My Wife From the Future, Alicia, is constantly loving me. In my life I have been, many times, unloveable. She has not just "Been there" for me. She has challenged me to be there for myself. She has pushed me beyond a "comfortable" existence. It has frustrated me, because part of me felt like saying "Oh, so I'm not good enough for you?"
That is not the case.
She understands, fully, that my dream is worth chasing, worth working for, and worth pushing myself for. And sometimes I need that push to get over myself. Nobody's gonna bring it to me, so I have to go convince them that I can bring it.
She loves animals and babies. She understands their innocence, their need for affection beyond mere attention, and values the affection they return. She will be an amazing mother. The kind that would cradle her babe in swaddling wraps 'neat her left arm, while bootknife-gutting anybody who tried to harm the child. And the kid probably would never stir. Through her clenched teeth, "This baby is SLEEPING, do you have any idea how long that took? You (RIP) stupid (SLICE) a-hole (DISEMBOWEL)?"
She has given me the safest place to be myself. And that's what we all need, that is Love. And before that, she encouraged me to find what it was that I needed to do in order to fully Love Me. To become so fully Self-Aware, without being Self-Important, because I can FEEL IT when she loves me, is the greatest way to be loved. Her understanding of the importance of letting people be who they are, as simple as it may sound, is the most complicated thing in the world. She gives everyone a fair chance to be themselves. (doesn't mean she won't cross you off the Christmas card list if you're a turd)
She has exhausted herself some nights, in the planning of our wedding. It is one of the few days of her life where much of the attention and affection will be for her, and for us. There are not many days like that in our lives. And her desire to have a great day on February 24, 2007, the care she has put into the invitations and colors and arrangements and menus and guest list (THE F*CKING TEAR-INDUCING GUEST LIST! THE BLESSED LOVELY GUEST LIST!) shows me that Feb24 is NOT just about her. I truly hope that anybody involved in that day will take the same lesson Alicia has taught me, just by loving me the way she does:
Everyone deserves their time in the spotlight. Allow them that time, and they will be forever thankful.
Attempt to dim that light, and you best watch your eyes. Your turn will come soon enough.
If anybody has ever deserved her perfect wedding, it is my Futuristic Wife, Alicia.
I love you, Alicia. More than I can write. More than I can show. I hope and pray to be the husband you deserve. So much, I love you.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
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.
Thursday, January 25, 2007
Thursday, January 18, 2007
MySpace Sued For Touching Somebody'sSpace
Technology again proves to be a bad mother. At least in the eyes of some moms and dads. Check it out...
MySpace, for those who have fulfilling social lives, is like a second internet. It's like an ever-growing yearbook, full of people from your high school, home town, and people who slept with people who slept people who are now teachers back in your old home town. It is open to anybody who wants to share their stories, their favorites, or just show off.
You get a "Profile" that you build to suit your personality. Some of them are perfectly suited to the people who built them: All flash, no bang. Bare bones. Dumb. Hyperactive. Busy-bodied. Some even have backgrounds of a waist-up-naked Bea Arthur painting. I have blogs over there, too, many of which are a little more hard-edged than this one. None of them touch the edge on the face of a breezy Bea in her late-30s.
Mostly, MySpace gives anybody who wants one the chance to express themselves. And most of the time, the folks there meet expectations: They have nothing to say. Just a few pictures of themselves getting drunk, pictures they took themselves. Tongue-out, hands extended, friends on the arm. Over and over. Siiiiiiigh. Life was so much simpler before other people's lives became public domain. Then again, it's got kids of all ages, some famous people's profiles with tidbits, and the rest of the hoi polloi.
It's fascinating, it's weird, it's voyeuristic, and it's almost as addictive as coffee ice cream-flavored heroin sleeping patches.
MySpace, like any other piece of technology involving people, has little to no built-in screening process. All one needs is a computer and an internet connection and they are likely to get on it. I use it as another way to handle comedy and events. Lots of bands and others like me do that, also. But like any other people-connecting technosphere, perverts get into the mix and things get unseemly.
One of the best ways I ever saw to stop this was when a comedian, Doug Stanhope, would go into chat rooms and pretend to be an underage boy or girl and bait scumbags into inappropriate situations. Then he'd copy the text and paste it to his website, and spring the trap on the scumbag. If nothing else, it would nearly force infarctions on those bottom-feeders. But we have something worse now...
Kids on MySpace are getting baited into meeting people they communicated with via MySpace, and some of those kids have been beaten, molested, and abducted. The natural reaction of the parents, any parent whose child went through this terrible ordeal, is to... RIIIIIGHT... sue MySpace! MySpace has a lot of money, mind you, and it should really be a better parent. It should make sure everyone plays nice and brushes their teeth. MySpace should be held responsible every time somebody with an account on their has a car accident, DUI, or diarrhea!
I feel really terrible for those kids. Their lives are changed forever, and part of that equation was MySpace. I cannot tell you how terrible it must be for those kids to realize they get more attention from strangers than from their own family. That doesn't excuse what the scumbags who should rot in prison (in between games of "Prison MySpace Invaders") did to the kids. Nothing does. I just really wish that parents would monitor what their kids are doing on the internet. First it was the dangers of being in public. Now it's the dangers of being on the computer. I guess all that's left is the safety of low-income housing, with no malls and no internet connections.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
MySpace, for those who have fulfilling social lives, is like a second internet. It's like an ever-growing yearbook, full of people from your high school, home town, and people who slept with people who slept people who are now teachers back in your old home town. It is open to anybody who wants to share their stories, their favorites, or just show off.
You get a "Profile" that you build to suit your personality. Some of them are perfectly suited to the people who built them: All flash, no bang. Bare bones. Dumb. Hyperactive. Busy-bodied. Some even have backgrounds of a waist-up-naked Bea Arthur painting. I have blogs over there, too, many of which are a little more hard-edged than this one. None of them touch the edge on the face of a breezy Bea in her late-30s.
Mostly, MySpace gives anybody who wants one the chance to express themselves. And most of the time, the folks there meet expectations: They have nothing to say. Just a few pictures of themselves getting drunk, pictures they took themselves. Tongue-out, hands extended, friends on the arm. Over and over. Siiiiiiigh. Life was so much simpler before other people's lives became public domain. Then again, it's got kids of all ages, some famous people's profiles with tidbits, and the rest of the hoi polloi.
It's fascinating, it's weird, it's voyeuristic, and it's almost as addictive as coffee ice cream-flavored heroin sleeping patches.
MySpace, like any other piece of technology involving people, has little to no built-in screening process. All one needs is a computer and an internet connection and they are likely to get on it. I use it as another way to handle comedy and events. Lots of bands and others like me do that, also. But like any other people-connecting technosphere, perverts get into the mix and things get unseemly.
One of the best ways I ever saw to stop this was when a comedian, Doug Stanhope, would go into chat rooms and pretend to be an underage boy or girl and bait scumbags into inappropriate situations. Then he'd copy the text and paste it to his website, and spring the trap on the scumbag. If nothing else, it would nearly force infarctions on those bottom-feeders. But we have something worse now...
Kids on MySpace are getting baited into meeting people they communicated with via MySpace, and some of those kids have been beaten, molested, and abducted. The natural reaction of the parents, any parent whose child went through this terrible ordeal, is to... RIIIIIGHT... sue MySpace! MySpace has a lot of money, mind you, and it should really be a better parent. It should make sure everyone plays nice and brushes their teeth. MySpace should be held responsible every time somebody with an account on their has a car accident, DUI, or diarrhea!
I feel really terrible for those kids. Their lives are changed forever, and part of that equation was MySpace. I cannot tell you how terrible it must be for those kids to realize they get more attention from strangers than from their own family. That doesn't excuse what the scumbags who should rot in prison (in between games of "Prison MySpace Invaders") did to the kids. Nothing does. I just really wish that parents would monitor what their kids are doing on the internet. First it was the dangers of being in public. Now it's the dangers of being on the computer. I guess all that's left is the safety of low-income housing, with no malls and no internet connections.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
Act Locally
I understand that this may anger some people.
Fine. You're paying attention, at least.
But this was from a county manager in Colorado, printed a day or two after their recent, pre-Christmas monster of a snow storm. Obvious references to New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina aside, I really attached to the section after "What did we do?"
THAT is how we will get through crises. Neighbors helping neighbors. The world is changing globally, in climates both natural and political. Looking out for each other is sometimes the best we can do, while our government decides the best plan of action on how to look out for us.
By the way, a LONG time ago, FEMA should have been handed over to Ty Pennington and the Extreme Home Makeover crew. They do more in a week than FEMA did in a month in New Orleans, per capita.
What's "capita" mean?
Please, read on.
+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+
WEATHER BULLETIN
Up here, in the Northern Plains, we just recovered from a Historic event---may I even say a "Weather Event" of "Biblical Proportions"---with a historic blizzard of up to 44" inches of snow and winds to 90 MPH that broke trees in half, knocked down utility poles, stranded hundreds of motorists in lethal snow banks, closed ALL roads, isolated scores of communities and cut power to 10's of thousands.
FYI: George Bush did not come.
FEMA did nothing.
No one howled for the government.
No one blamed the government.
No one even uttered an expletive on TV .
Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton did not visit.
Our Mayor did not blame Bush or anyone else.
Our Governor did not blame Bush or anyone else, either.
Nobody demanded $2,000 debit cards.
No one asked for a FEMA Trailer House.
No one looted.
Nobody, I mean Nobody, demanded the government do something.
Nobody expected the government to do anything, either.
No Larry King, No Bill O'Rielly, No Oprah, No Chris Mathews and No Geraldo Rivera.
No Shaun Penn, No Barbara Striesand, No Hollywood types to be found.
What did we do?
Nope, we just melted the snow for water.
Sent out caravans of SUV's to pluck people out of snow engulfed cars.
The truck drivers pulled people out of snow banks and didn't ask for a penny.
Local restaurants made food and the police and fire departments delivered it to the snowbound families.
Families took in the stranded people - total strangers.
We fired up wood stoves, broke out coal oil lanterns or Coleman lanterns.
We put on extra layers of clothes because up here it is "Work or Die".
We did not wait for some affirmative action government to get us out of a mess created by being immobilized by a welfare program that trades votes for 'sittin at home' checks.
Even though a Category "5" blizzard of this scale has never fallen this early, we know it can happen and how to deal with it ourselves.
"In my many travels, I have noticed that once one gets north of about 48 degrees North Latitude, 90% of the world's social problems evaporate."
It does seem that way, at least to me. I hope this gets passed on. Maybe SOME people will get the message. The world does Not owe you a living.
=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Fine. You're paying attention, at least.
But this was from a county manager in Colorado, printed a day or two after their recent, pre-Christmas monster of a snow storm. Obvious references to New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina aside, I really attached to the section after "What did we do?"
THAT is how we will get through crises. Neighbors helping neighbors. The world is changing globally, in climates both natural and political. Looking out for each other is sometimes the best we can do, while our government decides the best plan of action on how to look out for us.
By the way, a LONG time ago, FEMA should have been handed over to Ty Pennington and the Extreme Home Makeover crew. They do more in a week than FEMA did in a month in New Orleans, per capita.
What's "capita" mean?
Please, read on.
+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+_+
WEATHER BULLETIN
Up here, in the Northern Plains, we just recovered from a Historic event---may I even say a "Weather Event" of "Biblical Proportions"---with a historic blizzard of up to 44" inches of snow and winds to 90 MPH that broke trees in half, knocked down utility poles, stranded hundreds of motorists in lethal snow banks, closed ALL roads, isolated scores of communities and cut power to 10's of thousands.
FYI: George Bush did not come.
FEMA did nothing.
No one howled for the government.
No one blamed the government.
No one even uttered an expletive on TV .
Jesse Jackson or Al Sharpton did not visit.
Our Mayor did not blame Bush or anyone else.
Our Governor did not blame Bush or anyone else, either.
Nobody demanded $2,000 debit cards.
No one asked for a FEMA Trailer House.
No one looted.
Nobody, I mean Nobody, demanded the government do something.
Nobody expected the government to do anything, either.
No Larry King, No Bill O'Rielly, No Oprah, No Chris Mathews and No Geraldo Rivera.
No Shaun Penn, No Barbara Striesand, No Hollywood types to be found.
What did we do?
Nope, we just melted the snow for water.
Sent out caravans of SUV's to pluck people out of snow engulfed cars.
The truck drivers pulled people out of snow banks and didn't ask for a penny.
Local restaurants made food and the police and fire departments delivered it to the snowbound families.
Families took in the stranded people - total strangers.
We fired up wood stoves, broke out coal oil lanterns or Coleman lanterns.
We put on extra layers of clothes because up here it is "Work or Die".
We did not wait for some affirmative action government to get us out of a mess created by being immobilized by a welfare program that trades votes for 'sittin at home' checks.
Even though a Category "5" blizzard of this scale has never fallen this early, we know it can happen and how to deal with it ourselves.
"In my many travels, I have noticed that once one gets north of about 48 degrees North Latitude, 90% of the world's social problems evaporate."
It does seem that way, at least to me. I hope this gets passed on. Maybe SOME people will get the message. The world does Not owe you a living.
=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Seriously, He Said He Was Liberal
How is it that the self-styled "Liberal" in our society is the least-likely to be liberal about speaking their mind? Isn't freely throwing around your opinions and ideas, caring about the general welfare of all people and trying to help what being Liberal is about? Or am I confusing that with people who don't give a crap about which column they are lumped into on the news talkshows?
I say this only because I am finding that Liberal is, for more and more people, merely a label of "hip"-ness, and less the actual pragmatic iteration of balancing Social Welfare with Political Pull. I consider myself neither liberal nor conservative. I consider myself Logical, which is why I am forever banned from politics.
=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
I say this only because I am finding that Liberal is, for more and more people, merely a label of "hip"-ness, and less the actual pragmatic iteration of balancing Social Welfare with Political Pull. I consider myself neither liberal nor conservative. I consider myself Logical, which is why I am forever banned from politics.
=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Monday, January 15, 2007
America Has Spoken
Last week, I think, there was an awards show where Queen Latifah (sassy!) hostessed a night of giving celebrities some awards as voted on by "America."
These were the "People's Choice Awards." People none of us know somehow worked their computer or wrote their favorite band, actor/actress, movie, and chain-restaurant commerical onto the back of a WalMart receipt in crayon and cast their vote. Fewer people voted in our last primary than dropped their Heart-Dotted-"i"s on their "ballot"/Claire's receipt into a mailbox in an envelope marked "Hollywood!" and hoped for the best.
Here is a snippet of "The People's Choice"s.
Some people have spoken...
in a slack-jawed gurgle.
Oh... how I've missed you...
=-=-=-=-=-=-
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
These were the "People's Choice Awards." People none of us know somehow worked their computer or wrote their favorite band, actor/actress, movie, and chain-restaurant commerical onto the back of a WalMart receipt in crayon and cast their vote. Fewer people voted in our last primary than dropped their Heart-Dotted-"i"s on their "ballot"/Claire's receipt into a mailbox in an envelope marked "Hollywood!" and hoped for the best.
Here is a snippet of "The People's Choice"s.
- Favorite Band: NICKELBACK (I should stop right there, huh?)
- Favorite TV Comedy: "Two And A Half Men" (over the S-plop that is "King Of Queens" and the sublime genius of "My Name Is Earl"? )
- Favorite Movie Comedy: "Click" (didn't see it)
- Favorite Funny Male Star: (are you ready?) ROBIN WILLIAMS
Some people have spoken...
in a slack-jawed gurgle.
Oh... how I've missed you...
=-=-=-=-=-=-
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
The Election Results Are In
But nobody's gonna hear crap about them until we get an impacted ass full of the Britney Spears announcement that she, having listened to everyone, finally, CANNOT SUSTAIN ANYTHING MEANINGFUL OVER A GIVEN PERIOD OF TIME.
Britney, who believes we should follow the President right now no matter whut (her word), is getting divorced from Kevin "Sperm For Sweat" Federline (his word). They have two young sons together, not to mention years of total screwed up-edness to look forward to with the OTHER kids Kevin made with another woman I can't remember, but whom does not bother me in the least, and therefore is my favorite of the Kevin Federline Baby-mommas.
I, as a man soon to be married (her word), cannot tell you how important it is to give marriage not ONLY a solid two-year run, but also to just pop out kids and make a circus of it and do everything you can to focus on your marriage being focused on, instead of focusing on the Marriage. It's much like putting chrome 18-inch rims on a tractor. Then using that tractor to pull a VW Corrado to a Chuck E. Cheese, before the Corrado tells the Tractor to be careful with the tokens, "them games is like gambling, I sway-ur to Pat Sajak (my words)."
I wish I could say more, but I am off to revel in victory of Votes! Money doesn't buy class, just everything else that matters to classless people.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Britney, who believes we should follow the President right now no matter whut (her word), is getting divorced from Kevin "Sperm For Sweat" Federline (his word). They have two young sons together, not to mention years of total screwed up-edness to look forward to with the OTHER kids Kevin made with another woman I can't remember, but whom does not bother me in the least, and therefore is my favorite of the Kevin Federline Baby-mommas.
I, as a man soon to be married (her word), cannot tell you how important it is to give marriage not ONLY a solid two-year run, but also to just pop out kids and make a circus of it and do everything you can to focus on your marriage being focused on, instead of focusing on the Marriage. It's much like putting chrome 18-inch rims on a tractor. Then using that tractor to pull a VW Corrado to a Chuck E. Cheese, before the Corrado tells the Tractor to be careful with the tokens, "them games is like gambling, I sway-ur to Pat Sajak (my words)."
I wish I could say more, but I am off to revel in victory of Votes! Money doesn't buy class, just everything else that matters to classless people.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Saturday, November 04, 2006
Duhmocracy In Action
Each registered voter has a duty to perform next Tuesday: Use the turn signal and get in the flow of traffic. On the other end of that jaunt, at some point, there is a voting ballot with your name on it. That makes it easier to track your movements from the cabal headquarters, which isn’t where you may think it is. (You didn’t hear it from me, and you didn’t hear the words “time-share in Estacada.")
Oh no.
The horror.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Sunday, October 29, 2006
The Post Office = P.O.
Couple weeks back I go to the Post Office to send some stuff to a buddy of mine, a couple of comedy promos, headshots (ones I stole), and a brownie wrapped in toilet paper. Went for a padded mailer envelope, runs about $2 at the P'Office. The line is 9 deep, running about 4 minutes/transaction, listening to every old MF shuffle their feet to the counter before asking 5 questions about stamps. I can't wait to be that old and just completely throw people's lives off-skej (schedule) with my pre-planned "folksiness." Then again, maybe these oldsters don't have any friends still alive or family around to help them, which makes me think "Wow, your family won't help you? What a pile of crap you must've been."
I grab the mailer, 10th now in line, and it's just taking fo-rever. I say quietly, "Oh my, this is most unpleasant, this wait. I have so much to accomplish that I simply can NOT wait any longer. 'Tis best now to excuse myself." So I f*ck-off to the self-serve kiosk where I can weigh my package... AND what I'm sending to my buddy... buy the postage for it and get on with my day.
Then I realized, hey, how about a quick explanation on a piece of paper about the situation? I could tuck a couple of dollars into an envelope, or a check! I could write a check and drop that in and throw it in a processing bin and they’d see it and run it up front. Well, that may actually screw up the whole process, slowing it down EVEN MORE (call Steven Hawking, his wormhole is in
You can’t trust people to do the right thing, I guess.
Take Me Home
My Blog About My Dad
Friday, October 27, 2006
I Need Your Opinion
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
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
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!
Take Me Home
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
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)