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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I Do Not Give A Shit, And That's Not Good

Rebecca Black, 13 years old, untalented, was rumored to be pregnant. All she did was become a public figure with her hit song "FRIDAY," about getting high with Chris Tucker in the front seat or the back seat. Video at the end of this blog. Amazing. CNN spread a fake report about her pregnancy. Is this NOT bullying? If CNN were a freshman in High School it would be prosecuted for that action. We need to stop talking about celebrities unless they die filming their movies, because I don't care about them. And by "I" I mean "smart people." Rebecca Black had a dream of getting famous and making music and eventually perhaps getting Bieber-pregged, but that'll never happen. And even if it did, I wouldn't give a shit. However, 141, 360,000 people HAVE given enough of a shit to watch her video. Wow.

Arnold "The Austrian Oak With A Root In Guatemala" Schwarzenegger made a deposit in the family account of a non-family member. He fathered a child with a woman he was not married to, but paid to take care of stuff around his mansion/house prior to being voted in as The Man Who Would Finally Destroy California. Apparently this revelation was brought to Maria "Inward Shrinking" Shriver and she decided to get what's left of her dignity and ass outta the house. Arnold's a known philanderer (Austrian for "serial dong depositor"). And even if he wasn't, I wouldn't give a shit.

There's an old saying that goes "If you don't have anything nice to say, start a blog." Well here it is. I have to find whatever that line is between "Not Judging Others" and "Disinterest In Whether Or Not Most Of Everyone Else is Alive." Maybe it's the pending Rapture (did you buy tickets? REPENT!) or age or the desire to see the lead BA of this project I was put on get publicly embarrassed, but something's amiss. Unless I'm freaking out and angry, I'm not happy. Anger motivates me, inspires me, impregnates me with a syrupy-hot goo that builds a sac of embryonic disgust, birthing-forth in an ass-tearing avalanche of comedic preciousness.

So unless I start caring again about people I don't give a shit about, I'm going to be happy, and that makes me miserable.

Rebecca Black - "Friday"

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Day Dream Job

I always have loved stand-up comedy. Some of my earliest memories are seeing Steve Martin, arrow through his head, goofin' it up on stage and watching a room full of adults cracking up about it. The people on TV were loving him. He looked like he was loving it right back. That looked like a lot of fun. It wired me, perhaps, to "get" comedy. It tuned my Sense of Humor. Like how blindness accentuates the other senses, or a how dullness of taste excites one's love of Daughtry's music or buffet dining when not in Vegas, my Sense of Humor has always been prominent.

What the hell does it matter? Why pursue COMEDY as a hobby, career, second job, or passion? To make people laugh? I don't like people all that much, in a general sense. As dumb as I project most of them to be, almost every audience I've performed in front of has been nearly 100% people. And I'm supposed to make THEM laugh? They expect me to give them some sort of levity from an existence that is routine, by rote, a rut from their mid-twenties until they go cold and limp in a chair 4 years and one Easter dinner after retiring from Accounts Receivable. And honestly, who deserves it more than them?

I pursue comedy for the same reason some people pursue celebrity cupcake-making, or giving it their all as a Real Housewife on TV.... they have bills to pay and demand attention.

I kid.

I can't NOT be funny. At work, in line for coffee, on the phone with a customer service rep (even if English is one of their top two languages), with doctors... Funny happens with me. And I feel blessed to be able to do what I do, get paid for it, enjoy it, and have strangers enjoy it, also. It's not always great.
Sometimes it sucks. Sometimes I hit a stage without any energy at all and have to be professionally pushing myself to be a bit louder and more animated until I finally HIT with the audience. Non-comedians know it as "every single day." But it is my passion and I can't NOT do it. I no longer question "why" our society - American, that is - has shows that embrace what seem to be waste-of-time pursuits, either. I get it.

Honestly, do we need a SINGLE show on TV, paid-for by advertising and cable bills, that solves the ages-old dilemma of whose group is the most dynamic at dancing? DANCING. If it keeps the kids off the streets and out of malls, great. And they love it. Perhaps they'll learn to appreciate other people's creative passions and shut the fuck up at a comedy club and not send useless text messages while the comedian is talking about how dumb young people are.

But the other part is that until it all clicks, The Passion pays dick. Especially if you're married and have a kid and a mortgage and other things you wanna do. While those inspire comedy, and work, and love, and provision, and Life, they also require a finely-tuned management of schedule that usually escapes most comedians. I've been a lazy joke-sack for a couple of months. And that's not something I love about comedy. It doesn't need me as much as I need it. Until I go to an open mic and hope the audience doesn't think comedy doesn't need me. Because, wow, some people are better off just judging comedy instead of doing it.

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Conference Calls - The Townsquare of Corporate Life

If you have ever had a corporate lifestyle, this video will resonate in a painfully funny way.
* late-joiners
* non-mutes
* roll-call
* miskeyed re-joiners
* screaming babies
* screaming parents (my favorite in the past includes a budget-planning meeting interrupted by an irate co-worker/dad reminding his kids that they were to "TAKE THAT SHIT INTO THE GARAGE, DAMMIT!")

Enjoy!



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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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What Twitter Is

If you're wondering about what Twitter is, you're likely well-versed in things other than the latest how the internet is using all 9 hands to shovel your free time (i.e. bandwidth) into its gaping pipeline. Frankly, I'm not sure what Twitter is, NOW. I know what it was intended for. But like every piece of technology, from the wheel of cheese to the atomic bomb, idiots get their stinky fingers on it and skew the intended use of it.

There's a "trending" section in Twitter that states what people are talking about. By adding a "#" to the beginning of a word or words, Twitter begins logging which words are "#"ed and sees that "trend" and makes a "list" of who "is" tweeting about the topic. For example, "#GeoffLottIsAnAss" should, but won't, make the top 10 topics.

So the sociological aspect of Twitter is found in that you can see who is using it by looking at the Trending Topics. Twitter is a way for people to feel that other people are hanging on their every word. So yes, it's narcissistic - unlike blogs, which are almost narcissistic but mostly masturbatory. It's more take than give. (thank you)

And by looking at microcosms of society you get to see snapshots of what the "hoi polloi" think, feel, speak of, and want to have sex with.

Here are some recent high-points under the topic "That's Why You Hate Me"

• I'm not the fAther of ur baby #ThatsWhyYouHateMe (he may not understand "hate")
• i took a shit when you were in the shower &#ThatsWhyYouHateMe ever seen a grown man cry <#funniestshitever #epic #smh (this was from a woman)
• I tell you the reality of ur life and#thatswhyyouhateme.. bt come 2 think of it, do u really hate me or are u just angry at the truth..lol (did you really just Laugh Out Loud and need to document it?)
• I ghost hunt to get your Boo snatched#ThatsWhyYouHateMe (I have no clue...)
• 'Cause I can't do nothing right#thatswhyyouhateme (such as construct sentences)
• I see myself as a superior being #ThatsWhyYouHateMe But I'm don't a superior being (thanks for clarifying)

There are times I hop in the top trends to tweet to the idiots who may be reading it, and that shows what I think of myself and the people trending: They're dumb, and I am better than them, but not secure enough to not tell them, so I have to let them know in they own language, whaaaat?

So that's Twitter: A snapshot of short thoughts thrown into the webosphere by people with nothing better to do. That must suck.

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On Being Offended Easily

Hey folks, somebody may have been offended at some of the language I use in these blogs, on stage, and in line at Swapper John's. First off, remember that I label myself in this writing as a Comedian-Writer-Raconteur. I don't delve into Hallmark'ian, milquetoast Life-philosophies to pander to people looking for inspiration from Oprah and/or Dr. Phil. Sometimes my language, in text and tongue, can slide toward the "inappropriate for the funeral" end of the spectrum.

So here's the deal.

Some people are easily offended. They are looking to be offended. They are finding things in the world to be offended by, and if they aren't offended, they'll surely let everybody else know why THEY should be offended by it. By proxy, they'll also attempt to inculcate the morality of being offended, in case you think you're too good, too mature, or not the target of the arrow of offense.

If somebody stands in the middle of the street and screams for the beheadings of all DIPSHITS, FARTLOADS, and F*CKTARDS... well I'm going to think she's not talking to me because I don't see myself as any of those. At least not on a regular basis. In fact, I'd likely ask her if she needs help or to sit for a second and get some electrolytes balanced out. But I am surely NOT going to rush to this blog and tell people that the aforementioned unsavories should all rise in revolt against this woman who is clearly hoping we pass a national health care bill instead of sanctioning the incredibly heavy-handed Insurance Cabals.

So when it comes to being offended, rarely is it my intent to offend anybody. And if any of my defense mechanisms were to spring up and I say or do something that offends a person who I discern as a threat, then they SHOULD be offended. I draw a rather tight perimeter as to what I will offended or threatened by, so if I feel threatened, yes, you have gotten closer to me than most folks would have allowed without a low-inside leg kick.

So if ever I express myself and you deem it offensive, please understand that Offense was not my intent. I was merely expressing myself on a topic I felt strongly about. Because if I don't stand up for the F*CKTARDS and those who aren't easily offended, well... they'll have to get their own blogs.

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#700 - Of Music & Inspirations Addicting

I get on kicks, jags for music that people shout at me to check out. People I trust. 5 years after Killorn! turned me on to Muse, I'm finally entrenched in their "Absolution" CD. It's been on repeat in my car for 3 weeks, until being elbowed-aside recently by The Reigning Monarchs. I'm not even much of Surfabilly poseur, but shooooot if I don't dig TRM.

On this, my #700th blogiversary, I wanted to share 2 other items of musical empowerment that are just all over my fancakes right now. I have found much more inspiration for my writing and performing in tones and tunes than in voice and speech. Something about the pacing of these 2 songs - and by all means PLEASE SHARE YOUR FAVE TUNES IN THE COMMENTS! as I am ever looking for a louder trumpet - gives me want to jump up and down with a passion normally reserved for a 6'9" athlete slam-dunking. NO, not a big triumph, but it looks cool and after all, we must be sure to Represent.

So here are 2 videos, about 15min of entertainment for you. Come back to them if you like.

If you are a guitar player, you'll dig the first one to the Gth degree. John Butler's solo version of his instrumental "Ocean," live. Saw it for the 1st time 2 days ago. Incredible groove.

John Butler Trio - "Ocean"

Want Funk, pianos, smoove vocals, and short hits? GET IT HERE with "Audience."

Cold War Kids "Audience"

>I'm out. ENJOY.

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I Have To Be Honest-er. More Honest. For Real.

I admit to rarely watching any other comedians that are Big Names, in hopes that I don't become too influenced by their style, tone, or themes. After watching Marc Maron last night, I found myself wandering the halls of my mind looking for doors I have yet to open, for whatever reasons.

"If you're talented and you're not successful, there may be something inside you
that is keeping you from being successful, and sadly, it might be your talent."

A facet of provocative, memorable creativity is to be freed by it, both in expressing it and taking it in. The same can be said of kissing. And a number of other things that you'll have to go to a different website to peruse... Ew.

Marc Maron's willingness to express parts of his life is more than comedic; it's cathartic, cauterizing, and non-caloric. It certainly was inspiring to hear what he talks about, from his (dis)abilities with relationships, his pet choice being cats, and Consciousness On All Levels being the number one enemy to Happiness. And he calls himself out as his own worst enemy on a moment-to-moment basis. That's the beauty. Nobody's innocent, especially the one meting out the punishment.

I guess it's a reminder that I have plenty to draw from in my life for comedy, but to make it Funny for a stage could take time. Perhaps it's not stage-ready and could be a blog or five. Feeling one way or another is what sparks the M-80 before I cram it into a slingshot. If I don't care, I don't share. The same can be said of kissing. So my comedy is not totally unlike kissing, I guess. It comes from a place of emotion, sharing, passion, and uncontrolled intake of codeine cough syrup.

Why challenge my own status quo? Why work harder at anything? This whole idea of a goal being set and achieved is something I haven't done in a while. And that shit's gotta stop.

Or else I'll just open a cupcake boutique. Those are pretty popular.

Funny Blabbit

You want jokes?
Here ya go....

SWINE FLU recently captured our attention as a nation on the verge of giving a shit.
The entire news network machine could have told us ANYTHING at that point, and we'd have believed it and done it to keep ourselves alive to get to the of this recession and buy a gun and move to the hills.
Our media machine F'ed up BIG TIME.
Wash my hands and Cover my mouth when I cough?
WTF is THAT? Your advice to the world is to act like the kind of adult we should already be?
What about tacking on something we can USE?

1. Cover your mouth when you cough
2. Wash your filthy hands frequently, pig-toucher
3. Stay away from pigs unless "Pig" is in your job title or "the Pig" is your Mistress's nickname for you, as in "Shitcake the Pig."
   
4. Stop putting your empty shopping cart in an empty parking space you lazy shitcake pig.
5. Don't use the "N" word, even in private, nor in "quotation fingers."
   

Our media sucks H1N1 bawlz.
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Kid wanted to party at his girlfriend's High School Prom. The kid went to a very conservative/Draconian Christian Mindbending Compound doubling as a school, and was told he'd be suspended if he attended the prom. It would be his experiencing things "counterculture" to his school's beliefs that would get him Red-Lettered with a big "S" for "Suspended," and more accurately "Sinner."

Like all of us are.
I can't see how this kid could stand the torment. Being suspended from the worlds most-boring school for the simple fact of Dancing!(gasp), hand-touching(MORNING AFTER PILL, NOW!), and hearing music that is NOT a hymn of any sort.

If I were that Christian boy's father, I'd march down to that Christian High School, into the Christian Principal's office, and punch him directly in his religious sojourner's bag. THAT will how we make decisions based on God's call for love and sharing of our gifts.

Sometimes Christians make me so mad I just want to tell them Santa Claus IS real.
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Big News!

Things are going better every day here in the City of Angels.

The past weekend of shows at Parlor Live, in case you didn't make it out, were Awe-and-then-some. It was a riot to come back to the homegrounds and play for a new group of people, and to work with the ever-hysterical Collin Moulton. That guy's good for any type of comedy. Political, goofy, smart, weird, he's got it all. And he can choke you out.

Majorly big Thanks! to all of you who came to the shows. We're working on getting back there in a few months. And if you're in a part of the country other than Seattle, let me know you want me to come see you, and I'll dial it up for your local club!

Other news!
I'm finishing The Book soon. It's been a couple years in the making, but it's going to be a great piece to get out to the world. Based on three influential experiences of my life (2 books + 10 years in corporate america), this book is for anybody who has ever worked in an office, worked as a Consultant/Contractor, and thought to themselves... "I must have done something awful in a previous life."
The goal of the book is to get it out there on the cheap, sell a ton of copies, and to do some touring behind it, sell it like crazy to big companies, and bring levity to a world where the workplace is sometimes the cause and cure of our ills. IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN HEARING MORE ABOUT THIS BOOK, EMAIL ME! I want to start building a group to push the book!

Los Angeles Comedy Festival! I have two nights at the Festival this year. Hopefully we'll bring a good number if Industry gangstas into the shows. This is my first "big" show in LA, and I'm excited to knock this thing outta the park.

And if you ain't heard yet... we're having a baby!

Stay funny, stay awesome, stay positive. It's gonna work out.

AND I NEED A JOB, so if you're a company looking to hire somebody smart, who knows how to be a team-player and will kick much ass... let me know, would ya?

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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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It's Part Of The Gig

I just heard a great line from Matt Furey, who may have heard it elsewhere, but...
"Nothing bad ever happens to a Writer. It's all just more Material." So very true. The more I've embraced my Purpose of putting all the hot, joke-on-joke humor I can into the world, the less stress I've had in life. It's all part of the gig, Life. Job goes weird, c0-worker drives you nuts, club-owner shorts your money, hotel's not expecting you, hooker dies in your tub (not your hooker), cat craps in the tub, buddy has no clue of their own narcissism and toxicity, it's all Soul Food.



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Blog 600! Gotta Do What Ya Gotta Do

There was a time when I thought to myself, "there's no way he's going to make it to the next rooftop." He did, by the way. I still can't believe he did, but squirrels are very athletic, with high degrees of Athleticism, which is a word a sportscaster made up to sound as though he had a high level of intelligism.

Life, as I've learned, is not a lineal path from Point A (your mother's "baby garden") to Point B (3rd Grade) to Point C (Cryogenic Head Reanimation). Oh no, it's not. It's lot of twists and turns. Like a river, filled with some rocks, some rolls, some backfat, some babyPhat, and some bodies. And I'm the water. In MY life, I mean, I'm the water, you are your own water.

Whatever it is you're planning on doing, stop planning and start doing. PLanning is NOT work, mmkay? It's been documented frequently - and perhaps to my detriment - on how many issues I had in corporative Americanus. Meetings, for one, were rarely places that work got done. They usually set up other meetings because some dipshit who called the meeting "Necessary" didn't make it. Likely in another meeting about their love of eating crapwiches and mustard shakes.

I now embrace my personality and creativity. For a looooooooong time - longer for my teachers - I was told to sit on those things, take them outside, or disallow their development. Well, NOW, I get to use them as a way to make money. A lot of money, I hope. Money's just a tool to build other things with, don't frown upon my desire to prosper and develop a robot to crush the dreams of my foes. Both of them.

So whatever it is that feeds your Zen belly, get the heaping handfuls you want and cram them inna yo face. I, at times, have to remind myself that "this is water," for you D.F. Wallace fans, and that I'm where I'm s'posed to be at this point in life. No, the money's not rolling in right now. There aren't agents knocking at my door. I don't have a big deal to sign tomorrow morning. These aren't things to discourage me, however. These are MOTIVATORS. And if I do what I'm supposed to do, which is different for everyone, then it will happen. And if it doesn't, so help me Bob Bledsoe, I will call a meeting.

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Well CRAP, I Guess I'm a Nice Guy

We're gonna elect a new president tomorrow. Like it or not.
Along with that is a bevy of local votes that will determine everything from the cost of imported milk to legalizing prostitution, or "Consulting."

Many people have asked me recently, "Sir... was that you?"
Sorry. Dairy issues.

I have ideas on the Issues. And here I will pontificate on them...
IN PUBLIC.

First, I must go throw laundry in. I AM ON A SCHEDULE.

I am a good guy. When you're a "good guy," and genuinely so, which I really try to act like I am, people can sense it. You know who can sense it? People who are more open to the auras and energies of other people. And you know who they are?
Crazies.
Not the jarred-poop-collecting crazies (some of it their own).
Not the squalor-induced craziness crazies.
Not the GOD WARRIOR crazies, hello Margeurite Perrin. Who wouldn't want to sit down in a praise service next to this angel in support hosiery?

JEEEEEEZUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS!

See, when you're a good guy, and told you are by a number of people under various levels of medical supervision, they feel they have a safe place to talk about what's on their mind. And what's on their mind revolves around three things.

1. The "government" (always mentioned with quotation fingers)
   
2. The Shadow Government (always mentioned by pointing to the "SG" tattoo on their palm)
3. Health-related issues, usually ear canals or bowel obstructions caused by antibiotics

The old saying "Nice Guys Finish Last" is because a nice guy stopped for a glass of water while helping his cousin move a cartload of figs, and the water vendor started in about how the sun god Zoalu was taking away his daughter's desire to work through the night as a plow-puller. The Nice Guy's cousin made it on to the market over the next 2 hours, while the vendor never stopped fucking talking about his daughter's ailments, which, these days, would be attributed to syphillis, if not "too much mung." And the Nice Guy, no matter how far away he inched from the conversation, nor tried to return to reading his Entertainment Weekly, if only to get ideas for his next haircut - because he LOVES Daniel Craig's crop - well the Nice Guy just couldn't get away from it. Because the vendor needed to talk.

And to kvetch about the whole thing must fashion a few layers off the niceness, right? My intent is always pure; I enjoy the stories of others, sometimes watching as they go high into the wall and just keep the throttle open while the tires blow and the flames fly high. And right when I think to myself "What am I getting out of this?" I have to remind myself that I can read Mickey Rourke's comeback story anytime. What I get out of it is what you're reading.

So while I have to search for Daniel Craig pics to take to a barber instead of just taking the coffee-shop's EW with me, I am only minorly annoyed at the extra work. I could have found those pics by now.

But it's not every day that somebody wants to bet you their van, parked RIGHT THERE SAME SPOT EVERY DAY, that by this time next week, we'll be under Martial Law. Try for THAT at your Star'sBucks.

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Lotts Angeles II

Absolute craziness.

We quit jobs, rented our condo out, and moved. 2 states and 1400 miles away. The only thing that’s the same is the time zone. It’s safe to say that cultures are clashing outside our door in Culver City.

Moving to Los Angeles is about energy, opportunity, and adventure. I had this feeling hit me when we really thought about this move, a feeling while sitting at my desk at my job that felt like a comfortable jacket. A jacket I could wear daily. Even when it went out of style. And that feeling of comfort drove our decisions. That Seattle is a place of finite opportunity for a writer/comic/actor to make a living as any of those is an understatement. I know only a couple of comics in Seattle who only do stand-up, but they are well-known, well-respected, and could close any room in the country. But it will be years before I’m there, and I don’t have years to make things come true. I have what feels like a few months.

And that’s what I need. Drive. Deadline. Accleration. I had coffee with a friend yesterday who has been here 5 years. He’s connected. He’s knowledgeable. He’s funny. He’s sincere, and sincerely a great guy. Two hours with him put me probably 18 months ahead of schedule in LA. Irons are just going into the fire, but I cannot wait to start pounding for the craft, whatever it is.

But why do it? Why shake up my comfort level, and that of my wife, especially? I have never felt more selfish, more unhinged, nor less in-control than through all of this. But what I think I’ve lost control of is “Life.” I know that Life, to progress on a larger level, a more evolved level, is about taking care of others. But this, this seems like it's squirming in my grasp.

CHECK OUT MY BIG THROBBING EGO.

Like I have any control over that? Ten years ago I was, on this day, getting released from Harborview, a week after getting admitted, a few hours after getting slammed into by a drug addict on a financed Harley-Davidson. My left leg in bandages and stitches, wrapped around bruises and shattered bones, encasing a titanium rod, 9 screws, and a small plate. That’s what I get for crossing the street at 10 in the morning on a clear, gorgeous September day.

What I feel I’ve lost control of I haven’t ever had in my grasp. Life is that fishbowl we don’t know we’re in. Life is just part of the gig. But what I DO have control over, I’m figuring out and really trying to apply, are the following things:

• My reactions to situations in Life
• How I treat people, all people, in any situation
• What I do with my free time
• What I do with my Gifts
• What I say to people, and how I say it
• How I treat myself in the wake of disappointment, or achievements
• When and where and how loudly I break wind (I don’t “pass gas,” I blow heartily)
• How I give thanks and praise and worship the God that put me here with these Gifts

That’s all mine. I can only control that. I can’t control the guy with the attitude at the Culver City Target. Hell, if I were 38 and working there, I wouldn’t want to see ANYBODY, let alone some white boy returning an unused camping mattress.

I can’t control the people whistling at my wife as we walk down the street. I deplore their decorum, though I appreciate their taste in women. Still, they should be sat down and given a stern talking to with a ball-peen hammer and a socket wrench.

And those things all constitute My Piece of Life. A dear friend and Mentor told me that in LA, “It’s not that they think you’re not a fish in the pond; they don’t even want you to think you’re a fish!” Funny thing is…

I didn’t move to LA to “make it” in LA.
I moved to LA to “make it” everywhere else. And I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing with my life.

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On Our Way To Greatness

Wishing dearly that I could pour out a wide swath of dramatic text to encapsulate all that I wish to leave behind in Seattle as we move to Los Angeles... I just cannot do so.

Only because we've been so incredibly blessed with the love and support of so many great people, from family to friends to the local baristas who know us better than some friends know us. Regrets come from what you don't do, usually. At least those that haunt you as you awake, and rise to meet the afternoon.

I have so much more to do and learn about comedy, but perhaps it's really more about the evolution of myself as a person that I'm excited about. Growth and progress make me very, very happy, even if it's not my own. The creativity I express and see in others motivates me. It's that part of being Human, I think, that is the true missing link between us and those couple of cousins we each have... yes, THOSE cousins... wherein our minds realize something New is Good, especially because we can all share in the growth of the Mind.

In other words, Dear Readers, after asking my wife to uproot her life and move to Los Angeles-adjacent - and her calling my bluff - we're going with Intent and Drive. Can't wait to see where we'll be a year from now!

I AM SO FRIGGING TIRED.
We leave in the morning. Grant's Pass, then San Fran, then LA.

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Two & A Half Minutes

Can somebody please contact me if you watch the CBS shitcom "Two & A Half Men"? I'm trying to expand my list of places to tactically air-strike suggest for special rewards.

I have yet to watch that show and say "Yes, that was funny." It's been on for like 9 years, I don't know a single person who watches it. At least, I hope I don't.

The other night I watched 30 seconds of it. Then the hot chick on the stairmaster went in the other room and I snapped back to reality, covered in a cold sweat and just leeetle bit o' pee. Hopefully, mine.

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