Ray or Lee = Big Trouble

It's happened again...

Somebody with the middle name of "Ray" done gone crazy AGAIN. Machete-Hacked a roommate for dirtying the sink. Not sure I'm against that...

It's a sure sign. Click on one of the Ray or Lee links below to see the other 6 articles about this stuff. No sure what it's about, it happens in nature, like eclipses and street-poop.

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Bill Hicks's Principles Of Comedy

Bill Hicks is a name I found after about a year into stand-up. I didn't ever hear of him until one night when I totally F'ed around at a small Irish Pub, where the bartender told me to go up and fill time being funny between the band's sets, and he'd let me drink free for an hour. He lost.

(pointless rambling about how I found out about Bill Hicks in 1999)


Bill had died by then. Like many of the high-vibration creative artist souls, he was gone way too early. He was 32, and passed away from pancreatic cancer in 1994. He had quit smoking and drinking and drugging before he found out he was ill. The day he got his diagnosis, he got in his friend's car, tore the butt off a Marlboro Light, and lit up. WTF, indeed. There are videos of him performing his ass off until the final few days, noted by his consistent rubbing of his right side. The show must go on.

Reading up on him (American Scream, great read, and "Love All The People," his writings), he was widely regarded as the most-honest, unflinching, intelligent, socially-relevant, funny, and brilliant comedian of his era, and top-5 of all time (Pryor, Carlin, Cosby, Bruce, Hicks). That was the Sam Kinison era. The Dice era. The pre-"Seinfeld" Seinfeld era. The Denis Leary era. (Denis Leary's "No Cure For Cancer" is based heavily in material stolen, lifted, nipped, whatever you wanna call it but truly TAKEN FROM Bill Hicks.) He despised Gallagher and CarrotTop, Michael Bolton, and commercialism.

And after hearing Bill Hicks, I stopped doing comedy for 3 years because I realized how far away I was, and I sucked that bad and wasn't close to the principles below. So check these out. This is a philosophy. I love it, and find that I have been working from these for quite some time. Very validating, and all the same, just a flag to fly. So here ya go...


BILL HICKS’S PRINCIPLES OF COMEDY
1. If you can be yourself on stage nobody else can be you and you have the law of supply and demand covered.
2. The act is something you fall back on if you can’t think of anything else to say.
3. Only do what you think is funny, never just what you think they will like, even though it’s not that funny to you.
4. Never ask them is this funny – you tell them this is funny.
5. You are not married to any of this shit – if something happens, taking you off on a tangent, NEVER go back and finish a bit, just move on.
6. NEVER ask the audience “How You Doing?” People who do that can’t think of an opening line. They came to see you to tell them how they’re doing, asking that stupid question up front just digs a whole. This is The Most Common Mistake made by performers. I want to leave as soon as they say that.
7. Write what entertains you. If you can’t be funny be interesting. You haven’t lost the crowd. Have something to say and then do it in a funny way.
8. I close my eyes and walk out there and that’s where I start, Honest.
9. Listen to what you are saying, ask yourself, “Why am I saying it and is it Necessary?” (This will filter all your material and cut the unnecessary words, economy of words)
10. Play to the top of the intelligence of the room. There aren’t any bad crowds, just wrong choices.
11. Remember this is the hardest thing there is to do. If you can do this you can do anything.
12. I love my cracker roots. Get to know your family, be friends with them.


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NiceHoles: The Candyland Edition

A new NiceHole has been uncovered:

The SweetHole.

DO NOT GOOGLE THAT AT WORK, you will be put back on that list you had to work to get removed from.

The SweetHole is a NiceHole who provides some sort of confection as a way of saying "Aren't I wonderful?" Really, their intent is not to bring candy to co-workers and share some joy, it's just to get rid of stuff they aren't going to eat at home. Nice, but come on...
The road to this blog is paved with the good intentions of people who are retarded in a way you can't test for.

I've noted this before in THIS BLOG about good intentions. Candy in the workplace should be familiar, individually wrapped, and portable. You wanna sandbag 40 packages of Coconut M&Ms near the printer, GREAT, you should be canonized.

But you want to leave a box of "Orchard Fruits" (the smelly 3rd-cousin version of Fartlets&Craplets) along with those wax bottles filled with colored syrup out by the garbage cans?

What kind of skidwagon raised you?

Work candy should be, if NOT chocolate, close to it.

Everything else falls short and you should just stop trying to be nice to people. If you're not willing to fess-up that you shop for groceries at a drug store, then you aren't good with work candy. Stick with collecting Faerie Tale Cat Figurines.

NICEHOLES. They're everywhere.


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A Nutrition Myth Laid Bare

Fat Burning Foods Myth
By Craig Ballantyne, CSCS, MS
Creator Of Turbulence Training (LINKY!)

I have to admit something...I am going to upset a few of my good
friends when I crush this nutrition myth. But if I have to
sacrifice myself in order to help you out, then that's what I have
to do.

So here's the final (and most ridiculous) nutrition myth...

The Myth - Fat Burning Foods Exist

This. Is. Wrong.

Fat burning foods are the "unicorns" of the nutrition world.

They do not exist.

And when you think about it, the term doesn't make sense.

How can a food cause you to burn fat?

It can't.

Foods GIVE you energy.

They don't cause you to burn fat.

When you eat food, the hormonal changes in your body SLOW fat burning, they don't speed it up - no matter what you eat!

Listen, the experts mean well.

They want to show you a list of foods that will help you with fat loss, but it is a myth that "fat burning foods" exist.

And yes, they are right that whole, natural foods such as chicken breasts, eggs, nuts, fruits, and vegetables all help you lose fat by
controlling your appetite and by not causing you to gain fat, but NOT ONE of those ingredients actually burns fat.

Now some might argue that eating hot peppers or caffeine or even green tea can burn fat, but do you seriously think that eating those foods is even 1/1000th as effective as a workout?

They aren't.

Sorry.

Instead, keep your nutrition SIMPLE. Focus on whole, natural foods  and limit high-calorie, high-sugar foods to just a couple of treats per week. (ed. note:  YOU WILL SURVIVE, PROMISE) Combine that with your favorite Turbulence Training 
workouts and you'll lose fat fast.

GEOFF LOTT'S ENDORSEMENT:

Check out Craig's website and products.  They'll make you understand why people are changing, and how you don't need an hour a day for 90 days to get in better shape.  Awesome workouts and nutrition plans.  FOR YOURSELF, that's why.

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Weight A Minute

I worked out this morning, like most mornings over the past 3 months, with one particular goal...

Kick My Own Ass. I want my heart to be thumping out of my chest. I want my muscles to be on fire with lactic acid building up, and feel like I could take down a full-grown puma or maybe a bouncer.

No, it doesn't translate to my daily life. I rarely have to knock out 4 types of push-ups and jump over a chair 10 times to get my point across. I have yet to be challenged to a Joke-Off with a tie-breaker of Hindu Squats under 2 minutes. But ya know what?

I like working out. So I do it.



I have been over 200 pounds since I was 14 years old. If you doubt me, ask any of the girls at my Jr. High and High School who wouldn't date me. My weight has fluctuated in the past 10 years from 220 to 260, the former being during a period of long morning walks and lack of proper hydration, the latter during a regimen of HMB + lifting HEEEAVY weights + eating 300 grams of protein a day, and drinking 1000 calories a night. I have never been what most people would call "svelte." The majority of the criticism of my body as an adult has been in my own head.

Until recently.


I have read hundreds of articles about nutrition, training, recovery, fat loss, fat torching, fat burning, fat teasing, methods, modes, and maniacal fitness. If you want to know something about losing weight quickly, you can ask me. If you want to pack on muscle, ask me. If you want to get shredded, ask me. Ultimately, I am convinced it comes down to 4 elements:

1. Nutrition: The fewer processed foods you eat, the better off you are. The fewer ingredients, the lower the added sugar and flour and fat, the healthier the food. Protein & Produce. I'm not the perfect eater, I have days where I do bad, bad things to brownies in the name of Ice Cream. I put moves on Chocolate in front of my wife before. But I try to eat rightly 90% of the time.


2. Exercise: Short,intense workouts are better for building a nice physique than long, thigh-rubbing cardio. If you've seen Olympic sprinters vs. the winner a marathon, you know what I mean. Look up HIIT, or check out my link to the Right for Turbulence Training. but you gotta MOVE. You gotta. Walk, sprint, bike, power-billiards, yoga, jiu-jitsu, cop wrestling, just SWEAT a bit.


3. Attitude: If you don't want to exercise, you won't. WANT TO. I had to change my attitude recently about working out, from "Have To" into "Like To." I don't have to work out. I like to work out. I like how it feels to be strong, and carry my son around without getting winded, or being able to take one day a week and power-eat and not get down about it.
   
4. Genetics: When I see stories about a guy who gained 80lbs in college, then lost 75 by cutting out that third cheeseburger each day, I want to staple his left-over belly skin to his thighs. His genetics aren't like mine.

Of course I'd like to sport a leaner physique, but I'm not gonna pummel myself over it anymore. It's not worth it, emotionally, to get caught up in my own thoughts about what I think other people *might* think when they look at me. I don't care. ))shrug((

I'm in fantastic shape for a comedian, good shape for a dad, and decent shape for a guy who is ready to enjoy life. And brownies.
===========

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NiceHoles

NICEHOLE: Any person who, while "just being themselves," and not necessarily being rude or mean, still manages to bother the living shit out of you.

For example:
The Feeder: Any NiceHole demanding that you 'have a bite, just a bite, take some, take some food, EAT SOMETHING!" even if you are hunched over in front of their toilet, throwing up after a frosting binge. Should you deny their culinary advances, YOU are the rude one.

The Knowblivious ("no-bli-vee-us"): This NiceHole knows something about everything, and will start a pointless conversation merely to tell you something about it.

WhistHoler: This person whistles indoors. Like a gigantic asshole. Because there's no music. And there's no music indoors for a reason. And they're a gigantic asshole and have to make noise. And when you blow, you suck.

The TimeJacker: Often starting in Knowblivion, the TimeJacker is a master of the circuitous route to NoWhereberg.
While the topic may start with something you didn't want to talk about, the trip from "A good place to eat" winds through "the time he ate BBQ in Tulsa" to "the best place to buy a banjo" to "streetracing in the 1970's" to "the Coast Guard has a boat with a gun that shoots lasers" to "why he makes his own cheese" and ends with tips on "owning your own alpaca farm." Everyone works with this pile.

NiceHoles is now ALL MINE!

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You Have God To Be Kidding Me

Excuse me while my brain tries to work on a Windows box instead of the Apple shortcuts toolbox installed in my muscle memory. If this ends up with a link to a document about reporting errors in double-looping syntax, one for Incoming, one for Archiving, I ask now for your leniency.

The other day on the way to work I saw a minivan! with a bumper sticker that read:

GOD DOESN'T BELIEVE IN ATHEISTS

Wow. I have a joke in that vein, that Atheists believe God is a construct of weak minds looking for a greater meaning to Life than "Eat, Work, Fuck, JetSki, Die." Turned around, I believe God thinks the same of Atheists, railing against people who are trying to do something other than act out in a way to make people ask "How could God let that happen? At a WalMart of all places!?"

I wanted to find out more about this person, follow them to their church, and see if they were joking or if they really meant it. Because if they indeed held steadfast to a traffic-facing statement in 9.4-cents worth of ink and sticker, then they are a horrific person pretending to know the Mind of God and should be held under a spigot of trucker shit. What massive asshole on feet.

I don't claim - especially to myself - to be the most religious person you'll ever meet. I do believe that Jesus Christ's edict of "Treat others with compassion and love, for the sake of treating others well, that they may act towards you in the same manner" is the way to save the world, even the parts we would rather see sucked into a burning lake of BP crude while waving American flags stitched together from t-shirts with hunting-related witticisms 'pon them. I believe that the Core Values of the Christian Church are alive and well, and that they are based upon Love, Acceptance, and Community. Notice I didn't say "molesting children, killing infidels, berating homosexuals, and stoning women to death for having an opinion."

And I believe that were it not for people calling themselves "Christians" who are most likely just paranoid fartpacks acting in a manner they really, really, really, really REALLY HOPE will gain them favor with God... while acting as if it's okay for them to act as a conduit of God's judgment/wrath... then the label of "Christian" wouldn't have so many negative connotations.

Also, a friend of mine who is as annoyingly vocal about his Atheism as a recently-born-again Christian at Bunco night, told me he attends weekly Atheist meetings to discuss Atheism, pool money together for events, and encourage each other to not keep the faith. Sounds churchy to me.

I guess I'm paraphrasing Groucho Marx, "I wouldn't want to be part of any group that would have me as a member because I'd probably pass judgment on them for how they represent our group and then I would think they are dipshits and I would stop going to meetings, but hey, at least I wouldn't feel guilty for not being around such a bunch of assholes."

Then again, who would want THAT asshole around?
Jesus.

=========================
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Ron Reid Moves On, Up to Street/Sea-Level

Every comedian looks for a break, a chance to show what they can do (as a comedian) as well as they can do it (sober). Part of finding that break is keeping your eyes open for it and ducking in before the Doorman of Fate realizes you’re in the wrong joint.

Ron Reid facilitated/vacillated my “break” in Seattle in February 2003 at the Comedy Underground. It was a Wednesday night show, and I had zero money. I wasn’t even going to go to the show that night to perform because I was DOWN, man. Just off a break-up, bummed, broke with the bills paid, and mired in a George Clinton-esque funk. Slap-bass funk. Durrty fonk, man. But I went to the Underground anyway, hoping there’d be 7minutes for me to scrape a set together. It was the night before Doug Stanhope was coming to the Underground, and Doug’s the closest thing we’ve got to Lenny Bruce since Denis Leary stole from Bill Hicks.

I get there, get a spot, do my set, great response, and hang out, happy to have ventured out of Kenmore for the night. Talking with Ron after the show, he asked if I would be interested in doing some MC spots at the Underground on the weekends. This was great, because weekend time is what new comics drool over, and old comics drool over when they don’t have a gig and want to get out of the house and drink but can’t stand to just get drunk on their balcony, because that’s sad, man. When Ron asked me, I said, “Sure. What about MC’ing for Stanhope tomorrow night?”

Ron did not even blink before hesitating, prior to a minor grimace and stuttering a “Well, uh buh buh I… ga… well, sure.” So Ron gave me a break. He wasn’t really excited, but he warned me the crowd would be kind of wild, and things could get weird, so just be loose. I was too excited to be loose.
The next night I had the best set of my relatively new career. Doug Stanhope told me “Hey, most MCs suck. You didn’t.” Thank YOU, Doug. I met Dave Dennison who has been endlessly encouraging of my career. I met Blaine Reeder and Geoff Brousseau a few nights later, as they’d been to the show. That’s a different kind of story, but all part of that night that Ron had the discomfort of agreeing to let me host.

So Thank YOU, Ron Reid, for all the work you’ve thrown my way, as a comedian, and a thinking human.

With that, Ron’s career in Comedy Management is going the way of Tony Moser’s comedy career. After 30+ years in the world of Stand-up Comedy, Ron Reid is trading his role as the manager of an iconic Seattle Entertainment institution to manage an ironic Seattle Entertainment institution. The new job will likely have fewer drunks but perhaps as much floor-barf. If leaving behind late nights and fragile egos spouting poorly-worded barrages about genitalia and/or the upside of racial profiling wasn’t enough of a health benefit, Ron’s new job will actually have Health Benefits. I figure if Laughter Is The Best Medicine, the counter-activity of a Comedian’s Lifestyle will likely balance out and Ron’s health is right where it ought’n be for a tree-topper of 86.

This is my self-meta-centered take on Ron’s leaving the Comedy Underground, and by no means encompasses all that he’s done in Seattle’s Comedy World. 25+ month-long Comedy Competitions. Showcases for big industry. He’s launched, helped launch, and advanced careers of so many comedians and dreamers and lovers of comedy that we lose track, and many of them are comics you’ve seen on TV, and will see for years to come. This is like Mike Holmgren leaving the Seahawks; All things must change, he's done great things for us, but there will never by another one like Ron Reid.

What a sell-out.

Carl Warmenhoven, it's on you now.

=======================
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No Comment is Good Comment

I was reminded this morning of a favorite Corporate Panic moment. One of those where, in the vein of "Paralysis by Analysis," we'd hit the wall on getting a project approved. After 5 rounds of documenting the process, refining it, mocking it up, running tests on it, the final package was sent around for comments... heh-heh, "package comments"... and NOBODY SAID ANYTHING BAD ABOUT IT. We had addressed everything that raised red flags, fixed bugs, and were ready to roll on this hot new version of your own "at-home Frozen Yogurt tap," or the "Icy FroGo!" (kind of kidding)

Long story short, we took it to the VP with proof that we'd met all requirements to get this thing launched, from cost to execution to benefit. And when she looked at it with full approval from everyone, her comment was a classic Corporate response:

"I'd like some folks to vet the comments you have received to see if they are valid."

In other words, she wanted comments on comments. Opinions of opinions.

Two weeks later we had not only received all the Comments on the Comments, and reviewed them in another 7 hours of meetings, but we MISSED OUR LAUNCH DATE for the Quarter!

So, before you open your mouth about your work, your dinner, the perfume of a co-worker, or why the shopping mall doesn't have a knife store, remember that your opinion has been considered, and was deemed a soft, round, pointless turd by your exclusion in the planning phase.

You're welcome.

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The C Word

Months ago when I performed at a benefit show for the Amanda Knox Defense Fund, a cause I hope the best for and my right as an American to contribute my time to, I was called-out by a pseud0-journalist for "call(ing) women derogatory names."

The C-word, in particular, is what he was referring to. C. U. N. T. Let it rip in the car when you're alone if you like. See how it feels. It's stunted. It's the textual equivalent of stubbing your toe at 3 am trying to sneak outta the bedroom for a quick NyQuil-Tonic and cannabis brownie. It's a blurt. And my intent was never to derogatate the women of the world, my spheres, my past, present, nor future. And most of them never even saw the reference the other writer had stood next-to with his hands on his hips and called attention to.

The word was used in this context:

"If you'd like to let it be known how you feel about the benefit show or the fund or the comedy, you should show up instead of just wuss-blogging. Be a physical presence.

But don't take that as the GreenLight to overstep your bounds of courtesy and

get physical with anybody you don't agree with,

you C*nt."

~Geoff Lott 2010

I mean it, when I use it in the privacy of my own car and never around my son or wife, to fire a shot at both men AND women. I don't specify a gender with it. In my world, C*NT goes both ways, same way the British use it, CLASSY-like.

And the more I thought about the dude who misinterpreted my use of the word, the more I researched his work. He had a near-complete documenting of every step, print, slash, stab, splatter, splice, slice, and dying breath in the Meredith Kercher murder. He had pieced it all together for people to read. I wonder how Meredith's family felt about that information being out in the world?

Even more-so, if you're the type of person who takes it upon themeselves to dig up what you deem to be a dark, dank, depressing moment in Humanity which may have gone otherwise overlooked... if you take it upon yourself to try and stir outrage... if you decide it is your word and not the word of others that should be taken as Authority in their lives...

You're a total fartface.

{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{{*}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}}
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Hubris, Scariness, and Americanity

Another MTV event was allowed to happen, so I have to figure out which sponsors to boycott emotionally as opposed to just being ignorant of their body wash or fat-burning pill. Mind you, I confirmed the speed of my metabolism today when my "natural energy" pill kicked in about 45minutes AFTER my workout ended... but that's for another blahg.

MTV is a show that somehow is now involved in publicizing the film exploits of actors who aren't really comedians, but aren't decent-enough actors to emote beyond "irony... get it?" Yeah... got it. And tonight there was an awards show for the movies. I still cannot understand why there's an awards show for short-films of musical artists lip-synching in a rainy warehouse during both a rainstorm AND a Recession, but that's for yet a DIFFER'NT blahg.

What the f*ck am I doing? I don't even care about that stuff. I'm not truly upset about the intellectual vacuum from which MTV programming emanates. I'm now mid-30's and outside their demographic, and look back not in bitterness but in snickery goodness. Truly I am hoping they don't abandon programming covering the tailspin of Spencer Pratt's existence. Money and fame makes us more of what we truly are. He truly is a megalomanical narcissist. And a dork.

If there was to be any sort of terror attack at a place that exudes "American Dipshit" it ought'n be at any of the MTV Award shows. It's the sweat-crack of all that is "tween" in America, an impressionable group of people with more buying power and less financial savvy than most failed mortgage brokers of the past 5 years. Fine. But there it is... if ever you wanted to unite a front against a common enemy to this nation you gotta get a "terrorist" to Kanye West a Justin Bieber performance. BOOM, child army on the way.

And yet every time there's some sort of terrorist threat to our nation, 'specially from within, then the news reports every little self-congratulatory pat that our Homeland Security officers throw at their backs upon the stoppage of the plan. I am VERY grateful we have an office slated to stop terror within our borders. It's a frightening, maddening fact. But we gotta stop saying how we found the terrorists in the first place.

How about a news report of how the Homeland Security office admitted not being able to really tell if anybody was a terrorist or not, and how it's not even a misdemeanor to plan such an attack, as long as it's admitted to local authorities? Drum up some of the low-hanging froots and kindly end up in their living rooms while they sleep in musty corners with guns drawn and faces smiling!

Okay, just got an IM from "LISTAGENT@hsa.gov" whomever that is, so I gotta split. I probably made a "No-Fly" list.

==========================

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Jeepers, Am I Busy Or WHAT? Huh?

I'm like REEEEALLY busy lately, between homelife, comedy, and full-timing it.
That's why this blog isn't really meeting all your needs. But that should change soon. Next week I fully promise you more content, the kind you've come to expect and be disappointed in.

In the meantime, a TimeJacker at work called a meeting that I cannot go to for 2pm, and he's still at his desk at 2:10pm. TimeJackers are those who take conversations from Point A to Point B to Point ME ME ME ME ME! and then suck time off your life/work/Bocce! ball tournament with irrelevant stories. Not even a meeting I need to be at, seeing as how somebody else will take better notes than I will...

Okay, more later.

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Another Blog About LOST

The Blogosweb and Narcissospheres are humming today with ideas both Great and Sigh-inducing about last night's Series Finale of ABC's Sci-Fi adventure, "LOST." For some reason, Charlie Sheen is still getting "sit-com" work after throttling his girlfriend and calling his ex-wife the C- and N-words (recorded proof!), but LOST has called it a Series. So yes, knowing when to walk into the great light of Syndication Royalties is very, very valuable. I still don't understand a Future with "Parks & Recreation," but let's move on. Aziz "I'msorry," I just don't see what is so funny about Ansari.

I bet there are many people more geeked on LOST than I am. I began to appreciate it for the subtext-sans-David Lynch'ian strides. The storyline was straightforward, but the storytelling left things wide open as to Where Whatever was taking place actually Was. Hell? Purgatory? Heaven? Parallel Universe? Omak? All of the none. And I don't have time for fan-fiction involving Kate and a bottle of organic almond butter.


It's also very popular in the world of "humor via contrast" to bash LOST for being too high-minded, too side-stepping, and/or overly narcisissitic. Wow, 2 self-involvement references... int'resting, Freud... The energy it takes to blog, speak, or effectively express your undying disdain for something - like "Justin Bieber's haircut" - is better spent bettering your own Self. Why? In the pursuit of bettering one's Self, you will likely turn your energy entirely towards your improvement, and that will, in turn, cause you to seek the object of your disdain to rub in their face your freshly-waxed gluteal curvature.

I won't delve into the characters and what they each meant to the story-arc. Wheelchairs, terrorists, thieves, murders, junkies, alcoholics, single moms, and... GASP... INTERRACIAL LOVING!?!?! Not to mention the Inhabitants/"Others" on the island. Oh, and the Dharma folks. Polar bears. Jacob, right, Jacob.

Anyway, I've gone too far to stop blogging now, so I'll end with this.

I had a comment on a YouTube video that said, quite simply, "definatly not funny."
This person got online, traipsed around the 'net, found my video, watched it, logged in to their YouTube account, and then left a comment to let other people know where that particular bit fell into their spectrum of humor. They also misspelled the word "Definitely" as "definatly," so I am not that hurt by it. I don't like everyone, why should everyone like me? And why wouldn't they keep it to themselves?

I really could use a chocolate-chip brownie right now.

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Two New Niceholes

NICEHOLE; n. A person who, in their own mind, is being jovial, funny, well-meaning, or polite, by being themselves, while annoying whomever they are around, speaking-to, or working with.

ElderHole
This old-ass hole is usually off the mark with comments ranging from race relations to politics to gang rivalries. Recently while on a walk with my son, we were Bjorn To Rock!, as I had him strapped to the front of my bodular personage on a sunny, cool day. I was wearing a cap with a large purple "W" on it as I am proud of the university from which I graduated, Go Dawgs.

Walking across a parking lot, a lady in her mid-60's (by the looks of things) was getting into her Buick LeSabre, and says to us:
"Oh what a cute baby. Did you know your daddy is a Husky? I'm sorry about that."
So apparently whichever school was allowing women to attend it when she was of child-bearing age and looks was/is a rival of the University of Washington. I'm assuming in Athletics. Nobody talks trash about the UW Medical Center.
So I respond with, "Yep, it's a great school for medicine, manners, and courtesy. Have a nice day."
ElderHole: Old people can be a pain in the ass.

SarcastHole
This is a very common 'Hole. This person is one who knows you were plagued by a recent "issue." While they could offer anything from Help to Silence in talking to you about it, even if it's none of their business, they go for Sarcasm.
Case in Pleats: The team I am working on had to come in over the past weekend to test a new system. I did not have to come in because I'm a Contractor and still green to the team, and wouldn't lend more than an upbeat attitude (outwardly) and a looooooooooong siiiiigh from time to time.
SarcastHole on the team sees me on Monday morning, and rarely ever speaks to me. Again, new guy-contractor-moderately ignorant... why WOULD he talk to me? I'm nothing to him. BUT... Monday morning he stops me, with a sly/dumb smile on his face so that he can ask...
'Hole: "Heh-heh... how was your weekend?"
Me!: (confused at the ask) "Uh, good, just enjoyed the weather. What about you?" (so now I've asked him how HIS boring weekend was like I give a fartwhiff.
'Hole: "Oh, you... uh... did you not have to come in?"
Me!: "What? Oh, no, I didn't have to test this weekend."

He just kind of nodded and walked off.
BAM, right there... PROOF that he was hoping to drive-further the knife of disappointment into my rippling man-body. Why not find somebody going through a divorce and ask them if they like having a big bed to stretch out in? Like living the weekend of work wouldn't have been enough to push the edge, this bag of farts on feet tried to make light of it by bringing it back up in a way that was neither witty nor gregarious. Just dumb. Hardy-har.

ElderHole
SarcastHole

Be on the lookout for these holes, people.

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For My Wife, My Son, and Those I Love

I start every day thanking God for another shot at It. Then I mentally make my way through the house and thank God for the two most important people in my life.

My Wife and My Son.

Then I get up and go work out so that I can stay in good enough shape to keep up with what I demand of myself, and to stick around for as long as possible, or to annoy teenagers.

The past 2 years have been ferociously outside the norm of most people's ideal path to realizing their dreams and stabilizing their future, financial or otherwise. Especially for a married couple in their 30's. And we did it. We lived.

I found this John Butler Trio performance and sat here crying in silence when his lyrics hit me. I am so very blessed to have the life, the wife, and the son I have.

My cup runneth over.

Well there's far too many questions to ask,
To answer any of them tonight.
For I wear too many masks,
Too tell if any of them are wrong or right.
And confusion casts a shadow up on me,
Like a great big cloud in the sky.
And now I pray for rain,
Cause it's been so long since i let myself cry.

For so long I've sang this sad ol' song,
And it feels like my time is up.
For she came and landed in my arms,
And she filled my half empty cup.
Yes she filled my half empty cup.

There you are right in front of me,
A brand new day sunrise over sea.
No longer my cup half empty cause there you are,
You and your mum in front of me, in front of me.

And now I look up above me,
And I thank that great ol' God in the sky.
For tellin' me my cup ain't half empty,
It took my little boy to show me why.

for so long i sing this sad ol' song
and it feels like my time is up
for she came and landed in my arms
and she filled my half emty cup
yes she filled my half emty cup

there you are right in front of me
a brand new day
sunrise over sea
no longer my cup half emty
cause there you are
you and your mum in frount of me

You're peaches & cream to me.
You both are peaches & cream to me.
you and your mum in front of me
peaches and cream
yo

all i know is
all i know
and i love you
ya i love you
all i know is
all i know
and i love you
ya i love you
all i know is
all i know is
and i love you
i love you

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The Super Beyond

The painful illness of my friend's father has cut-loose enough of an emotional oil-slick in me to devote some time to a Life piece. My blast on Justin Bieber's ridiculable haircut shall wait for another day.

Having lost my dad in November of 2008, and later becoming a father, I have a much greater appreciation for life, babies, mommies, and the duties of parenting. I see how much influence I may have on my son some day. And how difficult it can be to live with integrity and coolheadedness when you haven't slept much and can play 183 arrangements of "Old MacDonald" on a 1-octave plastic piano. And this is WITH technological advancements as outlets of frustration and socializing.

As I'm wont to do, time to time, I pray to God about my life. Usually I am thanking Him for keeping me alive after a litany of moves equivalent to Justin Bieber's haircut (it seemed cool at the time, but then we went on two wheels, and the gas can tipped over, and my cigarette...). Seriously close calls in my life that would have given my parents synchronized cardiac arrest had they known about it. And for some reason I am here with a beautiful wife, wonderful baby guy, awesome friends, and a bright future in a number of careers. And I have to Thank God for a lot of it.

Some people love to jump off their Agnosticar or Atheistar Van long enough to bash and/or ridicule my choice of spiritual pursuit. I pray for them, too. I don't point a finger back and tell them they're wrong for believing - or not believing - the way they do. I accept them as people, and move on. But all the same, I don't condone nor defend the Crusades, the Catholic Priest scandals, nor any other atrocity committed by a person wrapping themselves in the gossamer layers of Christianity, Religion, Islam, or Professional Wrestling. Every group's got their shit-heads.

And for every shit-head there are 1,000 fantastic people. And knowing that everybody, great and not-so, good and bad, weird and conformist, will all biologically die some day just makes me realize that our relationships to one another are the MOST IMPORTANT thing we can have in life. Especially if they are good, healthy, self-actualizing, loving, and mutually beneficial. We don't have to be close to step on toes. And we don't have to step on toes just because we're close. And I only ever wear close-toe shoes.

So if you're gonna live a long time, have some stories to tell when you get there. If you're not gonna live a long time, give everyone else a story about how you went out big. But for the sake of dead rockstars, don't just muddle about doing squat in hopes you'll just make it to 90 with a full tread on your tires. Nobody wants to hear about how you never swam the rapids or farted in your hand to smother your friend's face when camping. Especially God. No time for it.

Go live. Do one thing today that scares you or somebody else.

Justin Bieber's hair is really stupid, though. I'm happy my dad isn't alive to see it. And if I'm a "hater," I include Bieberfolliclegate among my other instances of "hating," including "Dane Cook's Act," "Fans of Insane Clown Posse," "Guys Who Make That KissyFace To The Camera," and "Misquoting PseudoJournalists Obsessed With MurderCases."

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Top 10 Ways To Celebrate “Walter Jones Day”

Walter “The Wall” Jones, the Seahawks left tackle for the past 13 seasons and easily The Best to ever protect a quarterback’s blind-side, is retiring from professional football. From his first day on the practice field for the ‘Hawks, back when they wore royal blue jerseys and were dominating their way to 6-10 seasons in the AFC West, everybody who watched Walt in practice and on gameday knew this guy was usually “the best athlete on the field.”

He took 245-lb men running full-speed, and leashed ‘em down.
He drove 300-lb behemoths 30 feet backwards, their arms flailing on the TV’s they bought their mother, embarrassed.
He spoke softly and jokingly about his accomplishments. He erased whomever was the best pass-rusher on the other team.
The toll it takes on your body, however, is probably like being run into by refrigerator coming down the stairs 65 times on a Sunday for 12 years. I hope that he’ll live a long life, happy and healthy. Great to watch a legend in our city.

And so, in his honor, here are 10 Ways To Celebrate “Walter Jones Day”
1. Leave every room with a hand-clap and shouting “Break”
2. Push your Cadillac Escalade around the high school track for an hour. (This was Walt’s off-season conditioning program of choice)
3. Throw in some up-downs in the hallway at work.
4. If somebody crosses your face without saying “pardon me,” drive-block ‘em until you hear a whistle.
5. Repeat “Backer Backer Backer SLIDE SLIDE BLACK SLIDE BACKER” until the person next to you responds “CHECK”
6. Wear your mouthguard to all meetings.
7. Stairs, baby. Run ‘til ya puke.
8. High-knee run through the strip-mall.
9. Throw flags on offending parties, be it holding a meeting at 3pm on a Friday or offsides in coming for your dinner.

10. Post-up outside the restroom in a squat-stance with your hands in front of you, fending off potential entrants for a 3-count. The ball should be downfield by then.

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Customer Disservice - Coffee Maker

Inez isn’t really into her job anymore. She’s in her 60s, wears a contracted company’s pre-approved, mandatory outfit on a daily basis, and like anybody with a badge around her neck that doesn’t legally back her use of a pepper spray/taser/attack dog/firearm/mustache… well, she’s just killing time until time kills her.

And it shows. For somebody who’s main responsibility is “stand at this register, push the buttons on this screen, and take money from people trying to pay for their spinach & oat-bran omelet,” it’s rare to see her there for an entire quarter hour. There’s a table to wipe in an unbusy café-seating area. Did anybody count Splenda today? What’s the respiration rate of the imported strawberries on the parfait bar, do we have a baseline on decomp? Inez’ll be on that stuff like mud on flaps, slaps on chaps, mustaches on your kicked asses.

God is good. God forbid that I HAVE TO WORK at Inez’s age. I hope to work at that age only out of desire to be out of the house and supplement my royalties from my forthcoming cookbook, “Eating Indoors; Eating Healthy When You’re Shit-Freaked About A Crumbling Society.” Pretty much every time I want to get through a line, I avoid Inez’s line. Sometimes there’s no other way, she’s the only one running reg at that point and there’s no “honor system” for dropping a dollar in a bucket for a cuppa.

Case in pants: This morning I was one of three people in the café selection area, among imported pastries (Safeway, I think), yogurt buffet, and coffee bar. Ah, that’s where I wanted to get to. I went half-caf, half-Bold. One of the carafes was making like a VP and empty inside, so I went to the backup carafe for the Bold, a freshly-brewed silo of hot, dark, capillary-tightening coffee. Gimme. Well, Inez saw me go to the backup carafe as I walked away from topping off my cup. Another person headed for Inez’s register as Inez FOCUSED INTENTLY ON THE EMPTY CARAFE CRISIS OF BUILDING 4, and, passing myself and yet another person (3 now)… walked at a very relaxed pace to the coffee area 20 feet from her register.

Inez strolled into action and took the empty carafe off its foundation, replacing it with the fresh one. Then she grabbed the two full, used coffee filters and the empty carafe and headed off to the back-stage area of the café. She turned her head in time to see three of us waiting at her register for her. Realizing that people were waiting, she did the right thing immediately, by saying “I’ll be right back.” Maybe she thought we were all salaried. HA HAAA! I’m not good enough to draw a salary. Just a gross payment by an external contracting company from which I must pay taxes. So I waited, on the clock, for Inez to be right back.

I watched as she returned with a fresh carafe and two fresh filters for the coffee-making, which was welcomed by the loud exhale of the woman waiting to pay for her three bacon, two egg, one toast breakfast, and another fellow with a hard-boiled egg, cottage cheese, and a donut. And me. With my one dollar of coffee. Now in line for 3 minutes. Another person awaited a breakfast burrito.

Inez’s triumphant refresh of the coffee brewing and serving station and shuffling return to her register earned her a purse-lipped smile, a sigh, and this, from me; “What happened with the coffee?”

Inez: “Oh, it was out.”

Me: “All of it?”

Inez: “No, the one in the middle.”

Me: (playing dumb) “But the other one had coffee in it and there was a back-up carafe ready to go?”

Inez: (sighing) “Uh, yes. I had to get stuff for the other coffee to make it.”

Me: (pause) “That’s lucky. Oh, okay. I didn’t know you had to make more coffee right away. I thought you were just ignoring us. Here ya go.”

Gave her my dollar and left Café Ambivalence and their English-as-first-mumbling employees (Latinos to the kitchen!) to sigh their way into a layoff.

I thought I’d just go to the automated coffee vendor, but it’s so inattentive and cold. And more importantly, there’s nothing to complain about there. I expect crap, and it never falls short. By my calculations, Inez’s coffee move cost the company about $25 in pay to waiting employees. Each carafe holds $30 worth of coffee if they bottom it out. So I waited on Inez to make her facility another $5 until she waited on me.

Jeez, what a waste of resources, huh?

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Montreal Showcase Update Thing

I literally just got back from Los Angeles where I was performing in a callback showcase for the "Fresh Faces" selections for the Montreal Comedy Festival. Last time I did a showcase was a miserable showing in 2004 at the Underground where I went after a heckler instead of doing my act, and felt just fine for it. You can never tell hhhWHAT these people want! GOLLY! Comedy is a fickle sister of merciful death.

My trip started Wednesday morning with a rain-soaked, 90minute trip to SeaTac airport, a trip that took about 60minutes longer than usual. I parked AT THE AIRPORT as if I could afford to. It saved me time, but not money. So no, time is not money, this time, Dollah Dollah billz, y'all. Traffic was horribly backed up, because traffic is made up of people, and well, people aren't very good at things they do every day, like drive a car.

I then speed-walked into the terminal like a freakpie, weaving and dodging old old people, and one family that from 50 feet away was hysterically funny as they tripped all over themselves. Being right behind them was the efficiency equivalent of being on in-line skates (NO ENDORSEMENTS), downhill, underwater. Idiots. When their son wouldn't pick up his bag and began a tantrum instead of getting in line, I just said "Excuse me" and moved right around them. I had no time for that.

People in positions of power usually are either under control and helpful, or they work at the airport. One guy was so gosh-golly jocular, dare I say... "Jovial!"... that he was ready to make me, a traveler, even MORE late to the gate. Everybody he spoke to got a blah blah blah blah he was a NiceHole, okay?
PICK UP THE PACE...

ShitHead Red-headed kid working for TSA who X-Rayed my wallet... you didn't give it back to me and left it unattended. I will speak directly to you and your supervisor in a private screening room the next time I fly, if you're still there. I had to climb over 2 women staring at, asking outloud "Did they just leave somebody's wallet here?" Yes... Yes they did.

I then had to run at 75% speed to my gate, feeling like OJ Simpson, especially for killing two people and getting away with it. Full flight with attitude, probably the last time I fly Alaska. Oh, and the return trip resulted in another 90minute wait while the pilots were sidetracked in Customs. Good thing they boarded everybody 20min early.


OKAY, Comedy...
Got to LA, met by buddy Todd for coffee and a peek at his new townhome. Then chilled out and went to my showcase at the Comedy Store in W. Sunset. The stage looks like this...

The room was pretty full in the main area, good crowd.
Again, I was reminded of two things after the first couple of comics:

1. Originality and Definability as a comic is tough to come by, but when it's come-by, it's stellar. Michael Kosta and Patrick Keane destroyed, and both always kill me.
2. Commitment to Content is not the same as AutoPilot. While I am pretty happy with my set, I am judging it based on the decibel volume of laughter instead of the laughter volume. I would only do one thing differently, and that is be thinner.

So there ya go...
Another trip to LA for 6 minutes of comedy, followed by 2-3 weeks of shrugging and having pretty much zero clue as to what will happen.

I do want to thank the producers and scouts from the Montreal gang for their input and professionalism. They truly give a crap about comedy, and are each just cool people in general. I am really grateful to have gotten the first shot, and the callback, after a year+ of not having anybody even stay in the room for my stuff while living in Los Angeles.

All you can do is the best you can do, and then power-mope when shit goes poorly.

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Workin' It: Good Intentions vs. Good Traffic

There are days, as a new dad, that getting out of bed before 6:45 anti-Meridian is as likely as Barack Obama second-guessing himself. But today I was DETERMINED to do so. Getting a good start on the day is vital to getting the F outta work early.

So I got up and got moving. With only the most-minor lollygagging, I was outta the house by about 7:45 so that I could get to work at a decent hour, so that I could walk the 1/4-mile from the off-site, across-street, near-campus parking afforded to me, the lowly contractor.

Normally I'll leave the house around 8:10-8:20 and, with but a few red light waits (great name for a bearded indie band NOW NOW NOW) I zip to work and arrive by 8:45. Today, ha HA!, I left around 7:50. There was a back-up to the on-ramp, through 2 lights, stretching nearly 1.5miles. I thought it was just a small backer at the crosswalk as some Immigrant youth made their way to the public transit stop so as to ride to their "America Today!" classes. NOPE... Big stinkin' backup. So I said a long stream of expletives about debt and mortgages and sleep deprivation and the entitlement of youth and people who buy Aplets & Cotlets and why can't I install a new version of an internet browser at work instead of the shit-pile that is IE6 which does NOT have tabbed browsing??? NO, it does NOT have it unless you bang-in the MSN Toolbar which I cannot do, as I'm lacking admin privileges on this machine. Otherwise I'd be elbows-deep in iTunes. Pssssh!

The huge back-up to the on-ramp ellicited a new circuitous route to 405-North.

Long-story short, when it comes to your morning commute, there are 2 things you must keep in mind.
FIRST, are you leaving the house at a time when you are accustomed-to, even if it gets you into the office a bit later, but absolves you of jams longer than Phish unspooling at Bonnaroo?
SECOND, are you knocking out your debt so that this morning commute will soon be a thing of the past and you can take that drive leisurely in the near future, driving in the carpool lane with your giant middle finger raised to the Rat Racers?

Had I not left for Los Angeles a few years ago we'd likely not be in a position where I'd have to go do this work or take this trip. But Life is funny the way bee stings are tingly. You gotta go and do a few different things to really remind yourself of why you gotta stay the F outta debt.

To paraphrase Thoreau, "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams, thy traffic maps be damned." What an asshole. Probably telecommuted.



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