Workin' It - Perspectives

It’s been over 5 years since I had a permanent, full-time, benefits+retirement+paid vacation job. 5 years. 1,500 days. I had one for a short time in 2008, but also had a few chances to make something bigger happen in my life, and thus happened the California misAdventures. Still, I wouldn’t trade those 14 months for anything in the world. However, I think a lot of folks may be taking what’s happened in the world, and how it missed them, for granted. And I’m hungry for it.

I want to take better care of my family. I work my ass off and want to be able to spend a full week at Christmas with my family and not fret over missing a week of pay. I want to give a company 50 hours a week, and a few on the weekend, and in return, bank a couple hundy for my retirement as a “thanks for last Saturday.” I’ll earn it.

As a contractor, I’ve busted my ass in large companies around the Puget Sound in order to keep working, maybe be brought on full-time, as well as gain experience. Not all companies work like that anymore. I haven’t had paid vacations, bonuses, nor the ability to really dump $ into my retirement accounts. This is what I’ve sacrificed in the face of “do not change. Change nothing. Don’t shake it up. Sit tight.” Financially it hasn’t been the best move. Sitting on the side of the “have not as much’es” (but still doing well), I miss out on money if I take days off work to go on a trip with the family. This is part of being a contract employee. My efforts go towards realizing the goals of the organizations I work in. I receive money for that. That’s all. It’s fact, not jealousy. And a lot of people I see who haven’t changed a thing in their careers have missed the point: If you’re not growing, you’re wilting.

In the meantime, I have scooped up experiences most folks have missed out on completely while their salary adjusted 3% up, and they complained. And they received a company-wide performance bonus, and complained it wasn’t as large as last year’s. I pay out of pocket for health benefits, and it doesn’t cover everything, which still matters around tax time. Full timers had to pay another $5 on the co-pay, and complained about getting screwed. Stress is a killer, ma’am. Take it easy. What a hard life you’re pushing through so valiantly. I know this is true, because I’ve heard it all. I’ve heard the complaints, the whining, the “can you believe what they’re doing to us?” whispered at the machine pumping out free lattes.

Don’t take these things for granted. These are perks, not rights. We’re not entitled to any of it. It’s a bonus, a hug, a little extra tongue on the second date. Have you really earned it? Did you create the iPad? Did you find the secret to no-burn cookies? Have you found a way to introduce demographically-targeted birth control so that the affluent neighborhoods are producing more children? No... You haven’t. Remember that the next time you are watching “Rio” from your back as your teeth go 2 shades whiter.

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Battle Of The Blands

Revelation last week. While watching a comedian I really like and respect perform a very similar bit to one of mine, my lap felt cold. My joke-boner fell. Frankly, it's true that I have re-hashed too much work within my comedy. It's been too long since I introduced anything truly new, a chunk or a bit or a longer-form run of humor. It's important that I write what I think is funny, but lately all that comes out are lamentations.

About the state of this country (catatonic stupor/corn syrup insulin-crashing).

About religion and those who adhere to it as a lifestyle instead of a guiding light. Loving The Lord is a different expression than Paranoia.

About childless couples throwing shit-looks when my gorgeous and well-behaved son and wife and I sit down near them in a restaurant. Leave, fucko. Eat at the bar.

I'm a happy man and a fed-up American and a bored comedian. That has to amount to something. I'm not boo-hooing the passion I have found in Stand-up Comedy. My reverence for Sahl, Martin, Pryor, Cosby, Hicks, et al fuels much of my desire to accept gigs. My ego thinks I have something to say. So I'm probably just putting too much pressure on myself to make something count for eeeeeverybody sitting in the room at a comedy show. Instead, I need to go back to the drawing board, and draw the shapes of letters that become words and from there, jokes.

I need to do what I think is Funny, that's the trick. Like any work, it's important to do what YOU think is Good Work. Otherwise you're wasting your time and the time of the person paying you to check Facebook just reeeeeal quick. Comedy is a privilege and a passion to be part of. I'm lucky. Sadly, I've also been lazy. Time to turn that around and put it on its knees and tell it to say my name.

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Take Up A New Career You're No Good At!

Holy shit. I just read one of those stories where somebody went from a great job to the figurative - and literal, at times - dump shack, but rebounded with a big win! They went ahead and did what they love to do and Fate sat on their face!

Not only did this Big Pharma employee (well, HR...) work as the "Severance Administrator" when her company was acquired, she was responsible for making sure people transitioned to a new stage in life without a return trip to the office after a 5-day waiting period. With that kind of work under her belt... SHE MADE CAKES.

And not just any kind of cake... SHAKILY DECORATED CAKES! With uneven lines and easily-criticized versions of recognizable childhood figures! If I come off like an asshole, it's because Patti's throwing out a more expensive version of Safeway's mid-level work, and being lauded for not gobbling a handful of Oxy with a Belvedere chaser when she had a rough quarter at work. Ya-fucking-ay.

This is renardaloo. My sweet chocolate cheese-centered saboteur... these people are going from crotch-poaching to feeling better about their shoelace dyeing/taco-truck venture, and getting press for it.

I believe Arlington National Cemetery has a few plots opening for these heroes.

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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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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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How To Not Do Good At Stuff

I found a position I would fit well in, with a company for which I would like to work.

I've applied there before via the web, per usual sources of application these days.

When I tried just now to apply, I entered the wrong password, and it said "USERNAME NOT REGISTERED, PLEASE REGISTER" as an error message.

But there's no place for a username, just an email address AS the user name.

STRIKE 1 - Username vs. Email Address

So I tried to find the password in my archives. No dice.

I tried to register said username, and got the error message...

"Account cannot be created. Username already exists!"

Wait, what? It DOES? You just...

STRIKE 2 - Internal Database vs. Error Message Accuracy

So I go to get the password reset for an account that apparently IS in the system, and got THIS error message...

"The Username you provided is not registered ! Please register." Yes, it's not. Because it is. Not.

STRIKE 3 - I am outta here.

If anybody knows the owner of the Clearwire.apply2jobs.com pages and database, please tell their boss that "Attention to detail" was probably fudged-about in their interview.

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Los Angeles Redux

You wanna know about LA?
You wanna get in the cage with the Beautiful Beast and throw elbows with love?
Do you have what it takes to hone your craft and watch some bimbo get a golden ticket and leapfrog over you because she's more marketable, and then she goes on the road for a year and all she can come up with is 8 new minutes on drinking?

EVERYTHING you need to know about Los Angeles in 2.5 minutes.





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Customer Reviews

Never in my life have I told somebody how to do their job.
I might have mentioned to my wife that her dishwashing could pick up the pace, but that's for another blog. Save your groans.
Unless I know how to do a job somebody is in the middle of epically F'ing up (e.g. being able to see human bone, and not being in an operating room or museum) I keep my mouth shut. If they are bothering me closer to rage, I may address something, but usually, no, I just keep it zipped. We can't be correct unless, sometimes, corrected. But to find out somebody is an Insurance Agent, or a Private Botanical Engineer, Fromagiere, or perhaps they have let judgment get the best of them and are now, how you say, "driving for public transit," I don't say a word. Do your job. Clean up that skid thing. Thanks for the ride.

Not so! for some folks when they find out I am a comedian. And don't get me wrong; I will talk shop with anybody about comedy. How I do it, how I got into it, what I get from it, where I see it in the world, etc. Every now and again, it wavers greatly from the topic of comedy, and gets weirder. People usually ask me where I get material from, and then tell me they could never do it. But now and then, I get somebody who tells me what kind of material I could be using. And who is truly funny, usually somebody who we haven't heard from in 15 years.

As in, everything happening in the immediate vicinity COULD be a bit, huh? Huh?! Gallagher could have done 10 minutes on that.

This has to be the only job where people don't know how to do it, are too scared to do it, but still will tell you how to do it. It's truly an annoying thing to sit through. But when people are saying "Look at that kid's hair. See, there's a bit for you!"
or
"I was in the grocery store and they had this sale on ice cream. In December. That's probably a bit there, huh? You should use that in your act."

But, what about the funny stuff?

The next step from there is that people want to come see me perform.
Great! There are 2 types of these folks, too.
1) those that want to come see me perform,
and
2) those that want to come see me perform, and then say "I'll come heckle you sometime!"

This happened recently. And the guy did all of the above. Soooo...
Not only could he not do my job,
but he can't write,
and wants to come bother me about my material.
OR
He's trying to be funny, and has Somali hi-jacked my Comedy Cargo.

He couldn't be funny, tried, and made it even more uncomfortable.
(I'd like to take this moment to apologize to some of the women I tried to get dates with. Now I know how you felt. I'm sorry you thought you were better than me.)

I love talking about comedy, I love watching innovative performers, and I'm always working to enhance and grow my act. I guess the funniest part about this is I'm telling people to not be what they are. I hate pretentious comics who think they are rebellious because, hey, not everybody can do 7 minutes - IN A ROW - about smoking pot and oral sex and Jesus sucks and you're dumb. But if that's what you are, that's going to come out.

Maybe I'm an asshole. Can somebody help me out here?

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Culture Schlock

In the past few days the average temperature in LA has been 87 degrees in a freezer. It's hot. It's not an Equatorial-nation swelter, it's just a heat that says "It's my job, don't bother me." The slowing-you-down kind of heat. And it's October. I'm not used to this. Normally by now I'd be scrounging for some sort of herbal anti-depressant and sleeping deeply at night. But lately, nope, it's just too frigging hot.
And Awesome.
Last night, and some of today, it rained. Just a smattering of rain, the kind LA natives probably think is a sign of the apocalypse. But for Seattlers, t'weren't nothin'. It was welcomed.

Now, RIGHT NOW, assholes across the alley from our bedroom are tearing down the party scene of a soiree at an art gallery, to which we were NOT invitees. Thus, assholes. People here work the alleyways. A lot of non-white people stroll the 'ways peering into the recycling bins to see if there's any glass or aluminum beer/energy drink/coffee cans to turn in for money. One lady who frequents the block wears jewelry on her route, or "day job." Nice touch, a little hoop action while peering into gar-bazh buckets. I am planning on rigging a bat on a string under the lid of ours, because it's private property and they shouldn't be pokin' around. Plus it's almost Halloween.
By the way... Pico Party Rentals can eat a hot plate of caca, hombre.

But, I digress...

Tuesday night I went to the H'wood Improv to meet a comic who is a friend-of-a-friend. When they say "It's all about who you know," that's only 95% true. The other 5% is luck, talent, and emotional preparedness. I say this because I've been blessed with incredibly helpful people who have "sent the elevator back" to get me. Now it's up to me to push those buttons and fig're out which floors I am getting off at. BUT, I digress...

Tuesday, I chat briefly with the intended meet-up, and think I may go home soon after, as he's off to another show uptown. Then I figure, no, I've invested too much already for one contact, let's chat. I meet another guy named Chris Millhouse, funny comic and show producer around here. We talk, he tells me about another room to work my way into. Very cool of Chris. Then... I see a line growing outside. On a Tuesday night. For COMEDY. So I check the line up.

Dave Attell.

Christopher Titus.

Two of my main influences, the latter being a major influence on my story-length material about real life, the former being simply one of the funniest jokemasters ever. I offer, from Dave Attell...
"I watched the Presidential Debates with the sound off, and it looked like a snowman yelling at a pharoah. Why is Frosty yelling at King Tut, Jr.?"

Also that same night I run into Iliza Schlesinger, winner of the most-recent season of Last Comic Standing. We talked a bit, as we both know Jeff "Jackpot" Dye and Marcus from the comedy circles. Iliza is really a cool person who loves comedy and what she's doing. Again, it's another situation of people helping out. I really hope I get to the point where I can help people on their way up.

Surreal, and yet it is Now. It IS.

And so, on Sunday, I'm off to downtown LA to shoot scenes for a feature-length film about corporate douchebaggery, trudging, and malaise. I've been in town a month, and got a part because a friend helped me out, my work was noticed, and I can DO THIS, yo.

When it comes time for you to take a swing at your dream, get both cheeks into it. The payoff, well hell, sometimes that's just a Tuesday.

Funniest thing about LA is that the entertainment industry is the ONLY industry in the world where discrimination and prostitution are legal, daily occurrences. You can be excluded because you are not the right ethnicity, age, body type, gender, or general look. You can have sex for money and as long as somebody films it, it's protected under the Constitution. Hmm. Observed.

I'll write more about Bob another time.

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