Now THIS Is More Like It

A little news for the ladies on this Hump Day.
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Take Me Home

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Ceaselessly Amazed

The pace of buying a home, moving out, storing, moving in, painting, gigs, work, car breakdowns, reading, writing, filming, crinkling my nose at co-workers wearing tear-away pants to work, and general, you know, boolshit has officially taken it's toll on me.

Not but a few weeks ago I felt concern for others. Now I'm back to not really giving a shit if you get your numbers or not. Did I dawdle at a yellow and make you miss a light? Blame your slapped-seven-times snooze button, shit pig. Six would've had you eight minutes ahead of your day, and you wouldn't be back there fuming. And I do so hope you are fuming.

I'm not saying I've lost faith in humanity. That happened long ago. Life ain't all home-makeover shows and winning Lotto tickets, is it? In fact, Life ain't even close, is it? No, Life gives greatly to a few, and randomly so, in order to make us wonder, "Hey, why did THAT shitpile get a new Mustang?" Because God knows that guy who has lost three marriages and 8 kids to drugs, jail, crime, and more drugs should have a sweet car to sell so he can pay, not child support, but for that final, life-ending speedball.

Wait a second... did I just sniff some fairness? Blow me if that dudn't smell like hot apple pie and multiple orgasms the day after your least favorite co-worker gets escorted from the building by turkish prison doctors.

I know it'll all come out in the wash, but I'm humoring myself with my own prickishness for a wee bit. I'm not going to hurt anybody. I'm not driving under the influence of Tom Leykis or teaching blind kids to mime. But I have done the following:
* Closed doors to overly-loud, non-Geoff-affecting meetings on a half-hourly schedule.
* Told people "no" on a regular and frequent basis when their request neither benefits my reputation nor provides them any substantial foothold in being cool.
* Have avoided talking with people who I like while I'm within the sepia-toned fog of a beer hangover.

What I would really like to do now is tell this particularly self-loathing yet self-involved woman at work, "Hey dear... that's quite enough of the stories that affect only you." Yesterday was a 45 minute diatribe in her boss's office (door open) about how raising kids is the hardest thing in the world, how hard it is to be a good mom, how being a mom is like being a Drill Instructor and a Teddy Bear all at the same time... On and on. What I heard was...
"My 4 year old twins don't understand all the hell I go through just to get home and care for them. Instead of just loving them the best I can by being a Parent, I'm going to assume the Martyr role and secretly harbor resentment towards them because, as you can know I am a twice-divorced woman (door's been open other times), men cannot be counted on to contribute to my happiness, regardless if they are drunk on a couch, drunk on a lawn mower, drunk on my sister, or just innocent little kids who will eventually resent women, or at the least, never leave home so they'll take care of me. It's the circle of my life, like the elastic waist in my stirrup pants. Yes, this is a cable-knit cardigan."
or
"Gawd, that guy around the corner should stop wearing headphones. He'd probably be able to hear how much he farts."

I guess it's all in the tone of voice, you had to be there. I literally HAD to be there.
In the meantime, I should sum it up by saying this ain't a pity party. I have too much perspective on my life to get down over the burn I'm feeling lately. I've had much worse come my way, mostly of my own doing, and always came out stronger. That doesn't replace the want to call somebody taking too long at the grocery store a "canopy-dwelling pygmy slow loris," but it is, time to time, a nice balm.
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In another part of the galaxy, Jay Leno continues to rack up points in Purgatory for his egomaniacal projects. You think Heaven would book Leno over Hedberg, Hicks, and Dangerfield? And even hell would say "Oh come on, we don't want him... It's already Hell."

Jay has pledged to ride his celebrity-autographed motorcycle 'round the U.S. to raise money for Tsunami relief. Okay, the tsunami... yeah, the big wave that killed hundreds of thousands of pairs of your favorite jeans in December... was horrible. It's a major wake-up call to the rest of the world to start reading their Bibles. Christianity is about as popular in Thailand as having sex with a legal-aged woman in Thailand. Look up. That's the bar for Tsunami jokes. I may be able to best that.

Here's what chaps my Shandling. Jay is doing something he loves to do (blather, annoy others), on a great motorcycle, during the nicest time of year in America. It's for a TSUNAMI RELIEF EFFORT! Tsunami! Waves! Water! Destruction! Death! It's not a thoughtful gesture to have Matt Lauer interviewing you every Thursday to see where in the states your chin has ended up. Shouldn't he have to jump a Bellagio fountain full of his Michael Jackson jokes to make it seem like an effort?

Then again, the Rockies right now? Gorgeous. At least somebody is doing SOMETHING to help those people affected by the Tsunami... 6 months later.
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Thanks. I feel better. I guess I needed to write a bit.
BTW, I have no opinion on Cupcakes v. Muffins. They are equally delicious. However, I have serious issues with any pastry that is overflowing their cup all sloppy.

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Sense Her Ship!

The previous Muffin-Cupcake post dealt with some pretty tough issues.

I see now that had I never mentioned race whatsoever, it would have challenged me to write more creatively, yet clearly, in order to get across the point.

So if anybody is upset that race was mentioned and talked about, lighten up, and I mean that in an existential mood-sense, and no other way than that. Sometimes, jokes happen, and those who are offended are usually those left behind or those asking "What? What happened there? Why do I always have to ask questions at movies? Where is my walking stick? I'm going to hunt a mastodon because I'm a primitive shit pile! I only call it 'mastodon' because that's what they'll call it thousands of years from now when my metaphorical charicature is used in a 'blog' by 'Geoff Lott,' whatever kind of beast that will turn out like. And never you mind why I'm in the movies! Probably because that 'Geoff' thing is on the train of thought, and he wants you to know that your nitpicking is getting old, REALLY old, so quit the nagging, you seat sniffer."

Hey, anybody know how much a thermostat for a 1999 Chrysler Cirrus and a Radiator flush usually run? Because that's what I'm paying for tomorrow morning around 11am. It's gonna suck dingles, Barry.

We got it together baby...
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Knowledge In Your Eye, Hand, Tummy

Does anybody out there know if the following is an already-prepped joke, and if so, by whom?

I'm not sure I'll ever do it on-stage, as it is a bit too cutesy, if not unfunny, for my sets, which lately have taken on an air of smarm with just a hint of Bourgoisie Masculinity. So here goes.

Muffins.
We call them "muffins" because, at 8:30 in the morning, nobody's gonna eat a Cupcake. You can jam all the blueberries you want in there, cake is cake, CarbLoader.
The only muffin that's actually a muffin is any muffin with Bran in it. You have never had bran cake, have you? And don't say you have just to try and ruin my muffin tirade. I'm not anti-muffin, I'm just anti-muffin naming.
Look, muffins are as much muffins as they are cupcakes, just depends on the situation. Morning, MUFFIN. Birthday party, CUPCAKE. Bedroom, BIKINI.
Like when that mulatto kid down the way is around his boys, he's "Urban." But the cops come around and oh boy, look who can't dance now? Be who you are, either muffin or cupcake. Accept that you may be both. But don't say Muffin when I can see your Chocolate Chips.
Call it what you will, but the truth is the truth. Muffins are for people who's dad would freak out if he caught them with cupcakes in the morning.

And their music is crap.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Consider that button Push-ed.

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Thankless Little Bastard

Dear Ma,

Thank you so much, again, for all of your help in the final move and clean on Monday... or Sunday. The days run together when I do that much hero... when I don't sleep much. You were a lifesaver, and showed your moxie and muscle with multiple table moves! I can't believe we still have that old dining room table. I used to sit at that thing and taunt Katie, the dog, and probably myself. I've done homework at it. With well over 14 gallons of lacquer coating that old hatchcover, it will surely be around long after the dog dies...

What?

Schatzi's DEAD? WHY DIDN'T ANYBODY TELL ME??? SHE WAS WHAT, LIKE 23? SO YOUNG!

Oh she died in 1997? -ish? Damn. I really miss her all of a sudden. Remember that time we were watching the Cosby show and I was constructing a diorama of the Last Supper out of glitter, macaroni, and my own blood, and Schatzi bit it right off the back of the couch? GAWD, she acted like she meant to do it, but what a hoot we had! She was a great dog. I sure will miss HEY I found $5 in my pocket!

Seriously though, you have shown a strength and resolve in the past year that can only be deemed as Spirited. With everything these Lotts have had put on our table, as well as those problems facing Sue and Grampa, this is where all of that love we've been banking can really be cashed in. I'm all for ya, Mom. Katie, not as much, she's a Cancer and what-not, but hey, I'm here if ya need me. Even though when I was 3 and I was watching the neighbor dog 'tween the slats in the fence and my big baby head got stuck and you helped me out.
AFTER laughing and taking a picture of me with a stuck big baby head. That's why I'm thinning up top now. Doctor said so.

Too bad Kates ain't got a blog.
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Honestly, the simple fact that my mom has done all she's done in the past 4 years as my dad's condition progressed is a feat of Love, Spirit, Strength, and she's done it all 100% sober. She is the anchor of our family. And if you ever want to stop smoking, just ask me to ask my mom to pray for you. You'll stop smoking right after an accident lands you in the hospital, swear to Charles Nelson Riley, it's happened twice.

Love you, Mom.
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I gotta go. I'm staying with Alicia, Tony, and Killorn for a couple days and Tony and Killorn want to use the computer so they can upload their latest "couples video." It's likely the one where Tony plays a plumber and Killorn's at home alone and Tony comes in and drinks all my vodka and then drops a 2-zee in the garbage disposal. Part 3. Pray for me.


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Many Thanks, and a Notice

Many many thanks to Alicia, Killorn, Shoogs, Tracy, and Farts Mosey-Moser (not her real name) for their help in the move this past weekend. It never got to the point of pending nor actual fisticuffs, but I did throw up out of exhaustion after realizing I moved the dresser down three flights of stairs without pulling the drawers nor the body parts therein - OUT.

DUMMY HEAD This guy, huh?

Also, I'm gonna be busy as Robin Williams at an Open Mic for the next while, but I'll write when I can. Yeah, big threat, I know you care tons and what-not, but I guess it goes like this:
There's a LOT of useless news and generally masturbatory crap being floated about in the blogosphere, comedy stages, and your mom's sock drawer.... bzzzzzzz...
It is my intent to write something worth reading, and not just flarping forth some slam-dunk essay on Paris Hilton (engaged to be divorced, so popular), drug side effects, hopelessness, STDs, Girl Scouts, and why black people are different from white people, which I'm still not sure the precise factors involved therein. Has something to do with dancing, clothes, talking with polices, and how big a girl can get before she's deemed "unattractive." (I think it's when she can't cover rent)

Stop furrowing your Botox field, if anyone other than a white guy had said it, they'd call it "edgy." I see the line in the sand just fine, thank you.

So anywho, racist stereotype comedy is always a crowd pleaser, I have two storage units that look like a top-down view of Tetris (on Crack!!!), and I'll be damned if Kidd Valley doesn't sog a bun every time around.

More to write when it's useful. Get a drink.

It'll Take Spinach, Lo-Carb Monster, and Chevy Flatbed

Aaaah, the joys of moving.
What are they?

Getting rid of old crap, that's about it. So far I've loaded at least 3 if not 17 50-gallon Hefty bags (not a plug) full of unused, two years-untouched crap such. Old shoelaces (huh?), 1/10th of a tube of men's body wash (yow!), and an empty bottle of Grey Goose (a plug).

I've yet to pack my kitchen, bedroom closet, or time management. In the meantime I'm closing on my condo tomorrow, and feeling really good about everything. I have written e-commitments from a couple of guys to help me move this weekend (standard pay scale, pizza & beer), and am about to call in and get my cable, phone, and Secret Service surveillance team changed to my new address. I've got plenty to do.

I'm at the point where most things are boxed up, except my TV and stereo, dishes, pots/pans, . And some things can't be boxed, like the entertainment center, couch, coffee table, desk, bed, dresser... holy sh... bedside table, book case, and multiple storage bins. It's all the big stuff, and odd as it sounds, this is the best I've ever packed. At THIS point, of course. That usually changes on that last day of the move prior to cleaning, where I'm running through the apartment at 11:53pm with a Bobcat front-loader, trailing a Zamboni machine loaded with OxiClean, SimpleGreen, Dasani, and toothpaste (double-action agent for ambient odors AND knicks in the drywall).

OH FAWK, the DRYWALL.

It's been a fun little journey, this homebuying thing. My housing payment is actually $70 LESS than my rent payment, for another 300sq-ft, an extra bedroom (don't tell Bradley Lewis), a small backyard (beer swing on backorder), and a kitchen and master bathroom I can gut and remodel. It's the start of what I hope will be a long line of real estate purchases. By 2015 I hope to own most of NorthEast KingCounty. Militia uniforms on backorder.

If I could share any part of my experience with you, it would be this: Do whatever you can to purchase some real estate. It appreciates immediately. It's not as expensive as you think. They don't want the whole $2.3mil for the place (oops, did I slip?) all at once. And if nothing else, you can do this the old fashioned way. It's been too long since we had a good case of squatter's rights.

Right now, I feel like I ought to just jack-up one side of my apartment and snow-shovel whatever's left inside into a dumptruck. Garage sale forthcoming. I have a custom-made bodywash cocktail that'll knock your socks off, and will leave you with that "Just did a rail" feeling!

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Do's and Don'ts of Crappy Customer Service

If you are ever wondering what you, an employee of the University of Washington Medical Center in Shoreline, can do to prove that you, and apparently ONLY you, have your head lodged ass-wise, do THIS!

First, when somebody makes an appointment with your clinic, do NOT update their information. Especially the phone number. That's how you could call them to tell them about the problem with the appointment they made.

Second, when somebody makes an appointment with a specialist in your clinic, do NOT mention that, in order to see a specialist, the patient must be referred to that specialist, and can be referred by general physician within your clinic, and ONLY a physician within your clinic.

Third, when somebody with an appointment that shouldn't have been made in the first place shows up, do NOT be present to explain the situation, even though you answered the phone not 3 minutes prior to the patient walking through the door. Leave your colleague to break the news and cover your ass, while offering to get the patient in with a doctor who can make the ever-so-precious referral within 90 minutes. Hide in the bathroom with what is likely a weak constitution and milky, clammy skin.

And call yourself Scott.
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If you are a policy-maker for Safeway Grocers, or hell, for any company that has overhauled their Customer Service stance in the past year to include verbally mauling shoppers, and want to prove that you are out of touch with the shopper while thinking you are making a pre-emptive dent in the reputations of WalMart or Whole Foods... Do THIS!

First, hire an aggressive carnival barker to push your line of custom soups. Make sure he does not greet, but instead CONFRONTS, every passing customer with a "Have you tried this soup?" And please make it a pre-requisite that he is nasally loud, and moustachioed, and bushily so, like a walrus or a cop in a disco band.

Second, walk around in a tan shirt that is emblazoned with your store's logo, guaranteeing that you'll wear it with pride, in case your boss should ask how you wear it. Talk to people who aren't making eye contact with you, in order to break their train of thought of why they came into your store anyway... gawd, what was it? Flamethrower? Bear trap? No...

Third, keep those with the weakest grip on the region's native tongue stationed where they have to ask and answer questions of customers. Perhaps they can help a guy find... what the hell was it?

Finally, pretend that this IS your dream come true. It will keep you from draining another Bacardi Silver and trading salamis with the Soup Trooper.
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I remember a time when helpful people were available to help you, not waiting underfoot like discarded, yapping, wretched, hairless rat-dogs named Mr. Peanut who can't seem to get a website so... TORTILLAS! Damn, now I have to go back? No way. I'm eating my tacos the old-fashioned way: Drunk at 2:30a.m. from bag.

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Comforthing

So... James Wolcott wrote, in the most recent issue of Vanity Fair (the one with the stars of Dyspeptic Barmaids on it), about Stand-up Comedy being dead, and there being no edge left to it.

The blog-unfindable Lizzy first alerted my sector of the world to this article, so I fig'red it would be a good read. I found a copy of VF at the sto', but wasn't going to drop $4.50 when all I wanted was about 12 pages of the magazine. You know you're a maturing male when the articles are more interesting. I have an imagination, thank you, and whatever Teri Hatcher's doing to Marcia Cross with that Kitchen Aid mixer and a stomach pump whilst both don firefighter's overalls and little else, well, it idn't yer garsh dern bidnoose.

I miss my friend's blogs.

I found Wolcott's article on-line, and am preparing to read it as I type this. The first quote in the article is from Garry Shandling, saying how Johnny Carson, God rest his soul, was the first person Shandling ever craved the approval of. I can understand that. It has to get edgier for references, I hope. Garry Shandling?

Wolcott lives in Manhattan, and is a book, TV, movie, and general pop culture critic, while doubling duty as a moderate weirdouche. He has 3 cats, and appears to have written a poof-piece about a the dating scene in Manhattan that rips of Jane Austen, "The Catsitters." For the love of Street Jokes, the guy writes for VANITY FAIR. I sense that most of Britney's videos illicited a change in heart rate for Wolcott. I'll find out more after I read his stuff.

Review of reviewer to be released as soon as time, packing, and my being on hiatus allows.


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Before I Go -- Sometimes "Haters" Aren't Hatin', Just Wonderin' "Why?

This is hysterical to me. I've never heard of San Francisco 49ers' receiver Brandon Lloyd. This is an article from YahooNews I just couldn't pass up.

News
49ers' wide receiver Brandon Lloyd has recorded a rap album. "I'm trying to show people what it is to be in my shoes, who I am, what I do," Lloyd told the Mercury News of his second career. (whew! Good, wow! can't wait to hear a song about playing special teams and acting bored around 19 year-old community college chicks) The third-year receiver admits that his main profession eliminates some of the material other rappers use. "I can't talk about drugs and shooting people," he said. "That's not what I'm doing. So I rap about my experiences and traveling and just hanging out." (gripping. check out the undergound single "This Morning I Had A Vitamin") Lloyd will release the material under the name B.Lloyd. (names NOT chosen: B-Lo, Bloyd, Branlo, Skids, NightGas, StrapSnarfer)

Views
Fantasy owners are hopeful that Lloyd will have more to rap about next offseason after he finishes his third season. Brandon is not listed in our top-40 offseason wide receiver rankings, nor do we expect his album to crack the top-40 charts. (Verdict: as a rapper, he makes a moderately decent wide receiver)


You understand, of course, I'm going to download this...

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Hiatus

Dear Reader,

Thank you for stopping by and checking things out. I think I have some of the funniest, most creative readers in the house. Thanks for everything up to this point. I'm sure more will follow.

In the meantime, I've got lots going on, so I'm-a take a break on the writing thing. Check out my archives, though, and see where I was a year ago.

When I return, I'm aiming to deliver something worth reading every time I post, something that will make you laugh until you pee, then realize that you get so turned on by watersports that you have found a new level of eroticism, and can't help but thank me for it. Or something that will rile you into action against your drug dealer.

I'm out. Take care.
Peace.

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A Police Presence, Kind of Like A Fart

Sad to say, last night during the Mariners - Yankees Game, a man by the name of John Douchebag broke into my girlfriend's car. Smashed in the passenger window, mauled the dash in an attempt to make off with the stereo, and instead left with a handful of CDs. Hours of inconvenience, caused in a few moments, raising insurance rates for all of us. Oh yeah, and don't get me started on the Insurance Industry just yet.

Thievery Douche-ola didn't make off with nearly enough of my girlfriend's belongings to make worthwhile the hassles of getting a new window and all the paperwork handled. But she did call the police in order to get a report and a case number. From all accounts, the officer was a total dickhole.

I know that car burgles ain't all that exciting to cops. Got it. Mostly just paperwork and But this guy was a wad. I hope that it's not reflective of the police force as a whole. Sheesh, that guy's probably my counterpart on his job: Grumpy and Rumpled and ready to move on. But after the shit's gone down, he tells my girlfriend "You shouldn't leave stuff in your car." Thank you, Officer. Sorry to interrupt your shaking down of prostitutes.

That's right, people. Every crime enacted against you is your fault. I have forgotten that so many times. Every time I was bullied, my fault for making the bully mad. Every time a car was broken into, my fault for parking somewhere other than where I could stay up all night and stare at it. Every time a woman is followed into a dark alley, that whore... And every time your pension fund is raided, or your identity is stolen, or you are molested via e-mail... It is YOUR fault, and you must exact the proper measures so that NEVER AGAIN is the line you are in cut into by someone who feels they are the only person that matters.

Is it that the police are no longer "peace keepers?" They are Law Enforcement Officers, damn you, and will be respected as such. It is is VITAL to their well-being to treat every situation, from a cat stuck tree-ward to a drunken man firing a submachine gun at his adopted immigrant workforce children stuck tree-ward, the SAME. You MUST be in control. Show no compassion. Show no weakness. Show your mustache and flat-top. And speak in short sentences.

A police presence wouldn't stop crime, by the numbers. It would just flush it to other areas. The only thing that can stop crime is, quite simply, vigilante justice. Arm yourself with alarms, firearms, explosives, and cobras. Imagine that... somebody breaks into your house while you're at Eric Clapton's Rehab Island and all they hear is "ssssssssssss." Right until the SPROING! YEAH CRIMINIAL, YOU GOT A COBRA ON YOUR EYE!!! For many years I have wanted to create a car alarm system that reacts in the following way:
All electronics are wired to a main system that is dis-armed when the key is in the ignition. The main system is then wired to low-grade explosives or a flamethrower. If any item on the dashboard is disengaged from the BoomBoom-GL and the key is not in place... well... BLAM. The car blows up. Look, if you're gonna break into my car, let's have a f*cking SHOW. My insurance will go up $25 a quarter either way. Bye bye criminals.

Got any stories of dis-enchanted cops? Here's another one. Three years ago I'm at the stoplight at Denny and Westlake, behind two cruisers, side by side. Heading Northbound, away from the station, I figure these guys are just on-shift at 10pm. They're talking out their windows to each other. The light turns green, they chat a few seconds more as a MiniVan RUNS the red light heading East, right in front of the cops. They watch the MV, look at each other, shrug, and carry on. No harm, no foul, I guess.

Let's hear your stories of police officers wrapped up in being a Cop more than being a helpful person in the public eye.
Police are not the enemy, they are people who have to make decisions about whether to shoot or beat the minority first, then assess the situation. What are we gonna do?

However, they maced, gassed, and beat living hell out of the Hippies back around the WTO situation, so they've got that going for them. Oh, and crowning the meatheads during the Seattle Mardi Gras melee was STELLAR, although their presence didn't help for that young man who was beaten to death.

I'm gonna need a good lawyer.
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REVIEW OF... Star Wars III: The End Of The Beginning

I have to make this quick, because this nasally-clogged idjit a few seats away from mine is gale-force blowing tsnotsunamis one after the other. 10 seconds yielded 7 expulsions, one of which was most of my breakfast.

Last week I won passes to see the latest and lastest Star Wars movie, Star Wars III: The Chronic '05 Fah Tha Streetz. I admit that I have not seen the previous 2 movies, which I heard were horrible. I was hoping I could follow along.

I won the passes through work, as did a lot of folks. Nothing makes a person feel good about themselves quite like the sight of their co-workers miserable lives. Nobody dressed up like Star Wars characters. A few people dressed up like boring assholes. Nobody appreciated my Vulcan ears and nerve pinchings. Married couples stared off into space. A girl showed a lot of cleavage because her gut stretched her shirt downward with gusto and beer. The woman... yeah, woman to my left nearing not only the 500lb mark, but also the 6'6" mark. Pro-wrestler size, wow. It was awesome.

Before we could even get into the theater we were required to leave all cell phones in the car. No audio capabilities, no picture-phoning. This was good because most of my carrier's phones don't work indoors. Still, had to take the phone to the car. After the movie, in the restroom, a guy who sat a row behind me was on his phone while having a wizz, so security was great.

A director of another department spoke prior to the movie to let us know about how, a year ago, her team flew to the Skywalker Ranch to discuss a branding tie-in with this latest Star Wars movie. Skywalker Ranch was also going to be a salad dressing, but no real Star Wars fan is going to put salad dressing on their Darth Bugles nor their Obi Wan Kenoodles, nor anywhere near a vegetable. Dang, another $2,000,000 into the escape hatch. Moving on, the director lady said "It is because of your work in the past year that our promotion has gone so well. Without you, we could never have done this." No, I'm pretty sure it would have gotten done without my spreadsheets, seeing as how that woman could have been a paid extra in a bad suit and frizzy hair-don't and I wouldn't have been the wiser.

Then we watched the movie. The Wookiees are kick-ass but don't get enough screen time. The low-points of the movie include any moment where the guy playing Anakin Skywalker is talking to Natalie Portman instead of eating food off of her, and needing to take a squirt with 30 minutes left. I'll give it away to you right now...
The movie just ENDS. Done. What about all the other people? Where the hell is the Darth guy, and the emporer who looks like the Queen of England? ZERO friggin' resolution to this movie, other than General Grievous dying and the cameo of a very green, very Jewish Woody Allen.

This movie is SHIT.

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What I Meant To Blog Was...

I have figured out why I dislike hearing people talk on their cell phones in public, and why I, too, hate doing so.

If you have a vital conversation you find a place that is quiet, isolated from noise so that you don't miss any of the info that's going on.

A couple weeks ago on the way home from Spokane, sitting at the gate in airplane-waiting position, a gal sat behind me jabbering at top volume. She also had a nervous tic that made her look like a yawning dog, and was ill enough to be snorking back snot like it was cut on a mirror at Studio 54. She was telling somebody on the other end "At the airport... gate C... ten minutes... about 15... we leave in an hour... I think it's a double prop plane." Uh, hey... maybe giving coordinates of the plane and a passenger list would suit her better. And holy moly, what a dynamic personality! Mark my words, pretty soon, for the sake of security, the Transportation Safety Administration is going to outlaw the use of cell phones once you get past security, because I'll have been shoving phones ass-bound.

But every other cellphone conversation that I am thrown under is usually just an exercise in banality. Whenever possible, I'm going to follow people on cell phones in public, pull out a small notepad, and write down everything they say.

What? Invasion of privacy? Nope, sorry, it's a public place, ladies bathroom or not.
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General Mayhem & Captain Grunderflaps

This evening, the Princess and Count Braapula (me) are taking the X-Wing (1999 Chrysler Cirkus) to a sneak-preview of "STAR WARS III: This Space for Rent" down in Redmond, WA. The past 10 years has taken Redmond from "The New Silicon Valley" to "Nerds With Benefits Highlands." I won the tickets through a drawing at work, and I doubt we have the entire theater just for members of the Blob a l'Orange gang. This shouldn't stop anyone from wearing doing "The Robot" while asking where "R2 has gotten off to."

In the meantime, when you hear reports of somebody walking around doing a "Vulcan nerve grip" on annoyed patrons, think of me.

Tommorrow's blog! Full review of Star Wars III: Bigger & Blacker, complete with awards for biggest dork, coolest hair, and loudest Wookiee growl (which is actually just a bear).

Oh, and this one ain't got no Ewoks, so NYEAH!

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Juxtaperspective

First up, to those who have left comments, thank you for reading and input. It's cool that this little blogosphere is connected to people.
I did check out www.jacksonayala.com, a slickly intertwined 'podge of ideas, pics, quotes, and the Not But Should Be Famous "Crazy Black Names." I offer up the name of an offensive tackle on the Virginia Cavaliers, Mr. D'Brickashaw Ferguson. Am I lying? Also, Jackson's quotes & bio page notes range from Dave Attell to Sophocles to Farrakhan, and just when you think it's time to get all up in your own ass about what he means by putting all these crazy things out there for y'all to read... he quotes Popeye. So take a breath and relax. He hates blogs, by the way.

I should be asleep, by the way.

A few times while blog-a-blog-blog-blogging away here I've used the term "perspective." I refer to it's importance as a tool that helps you appreciate what you have, see, or are experiencing. Perspective, which I guess could go Snap-On (not an endorsement) with "Juxtaposition." It's the Bizzarro world you are living in, the Parallel Universe where the Atkins Diet is a fast and Carson Daly was dumpster-jobbed at birth.

Why are Perspective and Juxtaposition important? First off, they'll be tabbed P&J from here on out. Second, P&J are important to help me appreciate what I have going. The ability to see the FlipSide is invaluable to me in many situations. If I'm down to my last $5,000 in checking, fretting, sweating, well heck, I COULD be down to my last $4,000... or $209. Or -$209 AFTER the payday loan. So I should appreciate and take care of what I have, because it could be worse.
This is a good thing to have in a relationship, too. I know a guy who is married, and, more or less, is a neanderthal with a driver's license. Let's call him Larry. I dated a gal who is a friend of his, and she once said "You're really kind of sensitive sometimes." But she didn't mean it like I get my feelings hurt easily. She meant it like "you can be a puss... sometimes." She clarified that for me right after the first comment. I cocked my head and said, with a smile, mind you, "Sometimes, yes, I can be. Sorry bitch. I can Larry it up for you, bitch, if you f*cking want me to." She got the point, but I had to point it out for her, because she had no perspective of chivalry. Gosh, ask permission before putting in the thumb and all good deeds hit pot-bottom.

Moderately autobiographical, some embellishment, you know what I'm getting at. Things could be worse. Things could be better. So what will I gravitate to? I'm trying to stay as positive as I can, ignoring the fire but letting the heat push me forward to cooler times, and laying off the flammable underwear. But still, there are times when being brutally honest and forthcoming is expected and rewarded, and I'll take those opportunities on with all the gusto of a fourth date, and we all know what happens on the fourth date. All I'm saying... BBQ Sauce.

Y'ever realize that the kid in the corner yelling about how he's leaving and doesn't want to be looked just wants attention, then you realize it's not a kid at all, but a full grown adult and you stop caring what they're yelling about and instead just go about your business and then you realize, WOW, you're really better off ignoring all the yelling in the corners? Yeah, me neither.


That's my time everyone, thanks for stopping by. This microphone smells like streetjokes.

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Headline Monday

All Thanks Be To The Highest of Love And Creation!!!
"Everybody Loves Raymond" is going off the air. Did anybody even watch that sack of shit show? I watched a total of 3 minutes in the 28 years it's been on TV. Unfunny is unfunny, which is exactly what unchallenged America loves.

Comedy Recap:
Telling young teens the truth is always a good way to start a set

Television Recap:
Next week's Season Finales of "Housewives" and "Grey's Anatomy" to be uninterrupted by phone calls and bathroom breaks

Chappelle Speaks!:
From his South Africa retreat, Chappelle gives remarks on stress, drive, money, and how he'll surely have enough material for a few more episodes

Chivalry Is Alive, Women Don't Get It:
Chivalry is always in style, as is being respectful - Perspective is the polishing rag of human interaction

How To Screw A Waiter:
...who is trying to screw your date

News to follow. Good Monday Morning, Monkies!
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He's Tired, Bitch!

Well... those waiting for another season of The Chappelle Show on Comedy Central gonna have to wait until Dave gets out the bin.

Poor foo' done gone and exhausted himself. The third season is only 4-5 taped sketches old, and ran into a ton of issues. The gang there was citing problems with creativity, illness, partying, and people constantly asking "Hey man, where the hell that Season 3 at?"

In the meantime, HAX-TV has reportedly been poised to usurp the throne of sketchy comedy shows. So heads up... Late June? I won't know until the last guest leaves the fundraising party tonight at Pegasus Pizza, thrown by Captain Morgan and Tylenol PM.

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Blog

I'm not quite sure what to write about today.
Nothing stands out much in my mind as to what may be exciting or provocative, other than Oprah Winfrey being on the cover of every friggin' issue of her magazine. Just laying about in her own O-ness, being the O, live the O. Get O-ver yourself. Opers needs a writer, a good one, a Judy Gold or a Sarah Silverman. Well, to stay current, I'd have to nominate Killorn, who is a great writer, but her frequency is spottier than an anorexic's cycle. Oprah's really in love with being Oprah, and her efforts on the show has been pared down to the unwitty comment in that "yeahyounumsayngurrrl?"-corner-mouthed voice to get a laugh, and giving things to crying women. I guess she's worked hard to make hers the number one talk show in America. She found Dr. Phil, also, and hey, that's unforgivable.

Yeah, not much to talk about, other than wrapping up the purchase of a condo. First-time homebuyer here, a bit nervewracking but overall I think I'm keeping it together. I haven't cried thsi afternoon, fer-instance. The thought of investing in a something is cool, but the montly payments are going to jump up and bite me ass-wise. Oh well, at least I'll be able to paint the colors into my world as I see fit. Good bye off-white, hello Viking Mural. I will finally be able to resurrect my talents as the #8-rated Van Mural Artist on the West Coast. Vikings? Got 'em. Serpents? Don't insult me. Carson Daly getting Hot Carl'ed by Emmanuel Lewis in a HoneyBucket at KUBE Summer Jam? Can you stammer out "STANDARD?" I have to get some homeowner's insurance, ASAP.

I'm clueless as to where I should start here. I started writing some new material that I'm looking forward to honing. It's got some opinion, some goof, some weird, some titillation, mmmmm, I said it... It's going to have to get worked out on stage and on paper, but at first glance it's some of my best work yet. Not saying much for a guy who opened his sets early in 2004 by singing the Quizno's Subs screechy theme song made famous by the furry tumor pups.

I learned a valuable lesson yesterday as El Naranjo Blobbo celebrated having 50 million customers yelling into phones. The lesson?
Never reward monetarily what can be rewarded with free pizza. Cash comes and goes, but having the Hot Pocket studs from Network Security pawing at a deep-dish supreme, now that's forever. One of their ilk ate an entire box of Cheez-its in one day, washed down with Mountain Dew. So, not LESS genetic engineering, MORE. Put an enzyme in the foods purchased mostly by the trash sectors of society, an enzyme that, when a certain amount is ingested over a one month period, automatically sterilizes the ingestor. Whatever they eat most, give it a shot of something to kill reproduction. You could do with with Mt. Dew, Ripple chips, any flavor of Rind, PBR, Malt Liquor, and of course, boogers.

I guess I should just wrap this up and stop staring at the keyboard.


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Tony Danza, The Mayor Of Spokane, And Car Batteries

What are...
What are things that are falling over, gay, or dead, Alex?

Tony Danza's go-kart flipped while taping a segment for his show, produced by "Slow Learner" studios. Check it out HEEEEEEEEEEEERE.

I'll write more when I have time. For now, the Mayor of Spokane wants to cruise me 0n-line. I've seen Spokane, and there's a reason it's called "Washington' balloon knot."


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