Thanks for swinging by here.
I'm at the point where I need to leap and know that the net will catch me, or keep eyeing the cliff. Let's not get into where the cliff is or what it offers vs. the exhiliration of the leaping. I need your ideas...
To the right of this blog are some truly outstanding works of literary stuff.
WHICH ONES ARE YOU FAVORITES? Let me know. Because, see, I have to leap, eventually, and it can be a controlled leap with a harness that I can secure to the cliff and let out more rope each time I leap, but the effort to climb back up can tire you out. I need to find what my best writing was and is, and take it to the next level, which means I gotta step up, which means I need to get booked for about 10 gigs at a high rate so I can not worry about this bullshit day job.
Email me, lemme know!
Love,
Geoff
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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, October 27, 2006
Wednesday, September 13, 2006
Bursting The Dam
My recent trip to Utah started the way most short flights do: scanning the gate area for unruly children (see previous blog, “You Can’t Afford NOT To”). There was one kid who was nuts, doing the screaming that only kids can scream when they want to see how loud they can be. A well-dressed older man on a mobile phone (cell = cellular = old technology) nearby said into that phone, “One sec…” hit his mute button, then yelled “AAAAAAAAAAH!” His outburst was unexpected, but necessary, and effective.
The kid stopped dead in his tracks, wide-eyed staring at the man who had just interrupted his yelling. The look on the kid’s face can be best described as “I lose.” EVERYONE turned suddenly, and the gentleman put his hands up to his mouth and said “Oh dear, I thought it was yelling time! Sorry fella!” His jovial tone made everyone giggle a bit, and I’m pretty sure I chuckled as I sent his aura a metaphysical Starbucks card. The kid did not peep the rest of the afternoon. This yelling trick is now in my repertoire.
Let’s reverse field a bit. I got through security in my usual “extra 5 minutes because of the rod in my leg” situation (see previous blog, “How I Got This Scar...”). I always get pulled aside because the rod in my leg sets off the machine. Every time. I’ve been through without the rod, nothing. I went through with it, DEET DEET. Then I get to sit in the little Plexiglas corral while they wave the wand over me to make sure I’m not getting on the plane with any extra dignity or expediency. Security is of the utmost importance, until some of these wussies get on board with my Vigilante Justice movement. Then I gather my shoes… SHOES!... book bag crammed with belt, phone, watch, and my clown nose and I’m off to pay $8 for a Balance bar.
This time through I needed water like Courtney Love needs water. I paid $2 for a 20oz bottle at the little shop, and moved on to my gate. As we boarded I held it in my hand, walking past the gate agent, a flight attendant, another attendant, and then one more attendant. It was in plain view. Nobody said anything about it, seeing as there IS a restriction on liquids being brought through security. I understand the gels, because people who wear hair gel shouldn’t be allowed to fly.
I made my way to my seat, an aisle seat across from two people whom the field of medicine would label “mastodon.” They wore matching shirts… SHIRTS!... as if they would not be able to find one another in the event they became separated. Just look for the sweaty head. Immediately upon sitting I hear a voice that is laden with the echoes of needing to have some sort of control in life. The tattle-tale. The one who got left out because she complained, and then proceeded to complain because she got left out. A World-Class Nag.
“Excuse me. Where did you get that water?”, she asked, emphasizing water like it were a stack of Valrhona 70% cocoa bars. (I really like those)
“At the news stand,” I replied, very nicely for someone who was on his way to Utah.
“Well they said I couldn’t bring water on the plane and I’m diabetic and I have the kind that I need a lot of water because I get thirsty,” frumped she.
“Oh.”, I exclaimed.
“Yeah, I need water for my…” she trailed off looking for something in the distance. I was a little flummoxed because in all my travels I had never had this encounter. I understand that she wasn’t asking me for my water, but it suddenly seemed that water was the great equalizer! I was in POWER because I had a bottle of water, and how could I be so callous as to just flaunt it? HOW DARE I! Everyone knows that diabetes can only be cured by Dasani! (made by Coca Cola, also a cause of diabetes!)
As she continued railing against the gods and flight attendants keeping all water out of her body, a man, a woman, and a tiny baby being held by the woman approached. They looked at their tickets, at the empty seat to my right, and the man said “Well mine is back there.” I said “Hey, I can move back to your seat and you two can sit next to each other,” which is a really nice thing to do, unless the guy was looking forward to time away from his wife and baby. Life isn’t perfect, stop groaning.
They say “Sure,” I stood, grabbed THE WATER BOTTLE OF DESTINY!, and moved back two rows to a middle seat between a guy wearing a NorthFace parka and some other guy wondering who wears a NorthFace park in the Summer on a plane. (man named Craig, that’s who) They weren’t any happier to see me than I was to smell the unwashed parka, but there I was. And it wasn’t very good camouflage.
Five minutes later a flight attendant of the female persuasion was stopped by Diane Betes (of earlier Water Fiasco fame) who started pointing and yammering on. Flight Attendant (FA) came back to ask me if I had a bottle with me, and I said Yes. FA then mentioned with a sigh that she had to take it, I understand, but she’d BRING ME TWO MORE BOTTLES. Of Dasani, mind you.
Mrs. Betes TOLD ON ME instead of just asking for a couple bottles of water. Her problem would be solved by simply asking for water, but instead she had to bring me into it as though her disease were my fault. As stated earlier, I walked past a number of FA’s who saw the bottle and didn’t say a word. And now I’m getting tattled-on at the age of 32 by a woman wearing a man’s polo shirt from “Extra Room Clothiers & Fudge.” I wish I were kidding.
Throughout the flight to Salt Lake City it was mentioned to me by a number of FA’s how much trouble my bottle had caused. They had all heard about it. The only threat my bottle of water posed to anyone was to the tattler’s piehole. I could only shake my head. They got their message across loud & clear: Some people, ya know? This wasn’t a patriotic move by the complainer; she was concerned only about the fact that she was put-out by not getting her share of water, and therefore, someone needed to suffer. For the record, when the drink cart came through 30 minutes later, The Betes Twins ordered Cokes.
When returning through Salt Lake City’s security, planning on grabbing a seat for the leg wanding, Latter Day Saint style, I pushed my bucket of goods into the scanner and set to walking. There is some very high-tech stuff at Salt Lake’s airport in the security section, mind you. X-ray scans, a water-sniffing turtle, etc. So I was surely going to trigger 1,000 times the number of alarms my leg usually sets-off.
But I didn’t. When you think you’re going to set off someone’s alarms, yet you don’t, it’s best to not blurt out “It’s about time I got through with this thing!” Just shut up and move on with it. It works, sometimes.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The kid stopped dead in his tracks, wide-eyed staring at the man who had just interrupted his yelling. The look on the kid’s face can be best described as “I lose.” EVERYONE turned suddenly, and the gentleman put his hands up to his mouth and said “Oh dear, I thought it was yelling time! Sorry fella!” His jovial tone made everyone giggle a bit, and I’m pretty sure I chuckled as I sent his aura a metaphysical Starbucks card. The kid did not peep the rest of the afternoon. This yelling trick is now in my repertoire.
Let’s reverse field a bit. I got through security in my usual “extra 5 minutes because of the rod in my leg” situation (see previous blog, “How I Got This Scar...”). I always get pulled aside because the rod in my leg sets off the machine. Every time. I’ve been through without the rod, nothing. I went through with it, DEET DEET. Then I get to sit in the little Plexiglas corral while they wave the wand over me to make sure I’m not getting on the plane with any extra dignity or expediency. Security is of the utmost importance, until some of these wussies get on board with my Vigilante Justice movement. Then I gather my shoes… SHOES!... book bag crammed with belt, phone, watch, and my clown nose and I’m off to pay $8 for a Balance bar.
This time through I needed water like Courtney Love needs water. I paid $2 for a 20oz bottle at the little shop, and moved on to my gate. As we boarded I held it in my hand, walking past the gate agent, a flight attendant, another attendant, and then one more attendant. It was in plain view. Nobody said anything about it, seeing as there IS a restriction on liquids being brought through security. I understand the gels, because people who wear hair gel shouldn’t be allowed to fly.
I made my way to my seat, an aisle seat across from two people whom the field of medicine would label “mastodon.” They wore matching shirts… SHIRTS!... as if they would not be able to find one another in the event they became separated. Just look for the sweaty head. Immediately upon sitting I hear a voice that is laden with the echoes of needing to have some sort of control in life. The tattle-tale. The one who got left out because she complained, and then proceeded to complain because she got left out. A World-Class Nag.
“Excuse me. Where did you get that water?”, she asked, emphasizing water like it were a stack of Valrhona 70% cocoa bars. (I really like those)
“At the news stand,” I replied, very nicely for someone who was on his way to Utah.
“Well they said I couldn’t bring water on the plane and I’m diabetic and I have the kind that I need a lot of water because I get thirsty,” frumped she.
“Oh.”, I exclaimed.
“Yeah, I need water for my…” she trailed off looking for something in the distance. I was a little flummoxed because in all my travels I had never had this encounter. I understand that she wasn’t asking me for my water, but it suddenly seemed that water was the great equalizer! I was in POWER because I had a bottle of water, and how could I be so callous as to just flaunt it? HOW DARE I! Everyone knows that diabetes can only be cured by Dasani! (made by Coca Cola, also a cause of diabetes!)
As she continued railing against the gods and flight attendants keeping all water out of her body, a man, a woman, and a tiny baby being held by the woman approached. They looked at their tickets, at the empty seat to my right, and the man said “Well mine is back there.” I said “Hey, I can move back to your seat and you two can sit next to each other,” which is a really nice thing to do, unless the guy was looking forward to time away from his wife and baby. Life isn’t perfect, stop groaning.
They say “Sure,” I stood, grabbed THE WATER BOTTLE OF DESTINY!, and moved back two rows to a middle seat between a guy wearing a NorthFace parka and some other guy wondering who wears a NorthFace park in the Summer on a plane. (man named Craig, that’s who) They weren’t any happier to see me than I was to smell the unwashed parka, but there I was. And it wasn’t very good camouflage.
Five minutes later a flight attendant of the female persuasion was stopped by Diane Betes (of earlier Water Fiasco fame) who started pointing and yammering on. Flight Attendant (FA) came back to ask me if I had a bottle with me, and I said Yes. FA then mentioned with a sigh that she had to take it, I understand, but she’d BRING ME TWO MORE BOTTLES. Of Dasani, mind you.
Mrs. Betes TOLD ON ME instead of just asking for a couple bottles of water. Her problem would be solved by simply asking for water, but instead she had to bring me into it as though her disease were my fault. As stated earlier, I walked past a number of FA’s who saw the bottle and didn’t say a word. And now I’m getting tattled-on at the age of 32 by a woman wearing a man’s polo shirt from “Extra Room Clothiers & Fudge.” I wish I were kidding.
Throughout the flight to Salt Lake City it was mentioned to me by a number of FA’s how much trouble my bottle had caused. They had all heard about it. The only threat my bottle of water posed to anyone was to the tattler’s piehole. I could only shake my head. They got their message across loud & clear: Some people, ya know? This wasn’t a patriotic move by the complainer; she was concerned only about the fact that she was put-out by not getting her share of water, and therefore, someone needed to suffer. For the record, when the drink cart came through 30 minutes later, The Betes Twins ordered Cokes.
When returning through Salt Lake City’s security, planning on grabbing a seat for the leg wanding, Latter Day Saint style, I pushed my bucket of goods into the scanner and set to walking. There is some very high-tech stuff at Salt Lake’s airport in the security section, mind you. X-ray scans, a water-sniffing turtle, etc. So I was surely going to trigger 1,000 times the number of alarms my leg usually sets-off.
But I didn’t. When you think you’re going to set off someone’s alarms, yet you don’t, it’s best to not blurt out “It’s about time I got through with this thing!” Just shut up and move on with it. It works, sometimes.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, August 13, 2006
An Argument For Robots Everywhere
Friday, August 04, 2006
Coming Soon...
The new website!
A new blog on the pleasures of detoxifying your large intestine!
Until then, go read Killorn's blog. Awesome read for those in Seattle who have ever dealt with the attitudes of coffee shop patrons.
!!!
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
A new blog on the pleasures of detoxifying your large intestine!
Until then, go read Killorn's blog. Awesome read for those in Seattle who have ever dealt with the attitudes of coffee shop patrons.
!!!
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, July 31, 2006
George W. Bush Is One Crazy President!
This is an editorial from the New York Times.
It is harrowing, unsettling, and overall a giant beacon of hope on the snowball rolling down the hill. That ball is heading straight for a little thing called "Right."
Over 212 years, 42 presidents issued signing statements objecting to a grand total of 600 provisions of new laws. George W. Bush has done that more than 800 times in just over five and a half years in office.
Most presidents used signing statements to get legal objections on the record for judges to consider in any court challenge. For Mr. Bush, they are far more: part of a strategy to expand presidential powers at the expense of Congress and the courts. His signing statements have become notices to Congress that he simply does not intend to follow the law, especially any attempt to hold him accountable for his actions.
Some of Mr. Bushs signing statements have become notorious, like the one in which he said he didnt feel bound by the new law against torturing prisoners. Others were more obscure, like the one in which he said he would not follow a law forbidding the White House to censor or withhold scientific data requested by Congress.
But all serve the unitary executive theory cherished by some of Mr. Bushs most extreme advisers, including Vice President Dick Cheney and his legal staff. This theory says that the president and not Congress nor the courts has the sole power to decide how to carry out his duties. According to a study by a bipartisan panel of the American Bar Association, Mr. Bush objected to 500 provisions of new laws just in his first term the majority of them because they conflicted with the unitary executive theory. The A.B.A. said that theory was specifically mentioned 82 times.
The Bush administration often says the president is just trying to stop Congress from interfering with his ability to keep the nation safe, and that other presidents also included constitutional objections in their signing statements. Thats just smoke.
For one thing, under this president, all laws are screened by Mr. Cheneys staff for violations of the unitary executive theory. Presidents Ronald Reagan, George H. W. Bush and Bill Clinton had the Justice Department report constitutional concerns about new laws to the White House. Mr. Bush often does cite national security as an excuse for ignoring an act of Congress but that is almost always because lawmakers are trying to rein him in on issues like the treatment of prisoners, and the withholding of information from Congress.
The A.B.A. called Mr. Bushs use of presidential signing statements contrary to the rule of law and our constitutional system of separation of powers and recommended that Congress enact legislation clarifying the issue.
We agree on both points, even though we fear that if Congress passes a bill, Mr. Bush will simply issue a new signing statement saying he also does not intend to follow it.
This all means one of a few things:
1) If taken for his word, W is saying that he needs to have full powers in order to keep America safe from terrorism and/or telemarketing to recruit said scary people. To protect his ability to lead the small group in his cabinet, he's got to have as much power as possible to go where he needs to go and do what he needs to do without hesitation in a moment of crisis. He learned his lesson that day in the kid's classroom in Florida.
2) Congress cannot be trusted to do what's right to keep America safe, making the rest of us either the most blind citizens in the world, or W the most paranoid President since Richard "THEY'RE IN THE CARPET!" Nixon.
3) He and his administrative staff know something we don't, and they want to keep it that way, so that they can look back at these signings and say "Hey, aren't you glad now that I/He/We signed those things?"
=+=+=+=
While it's good that the audacity and ferocious bumbling of an administration has got us all talking about politics again, the downside is that it is so frustrating to most of us. To think that we need a Patriot Act, or that we witnessed the horrors of September 11, and that right now another soldier has died in Iraq or Afghanistan or anywhere else, is to know that something set this ball in motion, and nothing has been done to keep it from stopping.
America has been at war pretty much since it began. In one way or another, we've been ejecting shell casings and going after enemies, or defending against the enemies, since the 1700s. My only suggestion is to focus our materials and mental powers on diplomacy, building and creating alternative energy resources (wind, solar, and rain, what with our Global Warming, are in high supply), and staying out of everyone's business for at least one year.
What do I know? I'm just a voter.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, July 30, 2006
The Good News
The good news is...
if you eat healthy, get a lot of sleep, don't drink too much, stay off drugs, and stay out of the sun, you can live a very long life!
The bad news is...
it's going to be on Earth, where you will be facing a set of TV cameras on your 112th birthday and end up boring everyone at your party into submission.
If you love what you do, you're living enough for two lifetimes.
Still give me 85 moderately good years over 62 over-indulgent ones. Those last 23 will be spent teaching by example, mostly through annoying the face rings out of the youngsters.
Damn meddlin' kids.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
if you eat healthy, get a lot of sleep, don't drink too much, stay off drugs, and stay out of the sun, you can live a very long life!
The bad news is...
it's going to be on Earth, where you will be facing a set of TV cameras on your 112th birthday and end up boring everyone at your party into submission.
If you love what you do, you're living enough for two lifetimes.
Still give me 85 moderately good years over 62 over-indulgent ones. Those last 23 will be spent teaching by example, mostly through annoying the face rings out of the youngsters.
Damn meddlin' kids.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, July 28, 2006
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Some Stuff to Share
The new website will be up this week, since I do not want to just throw out something that doesn't have worthy content to it. I'm adding the fun stuff as you read this. Okay, maybe later on, I'm not always able to just dive in and start adding stuff. But you know what I'm saying. Good stuff is on the way!
I have a show at the Capitol Hill Arts Center on 8/1/06. Check out www.PRoKomedy.com for more information.
GO TOWARDS THE LIGHTs! I have a show THIS SATURDAY NIGHT at the Northern Lights Casino in Anacortes, 9pm. Last time I was there I showed up and rocked it with Gabriel Rutledge. That was just four short weeks ago. Guess what? I HAVE NEW MATERIAL TO ROCK. Email me for more info on this show. Then hang out and watch my Wife From The Future clean up a roulette table.
And finally, a lot of cancerous and pre-cancerous moles are getting attention lately. I would like to offer my services on these moles, both in extraction and disposal fees, very low. I can even suture what I need to, when I need to, though I am much, much better at full removal.
After having quit smoking, I thought I wouldn't ever get to use my cigar punch again. Pssh!
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, July 23, 2006
MySpace Is My Anti-MySpace, and p.s. IT'S ASS HOT
In a show of unmitigated arrogance, power, and assholery, MySpace has been inaccessible for the better part of the last 24 hours.
Good. Wean me off it. I go there like it's a drug, which is probably why people say "Are you on MySpace?" I need away from it. It's a decent way to network, but that depends solely on the other people you are "Friends" with deciding to care enough to stop by your profile, read your bulletin, or come looking for their $61.33... AMERICAN.
GOOD RIDDANCE. MySpace, now a holding of the Rupert Murdoch Media Empire (and who knows the "NOW" of contemporary technology better'n a fella name of "Rupert?"), is consistenly giving us every reason to get off the junk. Errors. Slow page loads. Allowing ANYBODY to load up on it. The fun is gone when the 17 year old cheerleader can take her shirt off for attention, but commenting on it is considered "Inappropriate," even if the comment is proportionate to the picture's skank factor.
So yeah, there ya go. I'm sure I'll still put stuff on there because I'm a writing junkie and it's another blog I can fill out (sorry, I meant to tell you...), but overall, eh, I'll leave it to the hornies, homies, and people who have nothing to say.
Btw... My NEW website will be up and running THIS WEEK! Check back to GLRules.com when you can.
BTW:
This weekend was the appropriate weekend for Killorn O'Neill's Hot-Talent Of The Season:
Projectile Boob Sweating.
Seriously... when did Tabasco start making air?
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Good. Wean me off it. I go there like it's a drug, which is probably why people say "Are you on MySpace?" I need away from it. It's a decent way to network, but that depends solely on the other people you are "Friends" with deciding to care enough to stop by your profile, read your bulletin, or come looking for their $61.33... AMERICAN.
GOOD RIDDANCE. MySpace, now a holding of the Rupert Murdoch Media Empire (and who knows the "NOW" of contemporary technology better'n a fella name of "Rupert?"), is consistenly giving us every reason to get off the junk. Errors. Slow page loads. Allowing ANYBODY to load up on it. The fun is gone when the 17 year old cheerleader can take her shirt off for attention, but commenting on it is considered "Inappropriate," even if the comment is proportionate to the picture's skank factor.
So yeah, there ya go. I'm sure I'll still put stuff on there because I'm a writing junkie and it's another blog I can fill out (sorry, I meant to tell you...), but overall, eh, I'll leave it to the hornies, homies, and people who have nothing to say.
Btw... My NEW website will be up and running THIS WEEK! Check back to GLRules.com when you can.
BTW:
This weekend was the appropriate weekend for Killorn O'Neill's Hot-Talent Of The Season:
Projectile Boob Sweating.
Seriously... when did Tabasco start making air?
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, July 20, 2006
Tri, Tri Again
The Maple Valley Triathlon, suspiciously lacking any kind of "chugging" or "mudding" leg, was cancelled. The website said that the city cancelled it.
Previously, the same organizers had their Chelan Triathlon, suspiciously lacking any kind of "tenting" or "fire dousing" leg, had noted that the city of Chelan cancelled THAT triathlon.
When a city cancels an event sure to bring it hundreds of thousands of dollars of revenue via visitors and quality reports, it's usually because some permits were not filed.
And those permits not being filed do not, I repeat, do NOT, quench the burning of my nipples. I shall run on, I shall bike hard, and I shall swim sleekly.
I bought SPANDEX, for the sake of nipples!
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My Blog About My Dad
Previously, the same organizers had their Chelan Triathlon, suspiciously lacking any kind of "tenting" or "fire dousing" leg, had noted that the city of Chelan cancelled THAT triathlon.
When a city cancels an event sure to bring it hundreds of thousands of dollars of revenue via visitors and quality reports, it's usually because some permits were not filed.
And those permits not being filed do not, I repeat, do NOT, quench the burning of my nipples. I shall run on, I shall bike hard, and I shall swim sleekly.
I bought SPANDEX, for the sake of nipples!
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, July 17, 2006
The Golden Years
Once and for all, I'm asking you to tell me if I am being a flaming a-hole.
Seriously.
Yes, You, oh literate and fantastic in those pants Reader. Am I purporting myself in the style of a butt's hole lately? I ask because I've had some really odd interactions with others in the recent days, and I wonder if I'm putting off a stink of some sort.
My first one was with an elderly lady who cut in line at the drug store. (again, I give no props here unless, sponsored, but figurative Cleveland Steamers come free) She shuffled ahead of me, as I was 4th in line, and she wanted to be 4th, apparently. She seemed to be moving much more slowly than previously when I saw her in the store, but I figured it was just the passing of a kidney or past the time she usually stares out the window and reminisces. But for whatever reason, she was at the druggist at 6pm on a Tuesday.
At the same time, I cleared my throat, but only because I had to clear it, not because I wanted to draw attention to the fact that she, being elderly, was not allowed to just CUT in line. Instead, I figured if she'd asked nicely I would have considered giving her the spot before telling her to beat it. But she took, and I was probably just choking on the words to right the situation.
A small blip in my head went off, and I thought "What's the harm? Honestly? None. Zero. Nothing. Let it go." And in that moment, I breathed deeply, exhaled slowly, and I Let It Go. I felt peace. I felt At Peace. I found Zen. There was no harm. No resistance. I made my purchase, paid with cash, and walked out with my Crosswords and my Riesen Chocolate Chews, and felt good about it.
As I stepped outside, I heard "Hey prick. Yeah YOU."
I turn around to see the old lady glaring at me, finger pointing.
"What's with all the huffing and puffing? Whaddya gonna do? Tell on me?"
I replied with "No, I just took a deep breath and let go of the fact that you cut in line."
"Oh did you? Must make you feel pretty big, huh?"
"No, I just... you're crazy."
"Yeah, I'm crazy like a fox, jerk!"
Next time you see an old person at the front of line acting confused, remember that it's hard getting older, but you don't have to suffer alone.
=====
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Seriously.
Yes, You, oh literate and fantastic in those pants Reader. Am I purporting myself in the style of a butt's hole lately? I ask because I've had some really odd interactions with others in the recent days, and I wonder if I'm putting off a stink of some sort.
My first one was with an elderly lady who cut in line at the drug store. (again, I give no props here unless, sponsored, but figurative Cleveland Steamers come free) She shuffled ahead of me, as I was 4th in line, and she wanted to be 4th, apparently. She seemed to be moving much more slowly than previously when I saw her in the store, but I figured it was just the passing of a kidney or past the time she usually stares out the window and reminisces. But for whatever reason, she was at the druggist at 6pm on a Tuesday.
At the same time, I cleared my throat, but only because I had to clear it, not because I wanted to draw attention to the fact that she, being elderly, was not allowed to just CUT in line. Instead, I figured if she'd asked nicely I would have considered giving her the spot before telling her to beat it. But she took, and I was probably just choking on the words to right the situation.
A small blip in my head went off, and I thought "What's the harm? Honestly? None. Zero. Nothing. Let it go." And in that moment, I breathed deeply, exhaled slowly, and I Let It Go. I felt peace. I felt At Peace. I found Zen. There was no harm. No resistance. I made my purchase, paid with cash, and walked out with my Crosswords and my Riesen Chocolate Chews, and felt good about it.
As I stepped outside, I heard "Hey prick. Yeah YOU."
I turn around to see the old lady glaring at me, finger pointing.
"What's with all the huffing and puffing? Whaddya gonna do? Tell on me?"
I replied with "No, I just took a deep breath and let go of the fact that you cut in line."
"Oh did you? Must make you feel pretty big, huh?"
"No, I just... you're crazy."
"Yeah, I'm crazy like a fox, jerk!"
Next time you see an old person at the front of line acting confused, remember that it's hard getting older, but you don't have to suffer alone.
=====
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, July 13, 2006
A Bit Nippy
I'm training for a triathlon, okay? A sprint-tri, wherein I will swim 1/4-mile, bike 12 miles, and run 3 miles. In a row. Without dying. Or worse, public pants-loading.
The other night I did a Double, wherein I did a training session in one event, then went to the next. That night it was a 6.5-mile bike ride, then a 3.5 mile run. I wore a Nike Dri-Fit shirt, one of those wickers of moisture, and I was sweating like Star Jones walking up a flight of stair.
Long story short, I will be looking for some other shirt to wear during my race, or at least an undershirt with my Dri-Fit. Hopefully THAT will keep my nipples from bleeding again.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The other night I did a Double, wherein I did a training session in one event, then went to the next. That night it was a 6.5-mile bike ride, then a 3.5 mile run. I wore a Nike Dri-Fit shirt, one of those wickers of moisture, and I was sweating like Star Jones walking up a flight of stair.
Long story short, I will be looking for some other shirt to wear during my race, or at least an undershirt with my Dri-Fit. Hopefully THAT will keep my nipples from bleeding again.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
A Niche In The Wall
I am not now, nor have I ever been, a fan of the Pink Floyd band. I think I "get" them, but I don't get them. I get their lyrics, but their music goes to a certain level of masturbatory unseen before or since they arrived. One of the founding members of the band just died, too. I think it was Syd Viscuous.
I think I could name about 3 of their songs, including "the Education chanting song," "the money sound song," and "echoing Hello song." I once dated a girl who had a very annoying habit of sleeping with other people. Less annoying, but still annoying, was that she loved Pink Floyd, only slightly less than she loved another of my less-liked bands, The Grateful Dead.
I'm not here to bash either of these bands or that rotten whore. The bands put out music that was the soundtrack to many a good time to many a good person over the decades. For that they should be applauded. But as for my opinion, I wouldn't walk across the street for a free show of theirs, and not just because the parking lot of the Morningwood Highlands would make for a sparse venue. First off, parking would suck.
That annoying habit I spoke of earlier, the one where I dated a rotten whore, she did this thing that a lot of people do when at topic comes around to something they LOOOOOOOVE. Usually it's a niche item, like, say... Vegemite.
Vegemite, a pasty concoction that is a marvelous source of gross and vitamin B, is a product of leftover beer-brewing yeast. It's wildly popular in countries that have words like "flavour" and "footie match." I've tried it. Didn't throw up. Don't care to try it again. Done.
But should my dislike of Vegemite bubble over in the presence of somebody who is unnaturally fond of Vegemite, an annoying habit comes forth in the following manner:
"Whaddayoo mean you don't like Vegemite? Have you ever tried it? It's like the BEST. It's soo good for a hangover, not to mention when you drank too much the night before!" and it goes on until I throw up, or until ad nauseum.
So YES, I tried it, that's how I know I don't like it. I have a long list of things I have tried. Not all of them roll on to hallowed ground. Some of them have to lose. And my not buying Vegemite, yet giving it shit-tons of free advertising here, isn't going to matter one devalued American dollar to the Vegemite fortune. So sit there and be gross and quiet about it.
My point is that not everyone has to get along, nor like the same things, nor agree on what to do with Carson Daly's dead body, nor Ryan Seacrest's soul. That's OKAY. That is FINE. Those things that are DIFFERENT are what make THE world gO arOUnd. That's aNnOyInG, huh? Let people be who they are, like what they like, dislike what they dislike, and if they happen to dislike things you like, you can simply ignore them.
Or sleep around on them like a rotten whore. All in all, it's just another brick in the wall.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
I think I could name about 3 of their songs, including "the Education chanting song," "the money sound song," and "echoing Hello song." I once dated a girl who had a very annoying habit of sleeping with other people. Less annoying, but still annoying, was that she loved Pink Floyd, only slightly less than she loved another of my less-liked bands, The Grateful Dead.
I'm not here to bash either of these bands or that rotten whore. The bands put out music that was the soundtrack to many a good time to many a good person over the decades. For that they should be applauded. But as for my opinion, I wouldn't walk across the street for a free show of theirs, and not just because the parking lot of the Morningwood Highlands would make for a sparse venue. First off, parking would suck.
That annoying habit I spoke of earlier, the one where I dated a rotten whore, she did this thing that a lot of people do when at topic comes around to something they LOOOOOOOVE. Usually it's a niche item, like, say... Vegemite.
Vegemite, a pasty concoction that is a marvelous source of gross and vitamin B, is a product of leftover beer-brewing yeast. It's wildly popular in countries that have words like "flavour" and "footie match." I've tried it. Didn't throw up. Don't care to try it again. Done.
But should my dislike of Vegemite bubble over in the presence of somebody who is unnaturally fond of Vegemite, an annoying habit comes forth in the following manner:
"Whaddayoo mean you don't like Vegemite? Have you ever tried it? It's like the BEST. It's soo good for a hangover, not to mention when you drank too much the night before!" and it goes on until I throw up, or until ad nauseum.
So YES, I tried it, that's how I know I don't like it. I have a long list of things I have tried. Not all of them roll on to hallowed ground. Some of them have to lose. And my not buying Vegemite, yet giving it shit-tons of free advertising here, isn't going to matter one devalued American dollar to the Vegemite fortune. So sit there and be gross and quiet about it.
My point is that not everyone has to get along, nor like the same things, nor agree on what to do with Carson Daly's dead body, nor Ryan Seacrest's soul. That's OKAY. That is FINE. Those things that are DIFFERENT are what make THE world gO arOUnd. That's aNnOyInG, huh? Let people be who they are, like what they like, dislike what they dislike, and if they happen to dislike things you like, you can simply ignore them.
Or sleep around on them like a rotten whore. All in all, it's just another brick in the wall.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, July 02, 2006
Comics Who Look Like Movie Stuff, and My Dumb Tattoo
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Complaining White People
This morning I was standing in line to pay for a banana, because I like potassium, but only when it comes in a peel-able skin. And can be peanut buttered. Which it would be. Hold a moment, let me rewind a bit.
The cafeteria at work is really as nice as you can get in a work eatery. Carpeted floors, comfy booths, and tons upon tons of options for food. Healthy snacks which can be deep fried. Buffalo burgers. Tamarind chutney! Also, it is run with a certain amount of care, run by a few people who have mixed degrees of Hospitality and Customer Serviceness. For most of my tenure here it has been run by one of two men, one of them so fiercely dedicated to proper customer service and PC'ism that he came to my office to apologize to my co-worker. His apology was due to the fact that, during what I think was Korean Heritage Week, my co-worker (who is Korean by way of Ottowa), asked a cook why they were serving Pho (fuh), a Vietnamese soup. The guy came to the office, with a chef in tow, to apologize. They genuinely cared about not appearing to be a-pipes, and for that I have a certain amount of respect.
It appears that new people are runnning the show over there. The two guys who appeared to manage the cafeteria were always around, helping out, saying "Hey Kortek! Nice digitial watch!" and the like. Not any more. I haven't seen them in a few weeks. In their stead is a woman whose demeanor is perfect for the restaurant industry, because she reminds me of steam burns and cheese-grater-nipped fingertips in a salt bath. Just a peach of a gal, she breathes as though put-upon by the world. When ringing up your total, she stares off into space as though, were it not for a few bad years there after her second marriage to her third husband, she would probably be managing that truck stop by now. She's a solidly-built woman of about 5'9", sturdy in the hips and fluid of movement. Probably has a little self-defense and/or women's rights march-training under her SansABelt.
Her bouquet is melange of old coffee, Newports, and sweaty nylons. This is work. There's no time for fun.
And everyone...
Has to...
Deal with it.
The rest of the staff is fun. The gal at the grill would make me dance when I ordered a buffalo burger, and I always hesitated before dipping into a soft-shoe or maybe a little jig. I don't worry about looking silly; I work at THE Software Company, surrounded by grown men who tuck their silk-screened Wolf motif T's into their denim shorts.
Most of the counter staff are Latina, very friendly, upbeat women that make it feel less like a coffee purchase and more like a cultural experience. I don't even care if they're talking about me in Spanish, they do it with a smile. To that I say ARRIBA!
Back to this morning. While walking to get in line, the New Boss Lady, or "White Heat," is barking orders to one of the Counterstaff bonitas, "Then when you pick that bag up, put it in here and wheel it out. I'll be back in ten minutes." The woman she was talking to has worked there longer than White Heat. But White Heat doesn't get paid to let people work, she gets paid to MANAGE. (print that to a T-shirt, NOW)
I'm in line at the coffee counter behind a guy holding a breakfast burrito, while I stand and listen to the next exchange between Rosa (her real name), and a woman who appears to be the younger sister of White Heat, or possibly a jackal. Lil Sis says "Well I can't get the milk, we have to wait until, uh… the other one… when she gets back," then returns to pursing her lips and longing for a new Air Supply record. I will not even attempt to fathom what "the other one" meant. Rosa, rolling her eyes, turns to help Burrito man, who complains that his burrito doesn't have anything in it, and that he waited a really long time for it.
That's about all he said. When offered a refund, he said "Yes, it has nothing in it, and I should be refunded." He paid $2.45 for it. Nothing in it? Seems like you'd notice that. He got his refund, then muttered something about "bad service" and went back to being anti-social.
I was next, and motioning to my banana, which was in my hand, and was actually a banana, I said "There is something wrong with this orange." We had a laugh and away I went. I also watched Rosa pull the aforementioned milk out of the low-boy cooler and place it on the counter for Lil Sis, who was still wondering how much longer she would have to deal with this crap until rescued by a young Russell Mitchell... Or Graham Russell, didn't matter, just come 'n' get it. And by "it" I mean "sweaty nylons."
Then it dawned on me. The white people in that scenario were all complaining. The rest of the players were just working. White Heat, Angry Management. How do you get a burrito with nothing in it, watching them make it in front of you, AND YOU DIDN'T KNOW? And Lil Sis, wow, what a joy to have to deal with in the morning. You don't HAVE TO work here, ya know? And then there's me, complaining about the complaining.
My only suggestion is to just smile and make the best of the sitch, and when you can, make a joke about your banana.
-Addendum-
I was told last weekend that I was carrying a negative attitude. Perhaps I was. There's been some stress regarding the wedding plans. I'm sure it can all be solved easily with some proper planning or my body in a shallow grave. And comedy plans. And work plans. Etc. Just getting the steam out so the gears mesh and roll the machine forward. I decided then and there to be Positive.
About an hour later we ran to get the propane tank filled for some grilling. We were greeted by a woman who, judging from her disposition, was surely on the last two chemical components that would allow us to create worm-holes for interstellar travel, when interrupted by PAYING CUSTOMERS?!?!
I asked how she was doing, she sighed a "Well if it weren't so busy I'd be better." I replied with "Oh come on. I can go somewhere else if you like?" She said "Well my boss wouldn't like that."
Soon after, I was paid a very high compliment, when told "Her attitude really puts your negativity into perspective."
AND THAT… is why I love Alicia. She can almost admit when I'm not as big of a poopyhead as she thinks I am.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
The cafeteria at work is really as nice as you can get in a work eatery. Carpeted floors, comfy booths, and tons upon tons of options for food. Healthy snacks which can be deep fried. Buffalo burgers. Tamarind chutney! Also, it is run with a certain amount of care, run by a few people who have mixed degrees of Hospitality and Customer Serviceness. For most of my tenure here it has been run by one of two men, one of them so fiercely dedicated to proper customer service and PC'ism that he came to my office to apologize to my co-worker. His apology was due to the fact that, during what I think was Korean Heritage Week, my co-worker (who is Korean by way of Ottowa), asked a cook why they were serving Pho (fuh), a Vietnamese soup. The guy came to the office, with a chef in tow, to apologize. They genuinely cared about not appearing to be a-pipes, and for that I have a certain amount of respect.
It appears that new people are runnning the show over there. The two guys who appeared to manage the cafeteria were always around, helping out, saying "Hey Kortek! Nice digitial watch!" and the like. Not any more. I haven't seen them in a few weeks. In their stead is a woman whose demeanor is perfect for the restaurant industry, because she reminds me of steam burns and cheese-grater-nipped fingertips in a salt bath. Just a peach of a gal, she breathes as though put-upon by the world. When ringing up your total, she stares off into space as though, were it not for a few bad years there after her second marriage to her third husband, she would probably be managing that truck stop by now. She's a solidly-built woman of about 5'9", sturdy in the hips and fluid of movement. Probably has a little self-defense and/or women's rights march-training under her SansABelt.
Her bouquet is melange of old coffee, Newports, and sweaty nylons. This is work. There's no time for fun.
And everyone...
Has to...
Deal with it.
The rest of the staff is fun. The gal at the grill would make me dance when I ordered a buffalo burger, and I always hesitated before dipping into a soft-shoe or maybe a little jig. I don't worry about looking silly; I work at THE Software Company, surrounded by grown men who tuck their silk-screened Wolf motif T's into their denim shorts.
Most of the counter staff are Latina, very friendly, upbeat women that make it feel less like a coffee purchase and more like a cultural experience. I don't even care if they're talking about me in Spanish, they do it with a smile. To that I say ARRIBA!
Back to this morning. While walking to get in line, the New Boss Lady, or "White Heat," is barking orders to one of the Counterstaff bonitas, "Then when you pick that bag up, put it in here and wheel it out. I'll be back in ten minutes." The woman she was talking to has worked there longer than White Heat. But White Heat doesn't get paid to let people work, she gets paid to MANAGE. (print that to a T-shirt, NOW)
I'm in line at the coffee counter behind a guy holding a breakfast burrito, while I stand and listen to the next exchange between Rosa (her real name), and a woman who appears to be the younger sister of White Heat, or possibly a jackal. Lil Sis says "Well I can't get the milk, we have to wait until, uh… the other one… when she gets back," then returns to pursing her lips and longing for a new Air Supply record. I will not even attempt to fathom what "the other one" meant. Rosa, rolling her eyes, turns to help Burrito man, who complains that his burrito doesn't have anything in it, and that he waited a really long time for it.
That's about all he said. When offered a refund, he said "Yes, it has nothing in it, and I should be refunded." He paid $2.45 for it. Nothing in it? Seems like you'd notice that. He got his refund, then muttered something about "bad service" and went back to being anti-social.
I was next, and motioning to my banana, which was in my hand, and was actually a banana, I said "There is something wrong with this orange." We had a laugh and away I went. I also watched Rosa pull the aforementioned milk out of the low-boy cooler and place it on the counter for Lil Sis, who was still wondering how much longer she would have to deal with this crap until rescued by a young Russell Mitchell... Or Graham Russell, didn't matter, just come 'n' get it. And by "it" I mean "sweaty nylons."
Then it dawned on me. The white people in that scenario were all complaining. The rest of the players were just working. White Heat, Angry Management. How do you get a burrito with nothing in it, watching them make it in front of you, AND YOU DIDN'T KNOW? And Lil Sis, wow, what a joy to have to deal with in the morning. You don't HAVE TO work here, ya know? And then there's me, complaining about the complaining.
My only suggestion is to just smile and make the best of the sitch, and when you can, make a joke about your banana.
-Addendum-
I was told last weekend that I was carrying a negative attitude. Perhaps I was. There's been some stress regarding the wedding plans. I'm sure it can all be solved easily with some proper planning or my body in a shallow grave. And comedy plans. And work plans. Etc. Just getting the steam out so the gears mesh and roll the machine forward. I decided then and there to be Positive.
About an hour later we ran to get the propane tank filled for some grilling. We were greeted by a woman who, judging from her disposition, was surely on the last two chemical components that would allow us to create worm-holes for interstellar travel, when interrupted by PAYING CUSTOMERS?!?!
I asked how she was doing, she sighed a "Well if it weren't so busy I'd be better." I replied with "Oh come on. I can go somewhere else if you like?" She said "Well my boss wouldn't like that."
Soon after, I was paid a very high compliment, when told "Her attitude really puts your negativity into perspective."
AND THAT… is why I love Alicia. She can almost admit when I'm not as big of a poopyhead as she thinks I am.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
What A Rush
In topical humor...
Rush Limbaugh was stopped in a Florida airport after his bag was searched and turned up a bottle of Viagra. He's already on a plea deal to not be runnin' round with too many Rx bottles, because he was hustling doctors for his pill addiction. Well the Viagra wasn't in his name, showing some fraud was at work, and potentially landing him in the slammer.
He may go to jail. Not for fraud, but because it's a crime for Rush Limbaugh to have a boner.
Gross.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Rush Limbaugh was stopped in a Florida airport after his bag was searched and turned up a bottle of Viagra. He's already on a plea deal to not be runnin' round with too many Rx bottles, because he was hustling doctors for his pill addiction. Well the Viagra wasn't in his name, showing some fraud was at work, and potentially landing him in the slammer.
He may go to jail. Not for fraud, but because it's a crime for Rush Limbaugh to have a boner.
Gross.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, June 22, 2006
Follow-up
I keep a notebook of ideas in my nightstand, and one in the car... and 20 or so in my office, so that my ideas and thoughts may someday see the light of stage, or a blog. Or be a burden to someone else.
I usually can cultivate 20% of my jottings. Like taking it from "one idea" to three or four paragraphs, or a couple minutes of comedy. Some of them have that root base, and need a little sun and wine and a mention of some naughty bits to grow.
The following line, however, was written two months ago. I think it stands on its own.
The only way to keep the rebuilding of the World Trade Center towers on-budget is through the use of immigrant labor.
arriba
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
I usually can cultivate 20% of my jottings. Like taking it from "one idea" to three or four paragraphs, or a couple minutes of comedy. Some of them have that root base, and need a little sun and wine and a mention of some naughty bits to grow.
The following line, however, was written two months ago. I think it stands on its own.
The only way to keep the rebuilding of the World Trade Center towers on-budget is through the use of immigrant labor.
arriba
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, June 19, 2006
Lazy Without Borders
I have really only this thought about the immigration debate:
Kicking out the illegal immigrants will free up a LOT of jobs in our nation. Jobs that many out-of-work Americans could be working TOMORROW, if the INS sweep were to happen today.
Those jobs were open prior to those amigos heading North for work. And if the out-of-work Americans put half as much effort into looking for work as they do into faking L&I claims and drunk-falling in WalMart parking lots, our unemployment rate would drop another couple points.
Some people won't work a job that is "beneath them." I, being someone with a Bachelor's Degree in History, won't work landscaping.
After all that time in libraries and classes, I am underqualified for landscaping.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Kicking out the illegal immigrants will free up a LOT of jobs in our nation. Jobs that many out-of-work Americans could be working TOMORROW, if the INS sweep were to happen today.
Those jobs were open prior to those amigos heading North for work. And if the out-of-work Americans put half as much effort into looking for work as they do into faking L&I claims and drunk-falling in WalMart parking lots, our unemployment rate would drop another couple points.
Some people won't work a job that is "beneath them." I, being someone with a Bachelor's Degree in History, won't work landscaping.
After all that time in libraries and classes, I am underqualified for landscaping.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Who Wanna Know?
Well, we've made our minds up!
We're going to get married on July 4th, a Tuesday. We decided it was a day neither of us could forget. Sorry sis, your birthday will have to wait until next year!
Also, we're going to have the Old Country Buffet cater it for us, as we get a 10% per-trough discount if we bottom-out the poached prime-rib within an hour of the sitting.
We have commissioned Baskin-Robbins to do our cake. Actually, going with a single-serve theme fad, we'll be doing a variation of their clown cones, wherein Alicia's face or my face will be icing-piped onto the ice cream we choose. Alicia's will be Black Cherry & Walnut, mine is Spumoni.
Now if we can just find the right VFW to host the event at...
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
We're going to get married on July 4th, a Tuesday. We decided it was a day neither of us could forget. Sorry sis, your birthday will have to wait until next year!
Also, we're going to have the Old Country Buffet cater it for us, as we get a 10% per-trough discount if we bottom-out the poached prime-rib within an hour of the sitting.
We have commissioned Baskin-Robbins to do our cake. Actually, going with a single-serve theme fad, we'll be doing a variation of their clown cones, wherein Alicia's face or my face will be icing-piped onto the ice cream we choose. Alicia's will be Black Cherry & Walnut, mine is Spumoni.
Now if we can just find the right VFW to host the event at...
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, June 14, 2006
Of Things Purple and Throbbing
Spam is hitting blog Comments, an even cheaper way of invading the public domain with stuff we don't need. I think spammers should all be stripped of their finger meat.
We Get It.
Enlargements, re-financing, OTC, OEM, etc.
If someone has a blog, or knows what a blog is, they are probably savvy enough to search out the remedies for their own situations. We've had this type of marketing for many years, and I don't think many folks thought they needed it when there was a Bible or vacuum involved.
It is the nature of the beast, truly, in a Free Society. Anybody can say anything they want. They should also have to deal with the consequences, which should fall within certain boundaries of the law, and whatever is most easily concealed in an old area rug. It's the nature of the beast, it's annoying, but, eh, it beats not being able to see what's happening on MySpace for GASP... up to 7 minutes.
And if you are getting overly angry about spam it's probably because you have a small cock.
===
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
We Get It.
Enlargements, re-financing, OTC, OEM, etc.
If someone has a blog, or knows what a blog is, they are probably savvy enough to search out the remedies for their own situations. We've had this type of marketing for many years, and I don't think many folks thought they needed it when there was a Bible or vacuum involved.
It is the nature of the beast, truly, in a Free Society. Anybody can say anything they want. They should also have to deal with the consequences, which should fall within certain boundaries of the law, and whatever is most easily concealed in an old area rug. It's the nature of the beast, it's annoying, but, eh, it beats not being able to see what's happening on MySpace for GASP... up to 7 minutes.
And if you are getting overly angry about spam it's probably because you have a small cock.
===
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
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