. It's important that I point out to you, dear reader, that I pointed out to him, Pigtit, that I had written down in my notes from the 4/16 meeting that our main priority was March metrics. His comeback?
"Well yeah, but that's because it wasn't the end of April yet."
Does this make sense to you? The words make sense, but the idea, the gyst, the REASON FOR OPENING THE PIGTIT PIEHOLE makes no damn sense whatsoever. Luckily I'm ahead of schedule for the actual work I need to do on this report, because...
later on I get a Pigtit-mail that is a reply for clarification on a few issues so that I knew what I was doing from here on out and made myself look good. It's the corporate equivalent of reverse psychology: This is what you told me you wanted. Are you wrong? Turns out... he was! STOP THE MUSIC, this shouldn't be a surprise to any of us at this point. Other than finding the M&Ms in trail mix, this guy's ability to sift through information is suspect at best. He tells me that the big report due on the 13th isn't due on the 13th anymore. Yeah, that's due on the 6th. They moved the date up a week.
Nowhere in here have I used the words "apology" or "sorry." See, when I goof up and it affects someone else, I apologize and I mean it, because my goof messed with someone else's day or life or happiness, and I am sorry for doing that. Pigtit's head-in-the-hamhock maneuver not only could have REALLY f*cked himself over, but it almost put me in a position to look really bad and maybe get fired. Instead I'm in the office on a gorgeous day working over some files for schidt that means NOTHING to the future of this planet, mankind, or making out with M, who's leavin' on a jet plane in a few days. I don't want to be here. There's really no cosmic reason to be here. It's only a job, not THE job, it's just money. It helps. I shut out the pain and find the hilarity of it all. And THAT my friends is WORK.
I'm checking the company handbook to see if it's true that you can get fired for hitting a co-worker. Pussies.
Take Me Home
Tuesday, April 27, 2004
Total Friggin' A-Hole
Yeah… go ahead. Whistle. Whistle that nameless, shapeless tune. Formless tweets into the air, go for it assneck, you go blow all you can.
Louder.
I SAID LOUDER YOU DICK!
I want to dance to your jaunty tunes, mixing two-step with high kicks and chokeholds! You are a dick, dude. You can’t stop making noise, can you?
Cough… cough cough, sniff… sniff sniff sniff, cough cough, ahem… ahem./..It’s amazing that the Administrative Staff hasn’t blacklisted you. Next time you try and order a 6-foot sub for your “Team Building” day, you’re gonna end up with a 6-foot tub.
You’re a dipschidt. Stop speaking in metaphors. When your vendor leaves out an upgrade package, say “There’s something out of line here” and fix the problem. Don’t say “They sold us a Happy Meal but forgot the toy,” and then don’t say “We got the pizza with no cheese, ya know?” and then don’t say “It’s like we bought a car with no CD player, and all we gots are CDs.”
Got it, you dropped the ball and didn’t ask a question. Cool.
I hope you’re reading this so I can remain passively perturbed at your workplace existence without actually confronting you on what a truly annoying human being you are.
Take Me Home
Yeah… go ahead. Whistle. Whistle that nameless, shapeless tune. Formless tweets into the air, go for it assneck, you go blow all you can.
Louder.
I SAID LOUDER YOU DICK!
I want to dance to your jaunty tunes, mixing two-step with high kicks and chokeholds! You are a dick, dude. You can’t stop making noise, can you?
Cough… cough cough, sniff… sniff sniff sniff, cough cough, ahem… ahem./..It’s amazing that the Administrative Staff hasn’t blacklisted you. Next time you try and order a 6-foot sub for your “Team Building” day, you’re gonna end up with a 6-foot tub.
You’re a dipschidt. Stop speaking in metaphors. When your vendor leaves out an upgrade package, say “There’s something out of line here” and fix the problem. Don’t say “They sold us a Happy Meal but forgot the toy,” and then don’t say “We got the pizza with no cheese, ya know?” and then don’t say “It’s like we bought a car with no CD player, and all we gots are CDs.”
Got it, you dropped the ball and didn’t ask a question. Cool.
I hope you’re reading this so I can remain passively perturbed at your workplace existence without actually confronting you on what a truly annoying human being you are.
Take Me Home
I’ve been hammering, hacking, elbowing, clawing, and headbutting my way through a gauntlet that is Excel. Just today I figured out every last calculation I’ll need in order to give the proper metrics to the team I’m reporting to. They asked, I worked, I found, I delivered.
Well, I thought I had. Then management got involved.
In multiple rows of the report there is a section asking for “90% Resolution Time.” They’re asking for a number here, a percentage of the other lump I’ve found, manipulated, and divulged information from. They are also asking for “The Red Crayon” from the box. There’s red. There’s also dark red, bright red, tomato red, harlot lipstick red, etc. So I ask “what kind of red would you like.”
The answer: “Oh yeah, that’s a column we added. Let’s meet tomorrow to talk about it.”
Please see my post from earlier to find out my ideas on meetings.
Take Me Home
Well, I thought I had. Then management got involved.
In multiple rows of the report there is a section asking for “90% Resolution Time.” They’re asking for a number here, a percentage of the other lump I’ve found, manipulated, and divulged information from. They are also asking for “The Red Crayon” from the box. There’s red. There’s also dark red, bright red, tomato red, harlot lipstick red, etc. So I ask “what kind of red would you like.”
The answer: “Oh yeah, that’s a column we added. Let’s meet tomorrow to talk about it.”
Please see my post from earlier to find out my ideas on meetings.
Take Me Home
Focus On The Job At Hand
I just finished a 6 day jaunt to find the proper formulas for a monstrous spreadsheet. That was 50% of the battle, finding the right formulas to get the data in the right place.
Now I'm dawdling. Doddling. Putzin' off. My apathy is truly inspiring. It's so odd to think that this monstrosity of a company will not be here next year. That's how bad it's been. This isn't like divorce either, where there are a number of reasons for two people to split up. This is like donating your body to science, and doing so while still alive.
To paraphrase Woody Allen:
"Those who can, Do. Those who can't, Manage. Those who can't Manage call meetings." Rome did not conquer the world in meetings! Rome was kicking the asses off of every settlement around it. Why? Because it had an ass to kick off. Rome was led by total a-holes and egotists and self-aggrandizing sumbitches with few morals and less integrity. But they GOT THE JOB DONE. I can only hope I'll be able to win the chariot race at lunch.
Yay Team Building day. Yay.
Realized Something
God has put me in a position of my life where I am not to be taking, only to be giving. I'm open to whatever comes my way, that's the only way to get the good, even if there's a little bad in it. But last night I realized that all the other good stuff that's come my way in the past year now needs to be turned back out to a few people close to me. I'm not going in to details here, yet, but a hero of mine is starting a long fight, and someone else I admire is on the last stretches of hard work and progress. My hero needs some good stuff as a means of inspiration and help. My dearly admired may need it because of all they've been through, it's time for a reminder of how truly awesome they really are.
So do one nice thing for someone you care about today. Buy them lunch or dinner or a drink, send them a card, empty their dishwasher, or just listen to them complain about their day. You'll get your turn soon enough, but sometimes, the wheel just needs a little nudge.
Hey, who's all sentimental today? This guy, the one who's gonna make millions writing Lifetime movies!
Peace in the Middle Earth!
Geoffers
Take Me Home
I just finished a 6 day jaunt to find the proper formulas for a monstrous spreadsheet. That was 50% of the battle, finding the right formulas to get the data in the right place.
Now I'm dawdling. Doddling. Putzin' off. My apathy is truly inspiring. It's so odd to think that this monstrosity of a company will not be here next year. That's how bad it's been. This isn't like divorce either, where there are a number of reasons for two people to split up. This is like donating your body to science, and doing so while still alive.
To paraphrase Woody Allen:
"Those who can, Do. Those who can't, Manage. Those who can't Manage call meetings." Rome did not conquer the world in meetings! Rome was kicking the asses off of every settlement around it. Why? Because it had an ass to kick off. Rome was led by total a-holes and egotists and self-aggrandizing sumbitches with few morals and less integrity. But they GOT THE JOB DONE. I can only hope I'll be able to win the chariot race at lunch.
Yay Team Building day. Yay.
Realized Something
God has put me in a position of my life where I am not to be taking, only to be giving. I'm open to whatever comes my way, that's the only way to get the good, even if there's a little bad in it. But last night I realized that all the other good stuff that's come my way in the past year now needs to be turned back out to a few people close to me. I'm not going in to details here, yet, but a hero of mine is starting a long fight, and someone else I admire is on the last stretches of hard work and progress. My hero needs some good stuff as a means of inspiration and help. My dearly admired may need it because of all they've been through, it's time for a reminder of how truly awesome they really are.
So do one nice thing for someone you care about today. Buy them lunch or dinner or a drink, send them a card, empty their dishwasher, or just listen to them complain about their day. You'll get your turn soon enough, but sometimes, the wheel just needs a little nudge.
Hey, who's all sentimental today? This guy, the one who's gonna make millions writing Lifetime movies!
Peace in the Middle Earth!
Geoffers
Take Me Home
Monday, April 26, 2004
I am laughing my fundle (Fun + Bundle) off right now about the lunacy of working for a company that is circling the drain while the vultures are over head. Managers are managing through Mad-Libs, that old game where you fill inthe the blanks with a type of word and then the recording party reads it back to you and you cry because the drugs are wearing off and you're stuck in ding-dang cubicle.
There are a lot of folks in moment-to-moment denial, as if another meeting will save this company?
"Things aren't going so well? We should sit down and talk about it. See, we have large day-planners and Blackberry's and offices, we know what we're doing."
I see. Tell me again how people with offices and day-planners managed this company to 1/3rd of it's IPO and into a position for it to be sold? Golly, who knows?
Oh my dad, I'm too tired to be at work today. Report Metrics on THIS!!!
Take Me Home
There are a lot of folks in moment-to-moment denial, as if another meeting will save this company?
"Things aren't going so well? We should sit down and talk about it. See, we have large day-planners and Blackberry's and offices, we know what we're doing."
I see. Tell me again how people with offices and day-planners managed this company to 1/3rd of it's IPO and into a position for it to be sold? Golly, who knows?
Oh my dad, I'm too tired to be at work today. Report Metrics on THIS!!!
Take Me Home
Thursday, April 22, 2004
I Know I'm Not Crazy
And we thought the water in Mexico was bad, check THIS out.
Let the captions begin:
Mmm! Tastes like pollo!
"Dios Mio, hombre, this tamale tastes like caca!" "You are eating the wrong end, mijo."
Gives new meaning to "feed the homeless."
I Went To Mexico And All I Got Was a Lousy Tamale Stuffed With One of Those "CHICLE! CHICLE!" Kids
Oh schidt, that's SICK!
Take Me Home
And we thought the water in Mexico was bad, check THIS out.
Let the captions begin:
Mmm! Tastes like pollo!
"Dios Mio, hombre, this tamale tastes like caca!" "You are eating the wrong end, mijo."
Gives new meaning to "feed the homeless."
I Went To Mexico And All I Got Was a Lousy Tamale Stuffed With One of Those "CHICLE! CHICLE!" Kids
Oh schidt, that's SICK!
Take Me Home
Read This Every Day Of Your Life
I want to be this family's dog. You will love them almost immediately. The Dooce!
What I Do
I cook for myself. I rarely use anything from a can. Sometimes I use a crockpot. I almost always use a saute pan, sharp knives, meats, and vegetables. I like cooking for myself. It's a zen thing. I like to cook for the woman society must label as my girlfriend in order to understand that we're together, but she's far away from me, most nights. That sucks knobs.
I prefer good vodka on the rocks with a twist to any other drink in the evening. Merlot's a close second. I don't sit and pound beers. I don't have to do shots of schiddy whiskey to be manly. I like what I like.
The manliest thing a man can do is not care about what people think of his preferences. Actually that's third place. In a tie for First place, in my mind, is be a person of integrity and teaching to those he loves, be they wives, children, friends, or Hooters wait-staff.
I don't shave my chest. I am 30. I am a Man. I'm an animal, a mammal. Grr.
A married friend of mine spent a weekend with his wife, about 9 hours total, shopping for knobs. I think I found two knobs already.
I work out. Not as much as I used to. I used to push iron 4 times a week. I got up to about 255lbs, where I felt like I could lift a house, but I looked like an outhouse. I hated it. I'm doing more cardio and only lifting once a week. I've been a bit chubby most of my life. I'm okay with it now, body issues aside, but I'm working on my "bikini season" look. I'm down about 20lbs since the beginning of the year, and have about 15 to go. Part of me would like to look like one of those Men's Health models. That part is my abs. Another part of me would like to look like another kind of model. You can put that together in your own heads and e-mail me as to which part and what kind of model.
I have a weekly rap session with a licensed counselor. Some folks say you have to be crazy to go. If you think you're crazy, you're not. I don’t hear voices that make me want to kill people, unless you count the chump at work who whistles and people who ask if I hear voices that make me want to kill people. If you are crazy, you would think only that everyone else is. Self-discovery is a vital journey to figuring out the patterns of your behavior, like if you are scared of being hugged, or why you get nervous about having sex on a park bench. I talk to a counselor about the things I can't tell my family and friends, usually about things caused by my family and friends.
I really do have a Psycho Ex. Manic Depression is great on the upswing. Once you hit the crest, holy Zoloft, Batman, hide the knives and cuticle scissors. Nobody does that much acid before they're 18 and then wakes up asking if Bob Dylan had dinner with us last night, then sobs when they find out he was never in the movie "The Truth About Cats & Dogs" when they're "fine." Get the H away from those people faster than you can say "Anne Heche." For real fun, ask them how they get along with their opposite-sex parent! Before doing so, gird thy loins.
As much as I care about my family and friends, I don’t care about anybody more than I care about myself. Think I am Selfish? Then you're a neurotic parent-issue freak. As long as I'm taking care of my feeding, my sleep, my money, my peace of mind, then everyone else in my world will see a happy Geofferson. If you want to see me turn into a badger, take my sleep and food from me for a few days. If you want to see me snap on a kid whining in the store, then let's go to the store! That's for sport. I'm unapologetic about being self-concerned. Sorry! Or not...
If I hear another person use the word "soulmate," I will punch Alanis Morrissette in the dick. The only people perfect for each other are twins. If you want it to work with someone, you have to make some kind of effort to let them share, too.
M, The woman in my life that society labels as "girlfriend" but means more to me than that, is really kick-ass. I've mentione her here before, but nothing too much because her personal life shouldn't be internetted. She's sweeter than she admits. I'd really rather not get into it because if I SCHIDT here she comes, play cool...
I'd be an awesome dad, no matter how much I hate to admit it. I'll probably adopt a 17 year old with a trust-fund and 3.8 GPA. Blue-eye Father is So proud of you Xiang Ziu!
Sometimes I walk through Target, make eye contact with a person, and nod to their zipper. They always look down. Surrealism: 2,943 - Them: 2 (okay, not always)
Hallmark, while handy in a pinch, is run by a secret wing of Mary Kay with proceeds going to fund PAX TV and Makeover shows.
I should have been working on a report the whole time I've been writing this, and I still feel like my priorities are straight. Anybody know how to extract time intervals in Excel from other data? I fear a pivot table is coming my way.
I can never thank the people in my life enough for their blessings, prayers, and shared hours of life. My gawd, how boring it would all be without each of you!
Rock on. Please.
Geofferson
Take Me Home
I want to be this family's dog. You will love them almost immediately. The Dooce!
What I Do
I cook for myself. I rarely use anything from a can. Sometimes I use a crockpot. I almost always use a saute pan, sharp knives, meats, and vegetables. I like cooking for myself. It's a zen thing. I like to cook for the woman society must label as my girlfriend in order to understand that we're together, but she's far away from me, most nights. That sucks knobs.
I prefer good vodka on the rocks with a twist to any other drink in the evening. Merlot's a close second. I don't sit and pound beers. I don't have to do shots of schiddy whiskey to be manly. I like what I like.
The manliest thing a man can do is not care about what people think of his preferences. Actually that's third place. In a tie for First place, in my mind, is be a person of integrity and teaching to those he loves, be they wives, children, friends, or Hooters wait-staff.
I don't shave my chest. I am 30. I am a Man. I'm an animal, a mammal. Grr.
A married friend of mine spent a weekend with his wife, about 9 hours total, shopping for knobs. I think I found two knobs already.
I work out. Not as much as I used to. I used to push iron 4 times a week. I got up to about 255lbs, where I felt like I could lift a house, but I looked like an outhouse. I hated it. I'm doing more cardio and only lifting once a week. I've been a bit chubby most of my life. I'm okay with it now, body issues aside, but I'm working on my "bikini season" look. I'm down about 20lbs since the beginning of the year, and have about 15 to go. Part of me would like to look like one of those Men's Health models. That part is my abs. Another part of me would like to look like another kind of model. You can put that together in your own heads and e-mail me as to which part and what kind of model.
I have a weekly rap session with a licensed counselor. Some folks say you have to be crazy to go. If you think you're crazy, you're not. I don’t hear voices that make me want to kill people, unless you count the chump at work who whistles and people who ask if I hear voices that make me want to kill people. If you are crazy, you would think only that everyone else is. Self-discovery is a vital journey to figuring out the patterns of your behavior, like if you are scared of being hugged, or why you get nervous about having sex on a park bench. I talk to a counselor about the things I can't tell my family and friends, usually about things caused by my family and friends.
I really do have a Psycho Ex. Manic Depression is great on the upswing. Once you hit the crest, holy Zoloft, Batman, hide the knives and cuticle scissors. Nobody does that much acid before they're 18 and then wakes up asking if Bob Dylan had dinner with us last night, then sobs when they find out he was never in the movie "The Truth About Cats & Dogs" when they're "fine." Get the H away from those people faster than you can say "Anne Heche." For real fun, ask them how they get along with their opposite-sex parent! Before doing so, gird thy loins.
As much as I care about my family and friends, I don’t care about anybody more than I care about myself. Think I am Selfish? Then you're a neurotic parent-issue freak. As long as I'm taking care of my feeding, my sleep, my money, my peace of mind, then everyone else in my world will see a happy Geofferson. If you want to see me turn into a badger, take my sleep and food from me for a few days. If you want to see me snap on a kid whining in the store, then let's go to the store! That's for sport. I'm unapologetic about being self-concerned. Sorry! Or not...
If I hear another person use the word "soulmate," I will punch Alanis Morrissette in the dick. The only people perfect for each other are twins. If you want it to work with someone, you have to make some kind of effort to let them share, too.
M, The woman in my life that society labels as "girlfriend" but means more to me than that, is really kick-ass. I've mentione her here before, but nothing too much because her personal life shouldn't be internetted. She's sweeter than she admits. I'd really rather not get into it because if I SCHIDT here she comes, play cool...
I'd be an awesome dad, no matter how much I hate to admit it. I'll probably adopt a 17 year old with a trust-fund and 3.8 GPA. Blue-eye Father is So proud of you Xiang Ziu!
Sometimes I walk through Target, make eye contact with a person, and nod to their zipper. They always look down. Surrealism: 2,943 - Them: 2 (okay, not always)
Hallmark, while handy in a pinch, is run by a secret wing of Mary Kay with proceeds going to fund PAX TV and Makeover shows.
I should have been working on a report the whole time I've been writing this, and I still feel like my priorities are straight. Anybody know how to extract time intervals in Excel from other data? I fear a pivot table is coming my way.
I can never thank the people in my life enough for their blessings, prayers, and shared hours of life. My gawd, how boring it would all be without each of you!
Rock on. Please.
Geofferson
Take Me Home
Tuesday, April 20, 2004
Tuesday You Freaking Fruits
Aaaaw YEAH, I've done my first headline weekend at a club, rollicking through 45-50 minutes of material last weekend in Bellevue at the Ramada Inn Laughs Comedy Club and Lounge. It wasn't as tough as I thought it may be, as I took my time and allowed myself to be "in the moment." I knew that going up for that long would be a drain on anybody, no matter where they were in the room. So I had to go up and have fun with it, which I did. I didn't have any hecklers. The other comics there were Shoogs B. (in the house, whaddup?), The Mastermind, and Kid Dynamite.
Comedy itself seems to be eluding me lately. I've gotten past a lot of the little tricks that a lot of people use to get laughs, and I'm trying to be a lot more open on-stage. I guess it's that a lot of stories and moments I've been into the last year involve the feelings of and interactions with very real and sometimes very made-up people. Once I sit and write them in story form, with a lesson if not a punch line, I'll begin presenting them. What you see on the stage of a comedy show is usually days worth of hours worth of work. But it's a labor of love, except when nobody's laughing, where it is then a labor of making new ways to say you suck, having a few drinks, and driving home with $50 and a smudged phone # in your pocket. (Sorry I never called you, Diane... Deann... Denny... D9R#, was I getting cruised by a cyborg?)
'Twas fun. And now it's over. Thanks to the ChiliDog for the shot, the Guys for the assitance, and a great group of supporters (Melissa, Carlene, Nikki, Katie, Sharon, Mitch, George, Tim, Jeremy, Kim, Ali, Lauren (all the way from San Fran to see the show!), Dennis, Jean, Brian, Crystal, Mike, Jay, Dave, and Erik. I hope I gave you your money's worth).
Last but not least, a giant Thank You and Love You to my parents, Pam and Gerry. They showed up and surprised me, and it meant a "Lott" (see, because the family name is... yeah) to have them in the audience that night. In the front row, actually. My dad even heckled a little when I mentioned George W. God Bless them. It meant so much to have them there that night, especially when they were off to Canada early the next day. I was so happy to see them I forgot to ask them to grab me some "good" Tylenol. Love ya Mom & Dad.
(in all honesty, I blanked on including them in the Thank Yous. The Divine Miss M, who has to ask for your badge and gun, tipped me to my faux pas'rent. Uh yeah, I meant to do that... because I'm dumbtimes.)
Macros, Formulas, and Power-Drunk Devotees for God
I can't blog much this week or next as I'm working feverishly to figure out how to write a ton of macros for work. I am pulling data from a work-tracking system which holds records of all of our, pay attention... thanks..., all of the work our IT groups do here at Schmireless. Since time is money, I'm basically tracking how much it costs for us to... over here, hey, over here... are you okay? Sleepy? Need some coffee or are y'okay?... okay, so yeah we need to find out how much it costs for us to do our work, which is done quickly and cheaply now that budgets have been slashed and we've all taken a serious reduction in morale. Morale these days means "showing up mostly sober, or at least showered." Morale levels are inversely proportionate to how much you'll drink on a weeknight.
So yeah, I'm here at my desk doing all this fun stuff to keep a job I am overqualified for, spiritually and mentally, but pretty much on-target for when it comes to technical know-how. I've manipulated more numbers than Enron. I've taken out more zeros than heroin! I've found more Averages than a sorority girl at happy hour! I've drunk more cough medicine than that kid in jr. high who's parents didn't pay attention to him and he was crying out for help by drinking a lot of cough medicine!
MA-CRO.......................... PO-LO..............
If anybody knows of any really good companies that are hiring analytical minds with sardonic wit and an unshreddable moral fiber, send them my way. I have a friend who actually likes doing this schidt.
Oh, and if you want to, I'll be Here tonight doing comedy. I can't believe I missed The Swan last night to see the schidt I saw there. It was the cull bin of comedy last night, for anybody here who's ever picked apples.
Push-up contest anyone?
~Geoff
Take Me Home
Aaaaw YEAH, I've done my first headline weekend at a club, rollicking through 45-50 minutes of material last weekend in Bellevue at the Ramada Inn Laughs Comedy Club and Lounge. It wasn't as tough as I thought it may be, as I took my time and allowed myself to be "in the moment." I knew that going up for that long would be a drain on anybody, no matter where they were in the room. So I had to go up and have fun with it, which I did. I didn't have any hecklers. The other comics there were Shoogs B. (in the house, whaddup?), The Mastermind, and Kid Dynamite.
Comedy itself seems to be eluding me lately. I've gotten past a lot of the little tricks that a lot of people use to get laughs, and I'm trying to be a lot more open on-stage. I guess it's that a lot of stories and moments I've been into the last year involve the feelings of and interactions with very real and sometimes very made-up people. Once I sit and write them in story form, with a lesson if not a punch line, I'll begin presenting them. What you see on the stage of a comedy show is usually days worth of hours worth of work. But it's a labor of love, except when nobody's laughing, where it is then a labor of making new ways to say you suck, having a few drinks, and driving home with $50 and a smudged phone # in your pocket. (Sorry I never called you, Diane... Deann... Denny... D9R#, was I getting cruised by a cyborg?)
'Twas fun. And now it's over. Thanks to the ChiliDog for the shot, the Guys for the assitance, and a great group of supporters (Melissa, Carlene, Nikki, Katie, Sharon, Mitch, George, Tim, Jeremy, Kim, Ali, Lauren (all the way from San Fran to see the show!), Dennis, Jean, Brian, Crystal, Mike, Jay, Dave, and Erik. I hope I gave you your money's worth).
Last but not least, a giant Thank You and Love You to my parents, Pam and Gerry. They showed up and surprised me, and it meant a "Lott" (see, because the family name is... yeah) to have them in the audience that night. In the front row, actually. My dad even heckled a little when I mentioned George W. God Bless them. It meant so much to have them there that night, especially when they were off to Canada early the next day. I was so happy to see them I forgot to ask them to grab me some "good" Tylenol. Love ya Mom & Dad.
(in all honesty, I blanked on including them in the Thank Yous. The Divine Miss M, who has to ask for your badge and gun, tipped me to my faux pas'rent. Uh yeah, I meant to do that... because I'm dumbtimes.)
Macros, Formulas, and Power-Drunk Devotees for God
I can't blog much this week or next as I'm working feverishly to figure out how to write a ton of macros for work. I am pulling data from a work-tracking system which holds records of all of our, pay attention... thanks..., all of the work our IT groups do here at Schmireless. Since time is money, I'm basically tracking how much it costs for us to... over here, hey, over here... are you okay? Sleepy? Need some coffee or are y'okay?... okay, so yeah we need to find out how much it costs for us to do our work, which is done quickly and cheaply now that budgets have been slashed and we've all taken a serious reduction in morale. Morale these days means "showing up mostly sober, or at least showered." Morale levels are inversely proportionate to how much you'll drink on a weeknight.
So yeah, I'm here at my desk doing all this fun stuff to keep a job I am overqualified for, spiritually and mentally, but pretty much on-target for when it comes to technical know-how. I've manipulated more numbers than Enron. I've taken out more zeros than heroin! I've found more Averages than a sorority girl at happy hour! I've drunk more cough medicine than that kid in jr. high who's parents didn't pay attention to him and he was crying out for help by drinking a lot of cough medicine!
MA-CRO.......................... PO-LO..............
If anybody knows of any really good companies that are hiring analytical minds with sardonic wit and an unshreddable moral fiber, send them my way. I have a friend who actually likes doing this schidt.
Oh, and if you want to, I'll be Here tonight doing comedy. I can't believe I missed The Swan last night to see the schidt I saw there. It was the cull bin of comedy last night, for anybody here who's ever picked apples.
Push-up contest anyone?
~Geoff
Take Me Home
Friday, April 16, 2004
This Is Worth Every Bead of Sweat on My Furrowed Brow
The company I work for is sending an internal system that keeps track of our Social Security Numbers, bank #s for direct deposits, and other personal information, over to India as part of their "We Suck At Business" plan. India has no privacy laws, at least not to the extent we do in this country, nevermind the spamming, hacking, and calling we endure on a daily basis. I'm not sure what we can do about it, but these are jobs that your friends and neighbors once worked, being given, part & parcel, to another nation. The receiving nation is not to blame. The best we can do is stop supporting the companies that do this.
The schiddy thing is... I still need my job. Until it's taken by the now grown-up kid my family used to send 37-cents a month to feed, clothe and educate. I thought the best he'd do was two goats. Dude, he's getting a Dell.
http://www.cio.com/archive/041504/wireless.html
I'm outta here.
Take Me Home
The company I work for is sending an internal system that keeps track of our Social Security Numbers, bank #s for direct deposits, and other personal information, over to India as part of their "We Suck At Business" plan. India has no privacy laws, at least not to the extent we do in this country, nevermind the spamming, hacking, and calling we endure on a daily basis. I'm not sure what we can do about it, but these are jobs that your friends and neighbors once worked, being given, part & parcel, to another nation. The receiving nation is not to blame. The best we can do is stop supporting the companies that do this.
The schiddy thing is... I still need my job. Until it's taken by the now grown-up kid my family used to send 37-cents a month to feed, clothe and educate. I thought the best he'd do was two goats. Dude, he's getting a Dell.
http://www.cio.com/archive/041504/wireless.html
I'm outta here.
Take Me Home
I Guess You Had To Be There
I headlined over at Pegasus Pizza on Wed. night. I was the headliner, MC,and sound technician. Sound was stellar, btw. MC did a great job. Headliner had a tough time but looked really collected on stage. He ain't kiddin' around.
Anyway, there were only 2 other, uh... people who could get on stage and talk into a microphone (I will not use the term "comedian" for them, although Nicole has potential) so I had to put them up. None of my peeps were there. I started the show kind of late hoping they'd show, but they didn't until I was just about to get up. I started hoping they weren't dissing me, and instead hoped they were caught in a kitchen fire. A-holes. I put The Accountant up and he took a step into an almost too-rowdy room. I would have wrangled it better for him but I was too hopped on cold meds. OTC, though, no Rx's. Sadly...
Rowdy? Why? It's a bar full of regulars. There seems to be a new contingent of blonde girls sitting at the front tables this season, that just dawned on me. They're all really nice, too, and in fact I work with one of them, and she knows what hell it is to be at the Death Star every day. Atkins goes up 2nd and does pretty well just telling a story about a tryst with a drunken engaged gal and her drunken man thing. Nicole's a lesbian, for anybody who's wondering. And she's unemployed. Great comedic potential. She brings along a decent set of peeps, but they were drunk from a full day of drinking and smoking something ya gotta buy from sketchy white dudes with dredlocks and ferrets. Her crew got louder as the night went on and I stopped halfway through a setup to tell them to, if they'd please, lower the volume of their voices to accomodate their neighbors who are trying to listen to the show, but shorter and with something like 19 F-bombs. 2, only 2. They were sideways about that after the show, but it's a free show, for them. I'm working there and people are trying to listen and laugh so if the talkers left they wouldn't be losing any money and we'd all be spared another idiot in a pooka-shell necklace yelling out something in regards to his genitals. Oh, and "From Washington DC Larger Than Life Michael Oliver Carter" better shut the F up after his sets, too. He says he's been at it 13 years, done 1,295 sets, and still goes table to table collecting alms for the insecure. He's a goofball. Really insecure, really unfunny, really really really unfunny. Really. Un..
Funny. Imagine Redd Foxx on speed, in bi-focals and a strap-down cowboy hat. But unfunny. And desperate for attention.
So I go up and did my set and riffed a little here and there and then started playing to the Mafia in the back of the room. I'm not sure what I am to the Mafia, but we're all cool. The riffing stuff did well but I did a joke that fell flatter than a 7th grade girl's locker room and I have NEVER done it as well as the night I first Pegasassed it. It's a joke about how I think I'd like rap music better if rappers were happier. They have pretty amazing lifestyles when they get to the big time, but they still seem so bored with it, and I'd be ecstatic if I'd been able to procure their goods with an 8th-grade vo-cab-a-larry. Then it spirals away from me and blah. So yeah, that's what I know. I'm at Laughs this weekend, 2 more headline shows. I'm not really a headliner, more like a Feature who ChiliDog likes enough to give me a shot. I'll have to thank him for that. Maybe I'll buy him a pooka-shell necklace.
Then Shoogs B (in tha house whaddup?) and Dougles and I went to Weirdo's Tavern and Karaoke Chicken Satay Hut for beersss. I went home alone with thoughts of my awesome girlfriend asleep in "I Walk With A Slight" Olympia, 74 miles away. Hey God, remind me of this one when we talk, mmkay? You were done testing me when that one guy bumped into my leg with a Harley Sportster Oh, and God? Thanks for the good stuff, too, even if Blaine doesn't believe in it.
Oh, and as I finally got my big chance to headline... HBO will be there... 'cause it's free with your hotel room... I'm getting my shot, and this cock is taping his DVD at the Underbelly. Last year I MC'ed for him and he said I didn't suck. I'll take it. Go see him if you get a chance.
It's late. I'm out.
Take Me Home
I headlined over at Pegasus Pizza on Wed. night. I was the headliner, MC,and sound technician. Sound was stellar, btw. MC did a great job. Headliner had a tough time but looked really collected on stage. He ain't kiddin' around.
Anyway, there were only 2 other, uh... people who could get on stage and talk into a microphone (I will not use the term "comedian" for them, although Nicole has potential) so I had to put them up. None of my peeps were there. I started the show kind of late hoping they'd show, but they didn't until I was just about to get up. I started hoping they weren't dissing me, and instead hoped they were caught in a kitchen fire. A-holes. I put The Accountant up and he took a step into an almost too-rowdy room. I would have wrangled it better for him but I was too hopped on cold meds. OTC, though, no Rx's. Sadly...
Rowdy? Why? It's a bar full of regulars. There seems to be a new contingent of blonde girls sitting at the front tables this season, that just dawned on me. They're all really nice, too, and in fact I work with one of them, and she knows what hell it is to be at the Death Star every day. Atkins goes up 2nd and does pretty well just telling a story about a tryst with a drunken engaged gal and her drunken man thing. Nicole's a lesbian, for anybody who's wondering. And she's unemployed. Great comedic potential. She brings along a decent set of peeps, but they were drunk from a full day of drinking and smoking something ya gotta buy from sketchy white dudes with dredlocks and ferrets. Her crew got louder as the night went on and I stopped halfway through a setup to tell them to, if they'd please, lower the volume of their voices to accomodate their neighbors who are trying to listen to the show, but shorter and with something like 19 F-bombs. 2, only 2. They were sideways about that after the show, but it's a free show, for them. I'm working there and people are trying to listen and laugh so if the talkers left they wouldn't be losing any money and we'd all be spared another idiot in a pooka-shell necklace yelling out something in regards to his genitals. Oh, and "From Washington DC Larger Than Life Michael Oliver Carter" better shut the F up after his sets, too. He says he's been at it 13 years, done 1,295 sets, and still goes table to table collecting alms for the insecure. He's a goofball. Really insecure, really unfunny, really really really unfunny. Really. Un..
Funny. Imagine Redd Foxx on speed, in bi-focals and a strap-down cowboy hat. But unfunny. And desperate for attention.
So I go up and did my set and riffed a little here and there and then started playing to the Mafia in the back of the room. I'm not sure what I am to the Mafia, but we're all cool. The riffing stuff did well but I did a joke that fell flatter than a 7th grade girl's locker room and I have NEVER done it as well as the night I first Pegasassed it. It's a joke about how I think I'd like rap music better if rappers were happier. They have pretty amazing lifestyles when they get to the big time, but they still seem so bored with it, and I'd be ecstatic if I'd been able to procure their goods with an 8th-grade vo-cab-a-larry. Then it spirals away from me and blah. So yeah, that's what I know. I'm at Laughs this weekend, 2 more headline shows. I'm not really a headliner, more like a Feature who ChiliDog likes enough to give me a shot. I'll have to thank him for that. Maybe I'll buy him a pooka-shell necklace.
Then Shoogs B (in tha house whaddup?) and Dougles and I went to Weirdo's Tavern and Karaoke Chicken Satay Hut for beersss. I went home alone with thoughts of my awesome girlfriend asleep in "I Walk With A Slight" Olympia, 74 miles away. Hey God, remind me of this one when we talk, mmkay? You were done testing me when that one guy bumped into my leg with a Harley Sportster Oh, and God? Thanks for the good stuff, too, even if Blaine doesn't believe in it.
Oh, and as I finally got my big chance to headline... HBO will be there... 'cause it's free with your hotel room... I'm getting my shot, and this cock is taping his DVD at the Underbelly. Last year I MC'ed for him and he said I didn't suck. I'll take it. Go see him if you get a chance.
It's late. I'm out.
Take Me Home
Wednesday, April 14, 2004
Also, I've learned that, for me, talking after 11:30pm starts turning into the equivalent of Parallel Parking. If there's a really wide space for me to work and nobody waiting, I'm pretty golden for getting it done. But if it's tight and it feels like the last chance to do it right, the quicker I make it the better chance I have of doing it right the first time, and then I should just shut it off and call it good.
Otherwise I back into someone's life... CAR, I mean car, and there's damage to repair.
Sometimes they park too close, but that doesn't mean I had to park there. I could have kept going.
Sometimes they want you to hit them, but that doesn't mean you have to gas it and total the thing. You don't have to hit them at all, it's your choice.
And when you get a front-spot to park in, take it. It's about damn time.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Take Me Home
Otherwise I back into someone's life... CAR, I mean car, and there's damage to repair.
Sometimes they park too close, but that doesn't mean I had to park there. I could have kept going.
Sometimes they want you to hit them, but that doesn't mean you have to gas it and total the thing. You don't have to hit them at all, it's your choice.
And when you get a front-spot to park in, take it. It's about damn time.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Take Me Home
Tuesday, April 13, 2004
The List
Yesterday was a learning day for Geoffers. I was really up & down yesterday, like I'd be totally on the ball for a while, then not only would I slide off the ball, the ball would bounce up and hit me in mine. My watering eyes would keep me from seeing where the puddle was that I was about to step in. It stopped about there, no bleeding or anything, just a few bumps and a small bruise.
I won't go into the details, but here's what I learned yesterday:
1) "Manager" is only a title. It has no bearing on a person's ability to manage, communicate, or know what they fawk are talking about. The best I can tell, at my company "Manager" means "Whoever's Been Here Longest."
2) When writing an e-mail that expresses how someone you adore makes you feel, leave out any mentions, sentences, or paragraphs about how sh*tty your day at work has been. If you are being sweet, make the sweetness about the other person. If your day's been sh*tty, blog it or write a joke about, but don't bitter the sweet. It's not always about you. Another time, perhaps, but this time, no.
3) When you mention that you are imperfect, make the mention only about yourself. Even if you have no malice behind your words it's not your place to skim past anybody else's realizations of their Being. You will likely end up looking like an a-hole, and probably feeling like one.
4) Sometimes the best you can do is apologize and hope you'll be forgiven. Other times you may drink a bottle of Pinot Noir and black out on the lanai. I usually go for the first option, because I've learned that the lanai is no place for wine black-outs, especially if you snore when you're wasted. Especially if you strip to the nude and sing "Friends In Low Places" when you're wasted. It's best to apologize from the gut and let it go into the past.
5) Some days you learn. Some days you teach. Some days you get detention. Some days you make the honor roll. Some days you get the girl. Some days the girl gets you. Some days you peel out in front of people and they cheer. Some days you peel out and your friend flies out the passenger door to scrape and bruise their bumper on the ground and you feel like an a-hole. And some days you come home and there are notes and nudges all around your home that remind that somebody in this world really does like you for who you are, imperfections and all, and you get a feeling that you may never be able to find the words that express how much it meant. If you try, please see #2 above.
Class is in Session
Geoffers
Take Me Home
Yesterday was a learning day for Geoffers. I was really up & down yesterday, like I'd be totally on the ball for a while, then not only would I slide off the ball, the ball would bounce up and hit me in mine. My watering eyes would keep me from seeing where the puddle was that I was about to step in. It stopped about there, no bleeding or anything, just a few bumps and a small bruise.
I won't go into the details, but here's what I learned yesterday:
1) "Manager" is only a title. It has no bearing on a person's ability to manage, communicate, or know what they fawk are talking about. The best I can tell, at my company "Manager" means "Whoever's Been Here Longest."
2) When writing an e-mail that expresses how someone you adore makes you feel, leave out any mentions, sentences, or paragraphs about how sh*tty your day at work has been. If you are being sweet, make the sweetness about the other person. If your day's been sh*tty, blog it or write a joke about, but don't bitter the sweet. It's not always about you. Another time, perhaps, but this time, no.
3) When you mention that you are imperfect, make the mention only about yourself. Even if you have no malice behind your words it's not your place to skim past anybody else's realizations of their Being. You will likely end up looking like an a-hole, and probably feeling like one.
4) Sometimes the best you can do is apologize and hope you'll be forgiven. Other times you may drink a bottle of Pinot Noir and black out on the lanai. I usually go for the first option, because I've learned that the lanai is no place for wine black-outs, especially if you snore when you're wasted. Especially if you strip to the nude and sing "Friends In Low Places" when you're wasted. It's best to apologize from the gut and let it go into the past.
5) Some days you learn. Some days you teach. Some days you get detention. Some days you make the honor roll. Some days you get the girl. Some days the girl gets you. Some days you peel out in front of people and they cheer. Some days you peel out and your friend flies out the passenger door to scrape and bruise their bumper on the ground and you feel like an a-hole. And some days you come home and there are notes and nudges all around your home that remind that somebody in this world really does like you for who you are, imperfections and all, and you get a feeling that you may never be able to find the words that express how much it meant. If you try, please see #2 above.
Class is in Session
Geoffers
Take Me Home
Rave Reviews
I had a pretty darn good weekend last weekend… weekend. (3rd time's funniest) I'm in awe over the weather we had. It affected my moods, my skin coloration, my sleep patterns, all in good ways. 80 degrees on April 11th? I'm not sure if I should jump for joy or start looking for frogs falling from the sky.
This past weekend I did 4 sets at Giggles in opening for Dat Phan, who won NBC's "Last Comic Standing" last year. It was the epitome of Comedy in America… a contest (you know how I feel about those) being judged by people who don't really know what it takes to be a great comedian. Popularity contest, basically, and that's fine. I followed The World's Funniest Hot-Tar Roofer, who has really made lemonade out of his life. Now if only that lemonade had some Zoloft in it we wouldn't have to temper humor with wild mood swings. I watched Dat's sets as far into them as possible before accepting the fact that his comedy is really quite hacky, even after he's been at it for 8 years. This is why Stand-up is Ultimate Justice: What really matters in Comedy is how you do on stage. Your PRODUCT. Dat's a very cool guy, but his material is very easy and gets decent laughs. The key is to be cool off-stage as well as respected on it.
My sets were really good as I found my voice a long time ago. The person that I am on-stage is an uncorked version of me, which is good for the stage but could cause issues off of it. I couldn't do as much time as I wanted to do, but that's okay. I was reeeeally out there on Saturday night, and so fully enmeshed into my performance that I felt like I was inside of myself, could see myself telling the jokes. Admittedly I didn't eat much dinner, okay, but it was a feeling not unlike gliding on the water in a rowboat; I could feel the work, and a little of it was taking me a long way so that I could enjoy the moment. This week: Laughs Comedy Club! The bastards didn't even put me on their website. I'm adding $25 to my asking price. At the very least, M, who is in your mug like coffee y'all, should be able to drink for free. I hope she brings a traveller cup.
The Highlight!
On Easter Sunday I headed out to Maple Valley, named so because there is an obscene number of Vine Maple Trees there, and because its more charming than a town named "CarTrunk Methlabton." I spent most of the day there with my family and we hung out, ate, talked, ate, watched The Masters, ate, I think I ate something, then we talked about eating. I'm working out extra hard this week.
Later in the day I cruised up to Auburn to see M, who's hoppin' down the Bunny Trail, as she was visiting family in the area. It was an hour or so of chilling with her tribe, all of them quite nice, even the man known as FatA$$ was on his best-ish behavior. Then we headed out and I felt like heading back to Kenmore was a waste of time, since there was nothing there for me but an empty apartment and 75 miles between me and M, who was on the road again.
Attention! Sweet Story Ahead!
I get home and there's a card on my kitchen table, for me, of course. Inside was a funny, sweet card that M left for me, and under the card a Dove Truffle egg with a clue. She had set me up with her very own Easter Egg Hunt, each egg attached to a clue as to where the next prize was. Not only was I finding candy - GOOD candy, chocolate and truffles, yo, none of that candy corn and jelly bean BS - but she gave me a CD that I wanted and couldn't find (Garth Brooks' "Roping The Wind," awesome) and some nice lounging pants in which I can, as you may have guessed, lounge.
Do you read me clearly?
She took time and effort to plan something out for me, from the goodness of her heart. For me. I was and still am more than a little surprised by it. I had butterflies over it. Butterflies! I'm a guy, I shouldn't get butterflies, but there they were. As far as somebody doing something sweet for me, that had to be the top. I can't explain why, other than to say I appreciate her so much that it's almost ridiculable.
And all I got her as a DVD of "Can't Buy Me Love." Yes… I'm a guy… A lucky guy, but a guy none the less.
Then last night I feel like I stuck my foot in my own ass. More on that when the Zoloft kicks in.
(sigh)
------------------------------------------
Take Me Home
I had a pretty darn good weekend last weekend… weekend. (3rd time's funniest) I'm in awe over the weather we had. It affected my moods, my skin coloration, my sleep patterns, all in good ways. 80 degrees on April 11th? I'm not sure if I should jump for joy or start looking for frogs falling from the sky.
This past weekend I did 4 sets at Giggles in opening for Dat Phan, who won NBC's "Last Comic Standing" last year. It was the epitome of Comedy in America… a contest (you know how I feel about those) being judged by people who don't really know what it takes to be a great comedian. Popularity contest, basically, and that's fine. I followed The World's Funniest Hot-Tar Roofer, who has really made lemonade out of his life. Now if only that lemonade had some Zoloft in it we wouldn't have to temper humor with wild mood swings. I watched Dat's sets as far into them as possible before accepting the fact that his comedy is really quite hacky, even after he's been at it for 8 years. This is why Stand-up is Ultimate Justice: What really matters in Comedy is how you do on stage. Your PRODUCT. Dat's a very cool guy, but his material is very easy and gets decent laughs. The key is to be cool off-stage as well as respected on it.
My sets were really good as I found my voice a long time ago. The person that I am on-stage is an uncorked version of me, which is good for the stage but could cause issues off of it. I couldn't do as much time as I wanted to do, but that's okay. I was reeeeally out there on Saturday night, and so fully enmeshed into my performance that I felt like I was inside of myself, could see myself telling the jokes. Admittedly I didn't eat much dinner, okay, but it was a feeling not unlike gliding on the water in a rowboat; I could feel the work, and a little of it was taking me a long way so that I could enjoy the moment. This week: Laughs Comedy Club! The bastards didn't even put me on their website. I'm adding $25 to my asking price. At the very least, M, who is in your mug like coffee y'all, should be able to drink for free. I hope she brings a traveller cup.
The Highlight!
On Easter Sunday I headed out to Maple Valley, named so because there is an obscene number of Vine Maple Trees there, and because its more charming than a town named "CarTrunk Methlabton." I spent most of the day there with my family and we hung out, ate, talked, ate, watched The Masters, ate, I think I ate something, then we talked about eating. I'm working out extra hard this week.
Later in the day I cruised up to Auburn to see M, who's hoppin' down the Bunny Trail, as she was visiting family in the area. It was an hour or so of chilling with her tribe, all of them quite nice, even the man known as FatA$$ was on his best-ish behavior. Then we headed out and I felt like heading back to Kenmore was a waste of time, since there was nothing there for me but an empty apartment and 75 miles between me and M, who was on the road again.
Attention! Sweet Story Ahead!
I get home and there's a card on my kitchen table, for me, of course. Inside was a funny, sweet card that M left for me, and under the card a Dove Truffle egg with a clue. She had set me up with her very own Easter Egg Hunt, each egg attached to a clue as to where the next prize was. Not only was I finding candy - GOOD candy, chocolate and truffles, yo, none of that candy corn and jelly bean BS - but she gave me a CD that I wanted and couldn't find (Garth Brooks' "Roping The Wind," awesome) and some nice lounging pants in which I can, as you may have guessed, lounge.
Do you read me clearly?
She took time and effort to plan something out for me, from the goodness of her heart. For me. I was and still am more than a little surprised by it. I had butterflies over it. Butterflies! I'm a guy, I shouldn't get butterflies, but there they were. As far as somebody doing something sweet for me, that had to be the top. I can't explain why, other than to say I appreciate her so much that it's almost ridiculable.
And all I got her as a DVD of "Can't Buy Me Love." Yes… I'm a guy… A lucky guy, but a guy none the less.
Then last night I feel like I stuck my foot in my own ass. More on that when the Zoloft kicks in.
(sigh)
------------------------------------------
Take Me Home
Friday, April 09, 2004
What's So Funny?
Wednesday night I drove to Olympia to see M, who loves this bar, and hang with some of the new people I've met through her. Over the course of the night I got up and did comedy at a place called Hannah's, a local bar (there must be 20 in 4 blocks on 4th in downtown Oly, it's awesome), and had a decent set. Scattered but I got to riff a little, do a few new jokes, and had a good response from some dudes. Those who listened were laughing, but it was mostly a pool & brew room. There was an open-mic for music, and after some dude who thinks he's the 2nd coming of a guy who obsessively idolizes but has not 1/10th the talent of Neil Young and looks like a drug-free Ted Nugent, and another guy who knows a lot of Dave Matthews and Pearl Jam songs (dude, you have to stop touching college chicks), I got up. I think the crowd was happy to not hear another song mangled by the "seeking spirit of a wandering soul." Why can't people just say they're un-hireable? Gawd, there are few jobs that are "beneath me," as some would say, but what I KNOW is not below me is making money, getting paid to do what I do. That being said, I called in sick yesterday, and spent the afternoon in full-on Writer mode, reading and writing and being a little introspective. Then I had dinner with M, who felt like chicken last night!, and it was awesome. Then on to Giggles for the open mic night. On home for sleepy. Sweet.
------------
I have 4 shows this weekend, mostly tune-ups for next week's "headline" stuff I'll be doing. I always start freaking out a little when the "have-to" shows come up. I wonder if I have the time. I wonder if I have the material. I wonder how long I can stand on a stage and talk and not pee inside of my pants. I love comedy, but I understand it so well, for myself, that I feel like I'm standing really close to a large picture of a naked woman: I am close enough to see details of a small area, but I couldn't tell you what it is unless I back up, and if I back up too far, what if I find out I was eyeball-to-follicle with a furry part of Roseanne Barr, like her lower back? My coughing's been keeping me up enough, I don't need that burned into my head.
I don't really know what I'll talk about tonight, let alone next week. I have some stuff that I really like, some stuff I love, and some stuff that I think is really bad, but crowds always laugh at. I'm writing a lot about relationships lately, but not the "men and women are differ'nt, boy-howdy!" I think it's so interesting how the interaction between friends is a step below the interaction between people who are dating and emotionally involved. I doubt that I have any actual insight to share, but I know that Love shouldn't be hard, I believe in taking things slow, and other than the opposite sex, you don't need any real skill to get married.
Oh, and every time I hear someone say "I am looking for my soulmate", somebody should punch Ethan Hawke in the dick.
I wonder what's going to happen over this next week. I have an urge to say whatever's on my mind at any time, as an experiment of true honesty and forthrightness. There are so many people who I think could use a compliment or a reality check at any given moment, and I mind my own business and say nothing. I could leave out the negative stuff and only say the nice things, but I don't even do that. If I only point out the yin, that doesn't mean I don't see the yang. And sometimes my yang is hanging way out there, but I have to cover it with my yan to make sure people don't call the cops.
I'm no longer concerned with marriage. In this country, the governing bodies say that people of the same sex cannot be officially recognized as married. It says nothing of the fact that people must be in love, or mature, or ready for everything that follows their wedding, which is NOT a marriage. Weddings are big "look at me" parties that usually mean a bride's parents are out $15,000 to make their "little girl" happy. I want none of that. Give me a wedding on a beach in Hawaii, a few friends and family. I'll post it on the web, you can keep your garter tossing and your Electric Slide.
I'm off to get on with my life. Work so you can Live. Get a buzz tonight, anyway that you can.
Geoffers
Take Me Home
Wednesday night I drove to Olympia to see M, who loves this bar, and hang with some of the new people I've met through her. Over the course of the night I got up and did comedy at a place called Hannah's, a local bar (there must be 20 in 4 blocks on 4th in downtown Oly, it's awesome), and had a decent set. Scattered but I got to riff a little, do a few new jokes, and had a good response from some dudes. Those who listened were laughing, but it was mostly a pool & brew room. There was an open-mic for music, and after some dude who thinks he's the 2nd coming of a guy who obsessively idolizes but has not 1/10th the talent of Neil Young and looks like a drug-free Ted Nugent, and another guy who knows a lot of Dave Matthews and Pearl Jam songs (dude, you have to stop touching college chicks), I got up. I think the crowd was happy to not hear another song mangled by the "seeking spirit of a wandering soul." Why can't people just say they're un-hireable? Gawd, there are few jobs that are "beneath me," as some would say, but what I KNOW is not below me is making money, getting paid to do what I do. That being said, I called in sick yesterday, and spent the afternoon in full-on Writer mode, reading and writing and being a little introspective. Then I had dinner with M, who felt like chicken last night!, and it was awesome. Then on to Giggles for the open mic night. On home for sleepy. Sweet.
------------
I have 4 shows this weekend, mostly tune-ups for next week's "headline" stuff I'll be doing. I always start freaking out a little when the "have-to" shows come up. I wonder if I have the time. I wonder if I have the material. I wonder how long I can stand on a stage and talk and not pee inside of my pants. I love comedy, but I understand it so well, for myself, that I feel like I'm standing really close to a large picture of a naked woman: I am close enough to see details of a small area, but I couldn't tell you what it is unless I back up, and if I back up too far, what if I find out I was eyeball-to-follicle with a furry part of Roseanne Barr, like her lower back? My coughing's been keeping me up enough, I don't need that burned into my head.
I don't really know what I'll talk about tonight, let alone next week. I have some stuff that I really like, some stuff I love, and some stuff that I think is really bad, but crowds always laugh at. I'm writing a lot about relationships lately, but not the "men and women are differ'nt, boy-howdy!" I think it's so interesting how the interaction between friends is a step below the interaction between people who are dating and emotionally involved. I doubt that I have any actual insight to share, but I know that Love shouldn't be hard, I believe in taking things slow, and other than the opposite sex, you don't need any real skill to get married.
Oh, and every time I hear someone say "I am looking for my soulmate", somebody should punch Ethan Hawke in the dick.
I wonder what's going to happen over this next week. I have an urge to say whatever's on my mind at any time, as an experiment of true honesty and forthrightness. There are so many people who I think could use a compliment or a reality check at any given moment, and I mind my own business and say nothing. I could leave out the negative stuff and only say the nice things, but I don't even do that. If I only point out the yin, that doesn't mean I don't see the yang. And sometimes my yang is hanging way out there, but I have to cover it with my yan to make sure people don't call the cops.
I'm no longer concerned with marriage. In this country, the governing bodies say that people of the same sex cannot be officially recognized as married. It says nothing of the fact that people must be in love, or mature, or ready for everything that follows their wedding, which is NOT a marriage. Weddings are big "look at me" parties that usually mean a bride's parents are out $15,000 to make their "little girl" happy. I want none of that. Give me a wedding on a beach in Hawaii, a few friends and family. I'll post it on the web, you can keep your garter tossing and your Electric Slide.
I'm off to get on with my life. Work so you can Live. Get a buzz tonight, anyway that you can.
Geoffers
Take Me Home
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
I'll Take "Days That Remind Me Of Nothing" for $600
My respiratory illness is being beat back by a cocktail of DayQuil, NyQuil, Penicillin, Juicy Juice! (100% Juice!), and a lot of sleep. I slept most of last night, but woke this morning to the dulcet tones of my lungs forcefully expelling air and whatever else is in there. I've got some sort of hoofed beast in my manifold, it's horrific. Overall I feel fine. No aches or pains, except the ones that are in my back and abs from the full-body lung-spasms. I'm actually gettin' a pretty good work out in all this. Lots of cardio, lots of abs, and my neighbors are kept up all night by my hacking or crying. Either way, I'm a winner.
So I get up and get moving today, and thankfully my first human contact is with M, who's got your Quizno's right here punk, and not hearing Gary Jules again. Gawd, how can you face a day when the first words you hear are "I find it kinda funny/I find it kinda sad/That the dreams in which I'm dying/are the best I've ever had." I need huggy now.
I get to work, 9-ish, not much going on. I have jack-all to do, a couple of reports to run, which I ran, and really weren't worth the time to run them. But it's my job, so I did it. And that's about where I stand now. Yay. Ideally I would like to win the Lotto, and work at some job I could abuse customers at all day. That's a blown premise, but gawd if it isn't true.
Cool: Coffee ice cream, knuckle pushups, squats, romanian deadlifts, gettin' fonky, open bar, Monterey Jack cheese, BioTest GROW! Low-carb protein shake mix (chocolate), and cool people.
Cold: Trucker hats, pooka shell necklaces, baseball traffic, men wearing jerseys, bleeding ulcers, non-bleeding ulcers, ringer t's, rumpley jeans, Frats, Sluts, and hacks.
Take Me Home
My respiratory illness is being beat back by a cocktail of DayQuil, NyQuil, Penicillin, Juicy Juice! (100% Juice!), and a lot of sleep. I slept most of last night, but woke this morning to the dulcet tones of my lungs forcefully expelling air and whatever else is in there. I've got some sort of hoofed beast in my manifold, it's horrific. Overall I feel fine. No aches or pains, except the ones that are in my back and abs from the full-body lung-spasms. I'm actually gettin' a pretty good work out in all this. Lots of cardio, lots of abs, and my neighbors are kept up all night by my hacking or crying. Either way, I'm a winner.
So I get up and get moving today, and thankfully my first human contact is with M, who's got your Quizno's right here punk, and not hearing Gary Jules again. Gawd, how can you face a day when the first words you hear are "I find it kinda funny/I find it kinda sad/That the dreams in which I'm dying/are the best I've ever had." I need huggy now.
I get to work, 9-ish, not much going on. I have jack-all to do, a couple of reports to run, which I ran, and really weren't worth the time to run them. But it's my job, so I did it. And that's about where I stand now. Yay. Ideally I would like to win the Lotto, and work at some job I could abuse customers at all day. That's a blown premise, but gawd if it isn't true.
Cool: Coffee ice cream, knuckle pushups, squats, romanian deadlifts, gettin' fonky, open bar, Monterey Jack cheese, BioTest GROW! Low-carb protein shake mix (chocolate), and cool people.
Cold: Trucker hats, pooka shell necklaces, baseball traffic, men wearing jerseys, bleeding ulcers, non-bleeding ulcers, ringer t's, rumpley jeans, Frats, Sluts, and hacks.
Take Me Home
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