The Possibility Of Assholery

Assholery is not an actual word per the uptight, ungroomed editors of Wikipedia and Websters. But I use the word to describe the general activity of people who are unaware, negligent, narcissistic (on the first try!), and on the whole, unpleasant. An unpleasant hole. Full of crap, hot air, ungroomed, bad oils. Asshole. And it takes one to know one.

I know this because I can be the biggest asshole in the room at any given time. I don't like to be. Being an asshole is a pro-active thing, not reactive, unless the reaction is over-the-top and uncalled for. But being an asshole carries two interesting traits: No "asshole throttle," and total asshole apathy. Simply not caring how big of an asshole you are being.

I don't try to be an a-hole nearly enough. I think there's a point when my cage needs to be rattled by a demonstration of assholery, and likewise to those around. There's no greater salve for complacency than an asshole's outburst. To mope, slope, and slog around as if there are no consequences for one's inactivity or apathetic life is a social welfare check; "It's fine to be bad at what you do, not pay attention, and speak like a juvenile idiot." No.
No it's not.

If somebody's side-holing your day, let 'em know. I work with a guy who works so mercilessly slow and methodically that it slows everybody else down. When I finally told him that I couldn't attend his meetings because we were 2 days behind due to his pace, he reacted as if I'd spent the morning reclined in his bed while his wife's perm bobbed on my knob. Fine, he thinks I'm an asshole. The days that followed saw him dash his repetitive meetings and free up a lot of people's time. In turn, WE GOT SHIT DONE. It was simple honesty and being forthright. America has lost much of its "BS Barometer" due to the creep of Political Correctness, causing us to never want to offend somebody.

Say whatever you gotta say, knowing that you may look like an asshole on somebody's sliding scale of Assholery. But don't hold back if it's the right thing to do. You can only be shat on for so long before being shat on is your fault. I think that's in the Old Testament. The worst somebody can legally do is fire-back a big "F You!" If you can take that hit, you're on your way to a special place in the Assholes of All Time.


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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Eating Out: 2nd Hand Canlis

I've eaten at Canlis ONE TIME. It was ethereal. It is the Highest of Classes. It is expensive. It is worth it. Every moment from the valet to the final check to walking out with most of your understuff not exposed, worth every bit of the $190 I spent on appetizers.

Kidding. They don't have "appetizers," dirtload. Frigging great food. They do a few things and they do each of them perfectly +2 (including "surprise" and "butter.").

We have a "dress code" where I am consulting.
It basically can be summed up in these words:
"Don't wear jeans before Friday."

Not $180 jeans. Not $20 jeans. Not well-washed, properly-fit-to-flatter jeans. Not baggy jeans wit' yo ayass hanging 'bove da sagg. Nuh-uh. No jeans.

Cargo pants? Sure.
Luau shirt? Aloha.
Smell like a batting helmet? No problem.
Khakis that upon closer-look are denim? Okay, nobody's gonna tattle.
Utili-kilt? Evenutally I will find out.
Utility camping pants that zip-off above the knee to become shorts? YES.

This last choice was made by a guy who works as a database blah-blah and wears his beard and hair "unkempt." Skullet to a ponytail. Long beard. Usually eating loudly somewhere. Grumpy. In pants that could zzzzzoooooooeeep! into a pair of pasty leg-baring shorts in a heartbeat.

Long story short, the eye-test doesn't show him to be somebody who would saddle up at a 4-star restaurant long-known as THE 4-Star in Seattle (up there with Rover's) and settle into a well-versed meal. Yet he DID that over the weekend. Then walked around complaining to people all day about how expensive it is. And the service was bad. And how he felt uncomfortable.

You dine. You do not EAT. There is no GORGING. You ask for a wine suggestion if you're not sure. You don't point to the cheapest and say "THAT."

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him understand that not all horses should be drinking at that particular trough. High prices keep the riff-raff out. I'm sure a pair of well-pleated khakis and a shirt with long sleeves was in order. Now damnit, bring me my cheese stix.
I've been there. I knew what to expect. And I was half this guy's age. Sounds like he wasted his time and money. Next time, zip those pantlegs off and get you some food on a stick. Leave the dining to those who'd rather not see your skullet.

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MC, HOST, CORPORATE, COMEDY, SEATTLE, GEOFF, LOTT

Work It Out

Ah yeah.

The drone of the workday. Out of my ears for a bit. I was working with a contracting agency that placed me into The Software Empire. It was fun. It was fun because of the people. The work itself, meh, it just got in the way of getting stuff done.

As a co-worker, people talk spoke to me in a “get this done, it’s on you, yer fly’s still open” tone of voice. Not demeaning as much as passive, in that “I’m passing this off to you, I’m too busy/important/white to do it.” It wasn’t about respect as much as deflection. But hey, if I wanted to not have to do that work, I would work harder. See how that happens? It’s another of life’s cycles, much like a bicycle, NASCAR, and the making of one’s own poo.

I have always been the jack-of-all-trades. (Do not YaMoogle that term at work, by the way. There will be talkings-to.) I can do many things well. I can do one or two things extremely well, like crazy-good when I’m “in the zone.” Those things are in a rotating catalog of Performing Comedy, Writing, Baking, and “The Grown Folk’s Bidness.” You mind your own business, THAT’s what that is. In having diverse skills, I rarely have had the chance to let a particular one shine. Then again, I like farting around at work as much as the next nuclear submarine missile-launcher guy. But really, what grown man isn't entitled to 45minutes of chair-spinning per day?

But work, really, isn’t about “THE WORK” or “THE MONEY” or stealing decent lunches from “THE BREAKROOM” or “THE CANDY ON THE DESK NOBODY WOULD TALK TO OTHERWISE.” It’s about The People. I think.,

What I’ve learned from the Working World so far:

1) The Work you do, the actual production, is truly an expression of your character. Perhaps it is in HOW you do it more than WHAT you do. So when you go to put your best foot forward, remember that not only will people always expect that high level of quality in the future, but you are also likely to step directly into another person’s work/shit-pile.

2) The People you work with are the most vital component of your work. Knowing how to get along with people, who you can confide in, who can be trusted, is as important as any other weapon or skill. These folks are the ones you can count on to take the blame when you get wine-drunk at lunch again and forget that you’re leading the monthly review for HR’s “Diversity Practices,” and you haven’t yet removed that one side-note asking why every head of HR looks like a man-hater. Rrriiiiiiiiiiiiight. You can’t be fair unless everyone is judged unfairly.

3) The Money is important, but it’s only the most-important thing, if you don’t love your job. If you love your job every day, you’re one of those lucky folks who forgets to take the pill for short-term memory loss, but remembers the mood-uppers. Money is important, especially because you bought so much shoddy Swiss furniture in the past 5 years, you gotta get something substantial. Glue + BedFrame = Floor Sleeping. Get as much money as you can, horde it in a mattress, and start buying guns, canned food, and firewood. Paper money isn’t any good in this country, it’s all digital 1’s and 0’s these days. Cash Rules Ever’thing Around Me, hunna-dolla bill y’all, HOLLA. With enough money you can buy people to do your work for you. Think I’m wrong. I have two words for you. FLAVOR. FLAV. SO. THERE.

4) The Freebies, or “Perks,” or “what’s left behind when somebody leaves.” Getting a new desk phone is cool, but even cooler is some cool keyboard or mouse or desk. Food comes and goes, but sleek-looking desktop accoutrements are THA SHIZ. First chance you get, vulture that biznass and high-tail it to the breakroom for some Farewell Cake.

5) Managers are chosen for one of two reasons: They have the talents and skills to lead and guide multiple people across varying disciplines, or they have been with the company for a while now and seem about the right age to manage. I’ve had a lot of the latter. So when I recently had the former, it was like a breath of fresh air that didn’t smell like Chaps cologne and two days of smoking. Managers aren’t necessarily “Management,” a term I’ve usually reserved for the usually-absent “crusty uppers” with corner offices, sham marriages, and executive assistants either verrry attractive or verrrrrrrry “rustic.”

Now, don’t get me wrong about Work; it’s necessary. It’s good for the Soul. In the times I have been unemployed I’ve had searing moments of cabin fever. It’s not good to be cooped up all day hoping something fun happens or an unseen episode of “Scrubs” happens your way. And if you don’t have children or LSD, it can get somewhat lonely.

I will work, someday soon, in the jobs I really want and ougth to be doing. Those jobs aren’t available, appropriately, in Seattle, however. In the meantime, I can only prepare myself and my soul for another go-‘round in the Corporate Machine, giving all I got, if not for the Passion, then for the Glory. And I can only hope to do a good enough job that, upon leaving, my Bedazzled mousepad is retired, and my Farewell Cake is chocolatey.

I would like to thank the CSG Bay of Redwest A, 2227, for a great year. Don’t forget me. Which would be difficult until you find where that “brine shrimp/hot vinegar” smell is coming from.

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