You know what I can't stand, that I'm hearing a lot of lately? People answering their own questions.
= = =
The toughest jury duty will be placed on the shoulders of the folks hearing the Michael Jackson trial that kicks off today. They will have to return a verdict of either "Guilty" or "Holy CRAP This Weirdo's Guilty!"
= = =
Something for all comics and speakers to be conscious of when using a microphone:
Use of "uh," and "ya know." The more I perform and write the more I realize how strong communication is when it's clear and minimalized. Set-up, Punchline, Tag, NEXT. I just heard 4 guys who are professional broadcasters interview Terrell Owens of the Philiadelphia Eagles on Media Day prior to Sunday's Super Bowl. The interviewers threw in "uh" 38 times in 7 questions. Terrell Owens, who is a professional athlete, so... yeah... answered with at least 24 "ya know"s over a period of 3 minutes of speaking. Why don't those ever show up in the paper?
= = =
Talking, Walking, Balking
This past weekend's showdown of comedic giants went to Drew Barth, your 8th Annual Giggles Laugh-Off Champion. I came in 3rd. Second place went to the same guy who got 2nd last year. I can't really complain. The truth is that if any of us were that consistently great, he wouldn't have gotten 2nd, nor been in the Finals at all. I went out and did the best I could with the material I love the most. Friday night's first set was a monster. My recording of it was great. My second set followed Mr. 2nd Place's "3rd Annual Ballot Tantrum," and my telling him and another comic to quit fighting, and quit comedy if they weren't going to enjoy doing it. After that I was holding back from telling the crowd about all the BS that just happened between the 2 guys they'd see after me. I chose against it. It roiled inside of me, but I went with my material instead of making fun of the guys who turned a comedy club into a high school locker room. I was hoping they would just start kicking each other in the prop bags. It was the least fun I've ever had in comedy.
If you can't laugh at yourself, especially as a comic, then others will laugh at you. Saturday night we were talking about how it's more difficult for us (comics) to accept compliments than derision. Perhaps we're masochistically inclined, and getting laughs is our way of proving wrong those who doubt us. I think it's quite funny when I hear the flap someone has said of me. I'm far from a perfect person, but sometimes it's just a matter of accepting that others will say what they like, as opposed to accepting what they're saying. It's often much easier to drop a put-down than it is to pay a compliment, for whatever reason. I wonder if the negativity of the masochism allows incoming derision to roll off, much like similar polarities. The negativity of machismo, on the other pinky-ringed hand, allows for positive things like laying down a good dis or cooking my tires at stop signs. Or perhaps it's that we don't care about who puts us down, since it's usually those we already have little to no respect for, negating the substance of their speech.
My previous blog had some comments to it that were solid, but one that I disagree with, in part, is that it is the "nature of comics" to "talk shit." I would say it's in the nature of insecure people, a group that certainly counts a number of comics in the roster. Considering it's easier for us to accept a put-down, maybe that's how we talk to each other?
I'm positive I have done it, sometimes in Blog format. I've probably hurt some feelings, too, and that's a crappy thing for me to do. If you can't say anything nice, blog it? It is my shortcoming, as opposed to my nature, to speak in such a manner. It's a decision I usually DON'T make that leads to my speaking poorly of others, as opposed to an involuntary action like the smoking and drinking. The thoughts may be there, but the conscious decision to verbalize a negative thought is one that I have the maturity, and wisdom, to decide against. I've certainly been teased and picked on enough in life to know better. Ribbing my buddies is one thing, we know we mean nothing by it and the intent is the laugh. Talking shit about strangers and non-enemies is old school, as in Jr. and High.
I'm actively trying harder to hold it back, because it's a situation of running up some Karmic debt, and I'd rather concern myself with my own act. I hope that it's an arrow that eventaully falls out of my quiver. It's not as if being critical of acts that don't hack mine or bump mine from important shows gets me anywhere or makes me look cool. I don't have to love or like everyone, and I accepted a long time ago that more than a few departments of people don't jibe with me. Instead of "picking my battles," I find it better to not engage on battlefields where there's nothing of value to be won. Not every call-out has a point. Some folks just like to hear themselves talk. Plus I'm 31, and I want to keep becoming the kind of person I would like to hang out with, as long as I quit borrowing money from myself.
Here's a shocker: The universe runs on action-reaction. Deny that, and you may as well deny that you are currently breathing or doubting your own existence. Ping. Pong. Right. Left. Setup. Silence. Save. Laughter. What I consistently do is who I am. Okay, I black out during every full moon and wake up in tattered clothes near an empty, bloody chicken coop, but I am conscious of it. Sometimes it's what I decide to NOT do, like deride a non-influential person, or win a comedy competition, or wear that shirt with those chaps, that teaches me the lesson I needed to learn. I'm not too old to learn new tricks.
Speaking of new tricks, here's a funny one. In spell-checking this entry, Blogger.com's spell-check tool returned "blog" as an unknown word. The machines have yet to become self-aware. Thank you T2 and young John Connor... Thank you.
---------------------------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Geoff Lott: Comedian, Writer, Philosoteur. I am here to amuse you, not entertain you. If not now, later. If not you, somebody else. If you can't laugh at yourself, that's just fine, too. I will do it for you.
Monday, January 31, 2005
Friday, January 28, 2005
I'm A Little Tense About the Voting
The past 6 months have not bode well for elections. Whether it's Ohio's hog-tied Reddening or Chris "6 Years And I'm Outta This Closet!" Gregoire's arguing that NO NO NO SHE IS THE GOVERNOR, Democracy has been kicked gut-flush. Sunday will mark Iraq's election, and their voter turnout, much like ours, is going to be violently dictated by a radical religious regime known as Hollywood. Sorry Dems, we lost because Kerry wasn't ready to be President, but nobody told him that. And for crying out loud.... Jackson Browne???
ANYway, tonight and tomorrow are the last 2 nights of the Giggles Laugh-Off. I made the finals, as did Brad Brake, Scott Black, Geoff Brousseau, DL, Andy Peters, Owen Straw, and Drew Barth. With all these candidates, we're all running on different platforms. Turns out that some of those platforms aren't funny as far as funny pertains to originality and ability. So I figure it this way... I'm not doing the contest. I'm going to do comedy. I am bringing a good attitude to it, and I'll go with the flow of the night. Besides, being judged by a roomful of half-drunk strangers who don't see the nuances of a good performance reminds me too much of family reunions. The nuances, by the way, can be found tucked between the knacks and the vigor.
Good Comedy tells ya what's going on without telling you what's going on. It's all pulled from a section of life and hopefully, if the comic's any good, there's a new perspective on it. And if not, well, it takes all kinds, even if they use unscientific terms to relate tales of bodily functions.
========
In response to Anonymous:
Your self-diagnosed paranoia is well-founded. People are talking about you when you're not around. They're saying you are paranoid, as you hot-stack it with unearned self-righteousness. And from all accounts, you are continuing to talk about others in modes of gossip and half-truths, so you've again proven yourself as little more than a mosquito.
Rumors, gossip, half-truths, politicking, whatever it's called, it's really odd to hear about. I'm not sure what it is because I, and most others, have quit watching a while ago.
Insanity: Repeating behavior patterns while expecting different results each time.
Good luck with that.
========
Another good way to make it look like you earn too much money is to send e-mails like the one I received from a "manager" yesterday at 4:30pm:
Hi Goeff!
Could you send me by tomorrow a list of the techs for Call Centers in 2004? I want to show our coverage for the work we did in 2004 by the techs for Call Centers! And can I get that by tomorrow afternoon?
Thanks!
Now, I have edited out some of the more work-propietary stuff, but the rest of this communiqué met the sender's standards for requesting information. My name's misspelled (even though it's in the address line and we've worked together before), we have 5 types of Call Centers, and "tech" is a title bestowed upon employees in no less than 15 different teams. "Afternoon" means WHEN, exactly? Redundancy aside, I hope you can understand what kind of people it takes to run a company directly into the ground.
==========
In the meantime, Tony Moser finds his muse.
==========
Is anybody blogging anymore? So much for creativity.
==========
ake Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
ANYway, tonight and tomorrow are the last 2 nights of the Giggles Laugh-Off. I made the finals, as did Brad Brake, Scott Black, Geoff Brousseau, DL, Andy Peters, Owen Straw, and Drew Barth. With all these candidates, we're all running on different platforms. Turns out that some of those platforms aren't funny as far as funny pertains to originality and ability. So I figure it this way... I'm not doing the contest. I'm going to do comedy. I am bringing a good attitude to it, and I'll go with the flow of the night. Besides, being judged by a roomful of half-drunk strangers who don't see the nuances of a good performance reminds me too much of family reunions. The nuances, by the way, can be found tucked between the knacks and the vigor.
Good Comedy tells ya what's going on without telling you what's going on. It's all pulled from a section of life and hopefully, if the comic's any good, there's a new perspective on it. And if not, well, it takes all kinds, even if they use unscientific terms to relate tales of bodily functions.
========
In response to Anonymous:
Your self-diagnosed paranoia is well-founded. People are talking about you when you're not around. They're saying you are paranoid, as you hot-stack it with unearned self-righteousness. And from all accounts, you are continuing to talk about others in modes of gossip and half-truths, so you've again proven yourself as little more than a mosquito.
Rumors, gossip, half-truths, politicking, whatever it's called, it's really odd to hear about. I'm not sure what it is because I, and most others, have quit watching a while ago.
Insanity: Repeating behavior patterns while expecting different results each time.
Good luck with that.
========
Another good way to make it look like you earn too much money is to send e-mails like the one I received from a "manager" yesterday at 4:30pm:
Hi Goeff!
Could you send me by tomorrow a list of the techs for Call Centers in 2004? I want to show our coverage for the work we did in 2004 by the techs for Call Centers! And can I get that by tomorrow afternoon?
Thanks!
Now, I have edited out some of the more work-propietary stuff, but the rest of this communiqué met the sender's standards for requesting information. My name's misspelled (even though it's in the address line and we've worked together before), we have 5 types of Call Centers, and "tech" is a title bestowed upon employees in no less than 15 different teams. "Afternoon" means WHEN, exactly? Redundancy aside, I hope you can understand what kind of people it takes to run a company directly into the ground.
==========
In the meantime, Tony Moser finds his muse.
==========
Is anybody blogging anymore? So much for creativity.
==========
ake Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
I Think I Have It Figured Out. Don't Move...
Calling someone an "asshole" is appropriate when they are full of crap or hot air.
If you're thinking you don't have to cooperate with the police, here's what fun is in store for you. And yeah, it's funny
Jet propulsion works by sucking air in, heating the bejeezus out of it, and forcing it out the back end. The expulsion propels you forward at anywhere from 4 - 2,100 mph. I want a little jet engine on my car, along with Venturi channels to lower the CG through turns.
You can't hire robots to do your work. Robots don't interview well, and forget trying to get them to do paper work.
You're going to have a bad day if the first words of the morning are "Man... that's a lot of throw-up."
The term "ass-less chaps" is both egregious and incorrect. All chaps are "assless." That's what makes them chaps. Otherwise, thems are pants. Okay, pants with the front cut out, but nobody talks about "crotchless chaps." If you're willing to wear chaps, you don't care if you get some sun on the groceries, eh fella?
Ashlee Simpson is an amazingly well-trained karaoke talent, with sub-par looks and no natural ability. I bet part of her brain complains that she "has to work all the time" while her friends have it easy going to college. She's a pack of Kools away from a brutish parking-lot tongue-bath at the whim of Lil Bow-Wow. I don't want her to die, just to lose the ability to vocalize anything.
Magnetic propulsion, people... keep your eyes and stock options on it. Bullet trains. Bullet cars. Bullet... shoes? Well, whatever it is, someone will try and sell you a blinking battery for it.
I saw a sticker on a car this morning that made me want to wretch after throwing poop on the car after wretching on it. The car is a black, 1996-98'ish BMW 540i, driven by a co-worker whom I happen to know is 25 at the most. It is parked far away from other cars in the lot, which only entices me to park as close to is as I possibly can.
His sticker is a black background, with a 2"-high, white W, with smaller letters beneath it that say The President.
This is the same guy who got his initials tattooed on his ankle when he was 20.
At first I thought the guy was just another parentally-blinded Republican who is worried about his inheritance more than his individuality. I know him well enough to tell you that he knows less about politics than your average devotee of "The O.C." He wears shirts buttoned to his Adam's Assle - even without a tie - accompanied by a pretty sweet bracelet. I was dead sure this guy was buying his personality out of a 1999 issue of "Future PromiseKeepers Monthly."
Then I realized, no, I just hate grown men who go by their initials.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers are a great band. I like the music of theirs that I don't even like. "Knock Me Down" was my introduction to them. I heard "Scar Tissue" this morning. I think it would be enlightening to play music with them or surf with Anthony Kiedis for a day.
I wish I could surf. I'll have to find another way to bait sharks and bank robbers who don masks of former Presidents.
The Violent Femmes are the most over-rated band of all time. Each time I hear the de-tuned plunking of "Blister In The Sun" I want to leg-sweep every ''WOOOOO''ing, head-lolling, hand-raising 23 year-old "rebel" chick with the fervor of every "YEAAAAH"ing, head-lolling, hand-raising 32 year-old "artsy" guy trying to slip inside that sleeping bag. If you like the Violent Femmes, you can look forward to acid flashbacks and a lot of slimming clothes, at least in color.
Quick question... Should I still be Raging against The Machine, or are we cool? I figured my rage would draw attention to me, making it more difficult to bring it down with subversion... so... yeah. RAAAAH and what-not. Rage. Grr.
I was asked to perform comedy at a High School, and I couldn't do it. There's no way I could go in there and not launch into a speech about how every single one of those kids should get their GED and leave behind the BS that is High School. But then the teachers would be pissed at me for emptying their dating pool.
Dat Phan isn't funny.
Margaret Cho isn't funny.
Tina Kim isn't funny.
But I repeatedly repeat myself...
Opinions are like assholes. They are easily defeated when empty and weak.
The more I hear Mitch Hedberg's jokes, the more I realize how easy it is to write in that style of comedy. There are a couple Seattle guys straight-copping Hedberg's act. I can't wait for their chasing of the dragon while making $150 every two weeks as a feature. Is Hedberg washed up? I shouldn't comment as to his cleanliness, but let's hope he takes care of himself long enough for his stellar "Clean & Sober-er Tour" to get cut short by a kite-high feature shooting him in the foot.
According to all eye-witness accounts, Michael Jackson is truly a Smooth Criminal. How F'ed up is that guy? He's Biblically F'ed. Thrown from the mountain F'ed. "Jesus Juice?" How dare he use the name of Jesus to take advantage of young boys. I sure hope he's sought counsel with a priest.
For about 30 minutes this morning I forgot what day it was. I couldn't remember if it was the 27th or the day I swap the neighbor's morning paper with a Polaroid of my exhaust pipe. I know he loves my car, so I toy with him. (see, Hedberg jokes ain't hard)
A guy I work with, who would make David Brent look like William Wallace, apparently has a girlfriend in Bangkok, Thailand. I asked him how she fared with the tsunami, and he said she was fine, and that he's going to visit her in a week, and that he was going to ask her to marry him. I think that's a little weird, but apparently proposing is formality with these mail-order brides. (the first half of the story is totally true, the second half is the mind-crossing thought I had when he mentioned proposing marriage. It's also how my jokes about the tsunami were born. now go back, and close the curtain behind you)
Everyone's got a little kink to 'em, something that turns them on in a way they cannot and should not explain. You'll know what I'm talking about the next time you see someone staring at a sign. You may see "Watch Your Step," but in their head, that person's sucking Rosie O'Donnell's big toes. (thus concludes a thought that grosses-out Chad Roberts on two levels)
Seriously, Alicia, I see a great future for us. I love you, like, ACTIVELY Love you, I can feel it happening as real as I can feel my muscles growing larger than Tony Moser's again. I know my birthday's coming up, but I already have you and I'm so happy, I really can't think of anything else I want. Sorry for cutting the queso in Mexico. And on the phone. These things happen, but let's get past them. That's why I bought those candles :^) I know you say it all the time, but yes, I know that I am all kinds of charming. Really though, I LOOOOOVE You.
Space may be the final frontier, but it's made in a Hollywood basement,
and Cobain can you hear the spheres singing songs off station-to-station,
and Alderaan's not far away, it's Californication.
Star Trek. Kurt Cobain. Princess Leia's home planet. All in 7 seconds of a Chili Peppers song.
The best suggestion I've yet to hear regarding late-Spring activities:
Pony-keg and Kickball in FreBall field on 4th and 43rd. Guys kick opposite foot, 5-innings.
And don't crowd the plate, fruity, I'll buzz your tower.
Killorn O'Neill is, at best, an average from-scratch cake baker, but a kick-ass fount of egregiously hip pop culture knowledge. Good enchiladas, though. Hello crazy dreams.
Geoff & Alicia sittin' in a tree... YOU KIDS QUIT TRYING TO LOOK UP HER SKIRT!!!
My girlfriend teases me a lot because she knows I don't hit women.
Have you ever heard of this guy? Neither has he.
I'm out. See ya.
================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
If you're thinking you don't have to cooperate with the police, here's what fun is in store for you. And yeah, it's funny
Jet propulsion works by sucking air in, heating the bejeezus out of it, and forcing it out the back end. The expulsion propels you forward at anywhere from 4 - 2,100 mph. I want a little jet engine on my car, along with Venturi channels to lower the CG through turns.
You can't hire robots to do your work. Robots don't interview well, and forget trying to get them to do paper work.
You're going to have a bad day if the first words of the morning are "Man... that's a lot of throw-up."
The term "ass-less chaps" is both egregious and incorrect. All chaps are "assless." That's what makes them chaps. Otherwise, thems are pants. Okay, pants with the front cut out, but nobody talks about "crotchless chaps." If you're willing to wear chaps, you don't care if you get some sun on the groceries, eh fella?
Ashlee Simpson is an amazingly well-trained karaoke talent, with sub-par looks and no natural ability. I bet part of her brain complains that she "has to work all the time" while her friends have it easy going to college. She's a pack of Kools away from a brutish parking-lot tongue-bath at the whim of Lil Bow-Wow. I don't want her to die, just to lose the ability to vocalize anything.
Magnetic propulsion, people... keep your eyes and stock options on it. Bullet trains. Bullet cars. Bullet... shoes? Well, whatever it is, someone will try and sell you a blinking battery for it.
I saw a sticker on a car this morning that made me want to wretch after throwing poop on the car after wretching on it. The car is a black, 1996-98'ish BMW 540i, driven by a co-worker whom I happen to know is 25 at the most. It is parked far away from other cars in the lot, which only entices me to park as close to is as I possibly can.
His sticker is a black background, with a 2"-high, white W, with smaller letters beneath it that say The President.
This is the same guy who got his initials tattooed on his ankle when he was 20.
At first I thought the guy was just another parentally-blinded Republican who is worried about his inheritance more than his individuality. I know him well enough to tell you that he knows less about politics than your average devotee of "The O.C." He wears shirts buttoned to his Adam's Assle - even without a tie - accompanied by a pretty sweet bracelet. I was dead sure this guy was buying his personality out of a 1999 issue of "Future PromiseKeepers Monthly."
Then I realized, no, I just hate grown men who go by their initials.
The Red Hot Chili Peppers are a great band. I like the music of theirs that I don't even like. "Knock Me Down" was my introduction to them. I heard "Scar Tissue" this morning. I think it would be enlightening to play music with them or surf with Anthony Kiedis for a day.
I wish I could surf. I'll have to find another way to bait sharks and bank robbers who don masks of former Presidents.
The Violent Femmes are the most over-rated band of all time. Each time I hear the de-tuned plunking of "Blister In The Sun" I want to leg-sweep every ''WOOOOO''ing, head-lolling, hand-raising 23 year-old "rebel" chick with the fervor of every "YEAAAAH"ing, head-lolling, hand-raising 32 year-old "artsy" guy trying to slip inside that sleeping bag. If you like the Violent Femmes, you can look forward to acid flashbacks and a lot of slimming clothes, at least in color.
Quick question... Should I still be Raging against The Machine, or are we cool? I figured my rage would draw attention to me, making it more difficult to bring it down with subversion... so... yeah. RAAAAH and what-not. Rage. Grr.
I was asked to perform comedy at a High School, and I couldn't do it. There's no way I could go in there and not launch into a speech about how every single one of those kids should get their GED and leave behind the BS that is High School. But then the teachers would be pissed at me for emptying their dating pool.
Dat Phan isn't funny.
Margaret Cho isn't funny.
Tina Kim isn't funny.
But I repeatedly repeat myself...
Opinions are like assholes. They are easily defeated when empty and weak.
The more I hear Mitch Hedberg's jokes, the more I realize how easy it is to write in that style of comedy. There are a couple Seattle guys straight-copping Hedberg's act. I can't wait for their chasing of the dragon while making $150 every two weeks as a feature. Is Hedberg washed up? I shouldn't comment as to his cleanliness, but let's hope he takes care of himself long enough for his stellar "Clean & Sober-er Tour" to get cut short by a kite-high feature shooting him in the foot.
According to all eye-witness accounts, Michael Jackson is truly a Smooth Criminal. How F'ed up is that guy? He's Biblically F'ed. Thrown from the mountain F'ed. "Jesus Juice?" How dare he use the name of Jesus to take advantage of young boys. I sure hope he's sought counsel with a priest.
For about 30 minutes this morning I forgot what day it was. I couldn't remember if it was the 27th or the day I swap the neighbor's morning paper with a Polaroid of my exhaust pipe. I know he loves my car, so I toy with him. (see, Hedberg jokes ain't hard)
A guy I work with, who would make David Brent look like William Wallace, apparently has a girlfriend in Bangkok, Thailand. I asked him how she fared with the tsunami, and he said she was fine, and that he's going to visit her in a week, and that he was going to ask her to marry him. I think that's a little weird, but apparently proposing is formality with these mail-order brides. (the first half of the story is totally true, the second half is the mind-crossing thought I had when he mentioned proposing marriage. It's also how my jokes about the tsunami were born. now go back, and close the curtain behind you)
Everyone's got a little kink to 'em, something that turns them on in a way they cannot and should not explain. You'll know what I'm talking about the next time you see someone staring at a sign. You may see "Watch Your Step," but in their head, that person's sucking Rosie O'Donnell's big toes. (thus concludes a thought that grosses-out Chad Roberts on two levels)
Seriously, Alicia, I see a great future for us. I love you, like, ACTIVELY Love you, I can feel it happening as real as I can feel my muscles growing larger than Tony Moser's again. I know my birthday's coming up, but I already have you and I'm so happy, I really can't think of anything else I want. Sorry for cutting the queso in Mexico. And on the phone. These things happen, but let's get past them. That's why I bought those candles :^) I know you say it all the time, but yes, I know that I am all kinds of charming. Really though, I LOOOOOVE You.
Space may be the final frontier, but it's made in a Hollywood basement,
and Cobain can you hear the spheres singing songs off station-to-station,
and Alderaan's not far away, it's Californication.
Star Trek. Kurt Cobain. Princess Leia's home planet. All in 7 seconds of a Chili Peppers song.
The best suggestion I've yet to hear regarding late-Spring activities:
Pony-keg and Kickball in FreBall field on 4th and 43rd. Guys kick opposite foot, 5-innings.
And don't crowd the plate, fruity, I'll buzz your tower.
Killorn O'Neill is, at best, an average from-scratch cake baker, but a kick-ass fount of egregiously hip pop culture knowledge. Good enchiladas, though. Hello crazy dreams.
Geoff & Alicia sittin' in a tree... YOU KIDS QUIT TRYING TO LOOK UP HER SKIRT!!!
My girlfriend teases me a lot because she knows I don't hit women.
Have you ever heard of this guy? Neither has he.
I'm out. See ya.
================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Of Love And Luck
I can't think of anybody other than my girlfriend that I would rather spend time with. If I had a full day to spend with someone I would make arrangements to make sure she was free for the whole day, and that we did whatever we felt like doing.
She is a very hard worker, putting in time with 3 companies and taking a Statistics course, not to mention putting up with my weirdness. She was volunteering until recently, also, as well as moving in with a couple of friends who also happen to be comics. Her time and patience ought to be red-lined, but she trudges on.
I do what I can to make her days easier, whether it's a quick breakfast or leaving the room on a weekend morning and reading on the couch, just so she can sleep in. She challenges me to better myself in ways that will benefit my peace of mind. She sees in me something I don't always see in myself. She appreciates me and all my foibles, which are sometimes loud and corrosive to good moods and bedspreads.
This must be that feeling of "simply knowing" who I am supposed to be with for the rest of my life. It's both a calming and exhilirating feeling, making me want to work harder to provide many great moments in our lives, and realizing that Life can't stop for anyone, so it's time to kick close the doors of the past, and enjoy the game of Chutes and Ladders ahead.
ALS, I love you. Thanks for giving us a chance!
===
"Of course I believe in luck. How else can I justify the fortunes of those I dislike?"
~Old dead guy
I included the above quotation for any number of reasons. Mostly because I'm learning to appreciate all I have gained and been given. I try to leave others to their own lives. They don't need my input to screw it up. They'll do it on their own.
==
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
She is a very hard worker, putting in time with 3 companies and taking a Statistics course, not to mention putting up with my weirdness. She was volunteering until recently, also, as well as moving in with a couple of friends who also happen to be comics. Her time and patience ought to be red-lined, but she trudges on.
I do what I can to make her days easier, whether it's a quick breakfast or leaving the room on a weekend morning and reading on the couch, just so she can sleep in. She challenges me to better myself in ways that will benefit my peace of mind. She sees in me something I don't always see in myself. She appreciates me and all my foibles, which are sometimes loud and corrosive to good moods and bedspreads.
This must be that feeling of "simply knowing" who I am supposed to be with for the rest of my life. It's both a calming and exhilirating feeling, making me want to work harder to provide many great moments in our lives, and realizing that Life can't stop for anyone, so it's time to kick close the doors of the past, and enjoy the game of Chutes and Ladders ahead.
ALS, I love you. Thanks for giving us a chance!
===
"Of course I believe in luck. How else can I justify the fortunes of those I dislike?"
~Old dead guy
I included the above quotation for any number of reasons. Mostly because I'm learning to appreciate all I have gained and been given. I try to leave others to their own lives. They don't need my input to screw it up. They'll do it on their own.
==
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Good Reasons To Defraud A Corporation
As part of most employment packages for full-time workers, and the less-than-part-timers on salary (wheeee!), a company frequently pays the premiums for its employees health care coverage. This includes medical, dental, vision, psychological (underutilized), nutritional (right), and often some "alternative therapies," such as chiropractic and massage ("happy endings" available only with a co-pay).
These benefits are mainstays of a "good job." You work full time, the company gives you a health care coverage bundle, and perhaps some stock options to go along with your raping the company of it's operating capital because you and the other dipshits made every wrong decision when it came to forward-thinking strategies in technology... I'm sorry, that's not you, that was John Zeglis, former CEO of AT&T Wireless who walked with a severance package in excess of $15,000,000. Got that? He ruined a company and made off with, and I can't say this loudly en-MF'ing-nuff... in EXCESS of FIFTEEN MILLION DOLLARS.
John Zeglis lacked foresight (it was removed at birth) which left AT&T Wireless quacking indignantly around the shallow pond of wounded companies, wings broken, trying still to light to the wind. Every flap caused greater internal damage, while the signals to stop and fix things never got through to the brain, which was lodged ass-wise in the lame duck. Eventually the whole carcass was picked up by Cingular, the Dr. Frankenfurter of wireless communication, for experiments in torture and/or bureaucratic horse-pulling. What's next? Why, the sweet relief of a Layoff, if you're lucky.
People who did a lot of hard work to make a situation better are being let go due to a decision forced down the throats of managers with employees with stellar performance results. Those being layed-off are lucky. A lot of people are getting their walking papers right now, with a hefty chunk of change and their benefits to hold them over for a few months. Play it right and these folks wouldn't have to work for about a year, while their health coverage steps in when needed.
But what if health coverage was no longer there? Get used to this idea, because I believe the health care industry is eating itself from the outside in, which will affect all of us sooner or later. Major corporations dump tons of cash into the health insurer's coffers every year as premiums for their employees. Health care costs are on the rise again. Employees rarely use their benefits to full extent, opting instead to wear their hideous glasses for another presidential administration. If you are the kind of dedicated worker who comes into work even when you're very ill, I thank you for this:
* By not going to the doctor and staying home for one day to rest, and spare your physically if not emotionally healthy co-workers from contracting your wet-coughing/sinus-clogging/nipple-blistering catfish flu, you saved your company $250!
* On the flip side, four co-workers said "F this, I can't work with nipple-clogging sinus-blisters!" and took two days off each to see doctors. (4 co-workers X 2 Missed days) X $250/day = $2,000! Luckily, you were there to forward another round of jokes to your missing co-workers, all while continuously sneezing, coughing, and dripping on every 3rd surface you touched. With your lack of intelligence, your illness could live on forever!
The alternatives the corporations begin to wonder about - and anytime money is involved, corporations start a-wond'rin' - will likely include the following, when it comes saving money on health care costs for employees:
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog
These benefits are mainstays of a "good job." You work full time, the company gives you a health care coverage bundle, and perhaps some stock options to go along with your raping the company of it's operating capital because you and the other dipshits made every wrong decision when it came to forward-thinking strategies in technology... I'm sorry, that's not you, that was John Zeglis, former CEO of AT&T Wireless who walked with a severance package in excess of $15,000,000. Got that? He ruined a company and made off with, and I can't say this loudly en-MF'ing-nuff... in EXCESS of FIFTEEN MILLION DOLLARS.
John Zeglis lacked foresight (it was removed at birth) which left AT&T Wireless quacking indignantly around the shallow pond of wounded companies, wings broken, trying still to light to the wind. Every flap caused greater internal damage, while the signals to stop and fix things never got through to the brain, which was lodged ass-wise in the lame duck. Eventually the whole carcass was picked up by Cingular, the Dr. Frankenfurter of wireless communication, for experiments in torture and/or bureaucratic horse-pulling. What's next? Why, the sweet relief of a Layoff, if you're lucky.
People who did a lot of hard work to make a situation better are being let go due to a decision forced down the throats of managers with employees with stellar performance results. Those being layed-off are lucky. A lot of people are getting their walking papers right now, with a hefty chunk of change and their benefits to hold them over for a few months. Play it right and these folks wouldn't have to work for about a year, while their health coverage steps in when needed.
But what if health coverage was no longer there? Get used to this idea, because I believe the health care industry is eating itself from the outside in, which will affect all of us sooner or later. Major corporations dump tons of cash into the health insurer's coffers every year as premiums for their employees. Health care costs are on the rise again. Employees rarely use their benefits to full extent, opting instead to wear their hideous glasses for another presidential administration. If you are the kind of dedicated worker who comes into work even when you're very ill, I thank you for this:
* By not going to the doctor and staying home for one day to rest, and spare your physically if not emotionally healthy co-workers from contracting your wet-coughing/sinus-clogging/nipple-blistering catfish flu, you saved your company $250!
* On the flip side, four co-workers said "F this, I can't work with nipple-clogging sinus-blisters!" and took two days off each to see doctors. (4 co-workers X 2 Missed days) X $250/day = $2,000! Luckily, you were there to forward another round of jokes to your missing co-workers, all while continuously sneezing, coughing, and dripping on every 3rd surface you touched. With your lack of intelligence, your illness could live on forever!
The alternatives the corporations begin to wonder about - and anytime money is involved, corporations start a-wond'rin' - will likely include the following, when it comes saving money on health care costs for employees:
- Get rid of employees. Go all-contracted work, which would probably violate some sort of anti-something laws. I know one large software company that has had tons of problems with contractors not getting a fair shake over the years. So, no contractors.
- Robots! Finally, metal humanoids or possibly dolphins or an octopus will be doing our work, controlled at the push of a button. They will work all night and all day, never needing rest or doctors visits! BOO-AH HA HA HAAAAAAA!
OH CRAP, computers are robots, and they never fail, huh? So maybe that's not a good idea. Unless the company pays 3-5 men with cinch-waisted black leather jackets to park their Chrysler PT Cruisers out front and their Robot-loving carcasses inside to work on whichever unit breaks down. They'll know a lot about the technology, and won't be caught up in any kind of relationship. - Monkies! I've seen any number of Project Managers at my company who could not handle the daily schedule of a prairie dog, let alone the negotiation and coordination of getting 3 people together for a company-paid lunch. But let's see a bonobo whip out a 47,000 record pivot table and graph in under 10 minutes, while NOT whipping turds into the other cages.
Seriously, that would be rather grand. - NO MORE BENEFITS! You heard me, no more benefits! Sorry, you don't get 'em. You'll have to go through an insurance broker. And you'll find that you pay about $75-$200 a month to cover your needs. And you'll be fine. When's the last time you went to a doctor? Okay, BESIDES for the baby and those sores? Exactly. Get ready. Your company doesn't care about you.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog
Monday, January 24, 2005
Good Night, Johnny.
Yesterday morning, the world lost one the best entertainers in human history.
Johnny Carson passed away at the age of 79 after battling emphysema. He retired over a decade ago, appearing on our televsion sets only in commercials for bundled, revisionary sets of his manically popular "Tonight Show." He made it his after taking over for Jack Parr, and never once did his hosting of the show feel despotic. Johnny's charm and hipness made it proper for people of all ages to stay up later than they'd planned on, and Johnny's show always delivered laughs and music to send you to bed.
Johnny Carson was an inspiration to countless stand-up comics. He was the pinnacle of talk show hosting prowess. He was a man who was always known as kind, caring, and generous. He had a stellar sense of humor about everything, especially himself. He could have a very funny guest on, and his ego was put aside so the guest could have the spotlight, and Johnny could always laugh at his own shortcomings, making his humanity the punchline. And if you can't laugh at yourself, you cannot truly laugh at anything. Such as it is with all the best things in life, from love to forgiveness.
I imagine Johnny hosted an impromptu "Eternity Show" in the Great Beyond with musical guest John Lennon, and the comedic stylings of Bill Hicks. All three of these entertainers had one great message: We're human, we may do stupid things with great aplomb, and great things with simple intent, but if we do it with a feeling of love we can't ever be questioned as to why we do it. Because the Love told us to, and we love those who share it like that. You don't know it's love, but you know you enjoyed being a part of it and in a weird way, miss the cruise control that Johnny and his gang could lock the FunMachine on. What a great ride it was.
Like begets like. And there's never been, nor will there ever be, another like Johnny Carson. We were very lucky to see and hear the best of his talents. He wanted his viewers and audiences to take it easy, even if it wasn't until the last waking hour of our day, which could keep us laughing for a week.
Thank You, Johnny. I'm sure you got the wave to the big couch in the afterlife.
=+=+=
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Johnny Carson passed away at the age of 79 after battling emphysema. He retired over a decade ago, appearing on our televsion sets only in commercials for bundled, revisionary sets of his manically popular "Tonight Show." He made it his after taking over for Jack Parr, and never once did his hosting of the show feel despotic. Johnny's charm and hipness made it proper for people of all ages to stay up later than they'd planned on, and Johnny's show always delivered laughs and music to send you to bed.
Johnny Carson was an inspiration to countless stand-up comics. He was the pinnacle of talk show hosting prowess. He was a man who was always known as kind, caring, and generous. He had a stellar sense of humor about everything, especially himself. He could have a very funny guest on, and his ego was put aside so the guest could have the spotlight, and Johnny could always laugh at his own shortcomings, making his humanity the punchline. And if you can't laugh at yourself, you cannot truly laugh at anything. Such as it is with all the best things in life, from love to forgiveness.
I imagine Johnny hosted an impromptu "Eternity Show" in the Great Beyond with musical guest John Lennon, and the comedic stylings of Bill Hicks. All three of these entertainers had one great message: We're human, we may do stupid things with great aplomb, and great things with simple intent, but if we do it with a feeling of love we can't ever be questioned as to why we do it. Because the Love told us to, and we love those who share it like that. You don't know it's love, but you know you enjoyed being a part of it and in a weird way, miss the cruise control that Johnny and his gang could lock the FunMachine on. What a great ride it was.
Like begets like. And there's never been, nor will there ever be, another like Johnny Carson. We were very lucky to see and hear the best of his talents. He wanted his viewers and audiences to take it easy, even if it wasn't until the last waking hour of our day, which could keep us laughing for a week.
Thank You, Johnny. I'm sure you got the wave to the big couch in the afterlife.
=+=+=
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Hammer-Strike Lightning (Strawberry Tongues)
Monday. I have a pretty good attitude today. On Saturday night, in between sushi & sake with my lovely girlfriend who is way more awesome than I can comprehend, she reminded me that as I write a lot, it's likely that I can start pushing that side of my life towards a career. Using one's talents to make a living is a dream of most people's. To be my own boss, as oddly egotistically Catch-22 as that is, is a drive. As we concluded, my mind was trying to erase old & useless information (goodbye, real names of professional wrestlers) for new topics I could write about. So as I have that to look forward to, I decided that Monday would not be the day I power-vomit on co-workers for, you know, kicks.
Today is apparently the most depressing day of the year. There's even mathematical evidence, for you sayers of nay, doubters of the Thomas strain. Dick holes.
And I feel pretty dang good. I bet the really depressed people are even MORE depressed today, because they hate Mondays and because they have a sense of their depression, as opposed to someone like me, who denies depression any shelfspace in my life by not being an over-intense asspipe about how other's live their lives. I don't get overly concerned on days I feel a bit down, and on days I feel great, I keep it going by heaping insults on people I could give two bile-churros about. I find a balance between being at peace and speaking my mind when there's an actual reason to airing it out. Otherwise I sit back and observe and relax.
I'm not better than anyone else, and some people I know are way worse than they believe they are. They'll tell you they dwell in reality, but for the most part they are characters in a one-person show called "This Goes On Forever And I Keep It From Being Fun."
Protect ya neck.
What's In A Name, Besides Personal Identity and Precursors of Success?
MSN posted the Top 10 Baby Names given by parents who like the "sound" of things more than any specific weight. After reading these names, try and guess how many of these dads have tribal arm-band tattoos, while mom's still sporting "The Rachel" cut?
Top 3 for the female chi'dren were as follows:
1: Emma 2: Madison 3: Emily.
These names do not, in my mind, denote any sort of strength, and will look really odd in a small-town Police Blotter under "Public Drunkenness" in 18 years.
Emma evokes Victorian collars and pale skin, cheeks reddened by the touch of a brisk autumn morn, stabling a slightly-built dervish of a mare, "Threshold" after a ride to the swelling river with Aidan (#2 for the boy's names), an intense man 6 years her senior, raven haired and steel-eyed, his chest hair cradling his saintly, buried mother's crucifix, wafting forth the musky dew of saltpeter, tobacco, and other masculine pursuits.
Unless she opens a baby boutique, "Emma" will likely NOT be hittin' the Business Announcements under "New CEOs!"
Baby naming is very important.
Ever seen the website www.Kabalarians.com? Well, now you have access to it. Basically it's a name-checking site that tells you the key characteristics of a person with your name (for Larry's sake, they even have "Shaquille" and "Kelis"). Here's what I dug up for "Madison."
Madison: Your first name of Madison has made you happiest when you are expressing in some creative, artistic way, and not conforming to strict routine. In a large group of comparative strangers, you are quiet and rather shy, unable to express yourself, not really wanting to become involved in conversation. On the other hand, among friends with whom you feel at ease, you are expressive, witty, and quite charming. These contrasting natures make it difficult for people to understand you and can lead to friction in your personal life. You are deep, philosophical, and refined, but your extremely sensitive nature causes you to become depressed and self-pitying over any real or imagined slight.
Luckily for thee, Madison, Connor(#10) Forthright Dalrymple IV has taken a fancy to you. Of course, with a disposition such as yours, you'll likely bear girl child after girl child into the House of Dalrymple, and befall a great illness of the humours that will drive Connor into the arms of the town whore... YOUR OWN SISTER, CINNAMON FURBURGER!
Dream A Weirdass Dream
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Today is apparently the most depressing day of the year. There's even mathematical evidence, for you sayers of nay, doubters of the Thomas strain. Dick holes.
And I feel pretty dang good. I bet the really depressed people are even MORE depressed today, because they hate Mondays and because they have a sense of their depression, as opposed to someone like me, who denies depression any shelfspace in my life by not being an over-intense asspipe about how other's live their lives. I don't get overly concerned on days I feel a bit down, and on days I feel great, I keep it going by heaping insults on people I could give two bile-churros about. I find a balance between being at peace and speaking my mind when there's an actual reason to airing it out. Otherwise I sit back and observe and relax.
I'm not better than anyone else, and some people I know are way worse than they believe they are. They'll tell you they dwell in reality, but for the most part they are characters in a one-person show called "This Goes On Forever And I Keep It From Being Fun."
Protect ya neck.
What's In A Name, Besides Personal Identity and Precursors of Success?
MSN posted the Top 10 Baby Names given by parents who like the "sound" of things more than any specific weight. After reading these names, try and guess how many of these dads have tribal arm-band tattoos, while mom's still sporting "The Rachel" cut?
Top 3 for the female chi'dren were as follows:
1: Emma 2: Madison 3: Emily.
These names do not, in my mind, denote any sort of strength, and will look really odd in a small-town Police Blotter under "Public Drunkenness" in 18 years.
Emma evokes Victorian collars and pale skin, cheeks reddened by the touch of a brisk autumn morn, stabling a slightly-built dervish of a mare, "Threshold" after a ride to the swelling river with Aidan (#2 for the boy's names), an intense man 6 years her senior, raven haired and steel-eyed, his chest hair cradling his saintly, buried mother's crucifix, wafting forth the musky dew of saltpeter, tobacco, and other masculine pursuits.
Unless she opens a baby boutique, "Emma" will likely NOT be hittin' the Business Announcements under "New CEOs!"
Baby naming is very important.
Ever seen the website www.Kabalarians.com? Well, now you have access to it. Basically it's a name-checking site that tells you the key characteristics of a person with your name (for Larry's sake, they even have "Shaquille" and "Kelis"). Here's what I dug up for "Madison."
Madison: Your first name of Madison has made you happiest when you are expressing in some creative, artistic way, and not conforming to strict routine. In a large group of comparative strangers, you are quiet and rather shy, unable to express yourself, not really wanting to become involved in conversation. On the other hand, among friends with whom you feel at ease, you are expressive, witty, and quite charming. These contrasting natures make it difficult for people to understand you and can lead to friction in your personal life. You are deep, philosophical, and refined, but your extremely sensitive nature causes you to become depressed and self-pitying over any real or imagined slight.
Luckily for thee, Madison, Connor(#10) Forthright Dalrymple IV has taken a fancy to you. Of course, with a disposition such as yours, you'll likely bear girl child after girl child into the House of Dalrymple, and befall a great illness of the humours that will drive Connor into the arms of the town whore... YOUR OWN SISTER, CINNAMON FURBURGER!
Dream A Weirdass Dream
Had a dream the other night about being in a comedy club. Surrounded by a gaggle of comics. A few of them had their tongues cut out, and were bleeding but still trying to talk. A few others sported some major skin infections, and everything they touched became covered in a green, mold-like substance that launched spores into the air. At least one other comic was stumbling around with a gun, crying and making a lot of noise and threats. They faces were all people I see on a regular basis.
Did I mention that this weekend brings us to the Finals of the Giggles Comedy Club Laugh-Off?
The same women from a couple weeks ago are again talking child-rearing, which they seem to believe should include spanking. After a look at these gals, yeah, go ahead and spank your kids. The way most of these families are going, Jerry Springer AND Open Mics will never be low on people looking to get on stage. This must be why many men would like to see mothers working only at home. I've heard more stories about this ho-tard's episiotomy than I've heard dick, black hack, or drug side-effect jokes at open mics.
===============
Everybody have a great Monday.
~ Geoffrey Diane Lott
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Friday, January 21, 2005
Fire Eats Phoenix (Rising Blood Moon)
It's Friday night, 8:21 as I start this, and I have no desire to do anything. I think it's either that I have a cold coming on or just can't stand to be in a comedy club tonight. I'm out of it. I'm grumpy but properly hydrated and fed, so my glucose levels should be okay. I'm going to chalk it up to general malaise.
I'll be 31 in 2 weeks, and I always have this dilemma around my birthday of what to do and whom it should be done with. I love just hanging out with my friends, and lucky for me, this year, my birthday's on a FRIDAY. I'll likely just have a quiet night in with a couple of chardonnays and the latest Harry Potter on audio CD.
Perhaps my state of blahness is from overtraining. In the past 21 days I've worked out 18 times, either doing at least 30 minutes of cardio or 20 minutes of weights with 20min of cardio to cap it off. I could be exhausting my body overall... Perhaps. It's a friggin' nightmare, however. I've been watching what I eat, really trying to stay away from the bad stuff like sugar-coated sugar balls made with butter and bacon-sugar fritters. And I've plateaued at a loss of 4lbs. That's nothing, that's like drinking one less bottle of water each day. I have the metabolic rate of a caffeinated Marlon Brando. And getting older probably isn't helping. I have no clue what else to do, except go to a nutritionist to see if they can set me straight. They'll likely tell me I have to start a more vegetarian lifestyle, which I've tried, and it didn't work. It made me very docile and depressed. So Western Medicine just is not all it's cracked up to be.
There was a time in comedy when you saw a comic lose weight and the whispers of a heroin or coke habit wafted like so much second-hand freebase smoke. Drop 10lbs now and everyone mutters "Atkins, huh? That's rough on you." I think I need some carbs of some sort. If anyone's got some blow, lemme know. I'll bring the strobe light.
BTW, Tony Moser is the hackiest black comic around. Wow, stereotypical "White people" this and "Cracker" that. Brilliant.
========
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I'll be 31 in 2 weeks, and I always have this dilemma around my birthday of what to do and whom it should be done with. I love just hanging out with my friends, and lucky for me, this year, my birthday's on a FRIDAY. I'll likely just have a quiet night in with a couple of chardonnays and the latest Harry Potter on audio CD.
Perhaps my state of blahness is from overtraining. In the past 21 days I've worked out 18 times, either doing at least 30 minutes of cardio or 20 minutes of weights with 20min of cardio to cap it off. I could be exhausting my body overall... Perhaps. It's a friggin' nightmare, however. I've been watching what I eat, really trying to stay away from the bad stuff like sugar-coated sugar balls made with butter and bacon-sugar fritters. And I've plateaued at a loss of 4lbs. That's nothing, that's like drinking one less bottle of water each day. I have the metabolic rate of a caffeinated Marlon Brando. And getting older probably isn't helping. I have no clue what else to do, except go to a nutritionist to see if they can set me straight. They'll likely tell me I have to start a more vegetarian lifestyle, which I've tried, and it didn't work. It made me very docile and depressed. So Western Medicine just is not all it's cracked up to be.
There was a time in comedy when you saw a comic lose weight and the whispers of a heroin or coke habit wafted like so much second-hand freebase smoke. Drop 10lbs now and everyone mutters "Atkins, huh? That's rough on you." I think I need some carbs of some sort. If anyone's got some blow, lemme know. I'll bring the strobe light.
BTW, Tony Moser is the hackiest black comic around. Wow, stereotypical "White people" this and "Cracker" that. Brilliant.
========
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Son Of Abyss (Mornok's Robe)
Brazilian Woman Gives Birth To Giant Baby:
Baby last seen squeezing toy cow... no, actual cow
This story's been all over the news wires this morning. See if you can find a pic of this man-child. The kid is scary monsters big.
He's 16.7lbs, the size of a normal 6 month old. Luckily for mom - and dad, to some extent - the baby was born via C-section. Mom's a damn turkey bowler. Brazil is a microcosm of monstrous evolution, where anacondas get so big that they make terrible movies, and pirahahanas can skin a goat faster than I can.
MOOOOOOOO
Now It's Time For A Rhyme On The Way I Say What I Think Today
People say success of mine comes from my intelligence.
No, it's 'cause I'm dope, if I was whack I'd be irrelevant.
And you think it's never over when it's over then I know you
to be common to the lowest denominator
hate her even more than you think you love yourself
and you'll soon understand why you have enough room on the shelf
no snapshots of those who tolerated your act
only one seat in your pity party, the fact is this,
just your trophy as the greatest little person of all.
SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU WHEN I'M THIS MOTHERF*CKING TALL.
Because I was born a Giant Baby.
- - -
Man, the rap game come easy to me.
- - -
OH HELL YEAH
Thanks to The Sun, the best newspaper in America even though it's British, I have a reason to look forward to movies in the year 2006.
David Duchovny was quoted to say there's another X-Files movie in the works. TV hasn't been the same since Mulder went his own way, sorry T2 guy. I'm really looking forward to the movie because the series left a lot of questions unanswered, such as:
1) Is The Smoking Man responsible for the disappearance of Samantha Mulder?
2) Isn't "Samantha Mulder" a kick-ass nod of a name for an adult film weiner bucket?
3) What's with the bees? The Africanized bee is more aggressive, sure, but to purport that the bee could deliver a virus that would gestate into the gut-dwelling alien puma is way over-complicated. Why not just put it in the water supply? What am I thinking... that was a plan hatched by the government, of COURSE they use the most expensive manner possible.
4) Which planet it Vice President Cheney from?
5) What did Mulder do with his adult film collection? Was he looking for his sister in those tapes?
As you can see, the number of dumb questions can go on for practically 100 or 2 more lines. Keep your fingers crossed. Helps ya stop picking inside of your nose.
For Killorn
Science be all up on ya now.
I'm out.
Baby last seen squeezing toy cow... no, actual cow
This story's been all over the news wires this morning. See if you can find a pic of this man-child. The kid is scary monsters big.
He's 16.7lbs, the size of a normal 6 month old. Luckily for mom - and dad, to some extent - the baby was born via C-section. Mom's a damn turkey bowler. Brazil is a microcosm of monstrous evolution, where anacondas get so big that they make terrible movies, and pirahahanas can skin a goat faster than I can.
MOOOOOOOO
Now It's Time For A Rhyme On The Way I Say What I Think Today
People say success of mine comes from my intelligence.
No, it's 'cause I'm dope, if I was whack I'd be irrelevant.
And you think it's never over when it's over then I know you
to be common to the lowest denominator
hate her even more than you think you love yourself
and you'll soon understand why you have enough room on the shelf
no snapshots of those who tolerated your act
only one seat in your pity party, the fact is this,
just your trophy as the greatest little person of all.
SORRY, I CAN'T HEAR YOU WHEN I'M THIS MOTHERF*CKING TALL.
Because I was born a Giant Baby.
- - -
Man, the rap game come easy to me.
- - -
OH HELL YEAH
Thanks to The Sun, the best newspaper in America even though it's British, I have a reason to look forward to movies in the year 2006.
David Duchovny was quoted to say there's another X-Files movie in the works. TV hasn't been the same since Mulder went his own way, sorry T2 guy. I'm really looking forward to the movie because the series left a lot of questions unanswered, such as:
1) Is The Smoking Man responsible for the disappearance of Samantha Mulder?
2) Isn't "Samantha Mulder" a kick-ass nod of a name for an adult film weiner bucket?
3) What's with the bees? The Africanized bee is more aggressive, sure, but to purport that the bee could deliver a virus that would gestate into the gut-dwelling alien puma is way over-complicated. Why not just put it in the water supply? What am I thinking... that was a plan hatched by the government, of COURSE they use the most expensive manner possible.
4) Which planet it Vice President Cheney from?
5) What did Mulder do with his adult film collection? Was he looking for his sister in those tapes?
As you can see, the number of dumb questions can go on for practically 100 or 2 more lines. Keep your fingers crossed. Helps ya stop picking inside of your nose.
For Killorn
Science be all up on ya now.
I'm out.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Fire Field On A Black Moon (Sword Of Horus)
FINALLY I have found a FTP program that is free and kicks ass from the inside out.
I hope to have my website re-designed soon, as soon as I figure out this "Website Making For Dipass MoFo's" tutorial.
I'm hoping it will look like a men's mag, like Esquire meets Weekly World News after a Guns & Ammo singles mixer.
Until then, you need to stop saying you're "gonna go" and friggin' "GO" see some live comedy. You don't like to laugh? Then why the cheese are you reading this?
=
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I hope to have my website re-designed soon, as soon as I figure out this "Website Making For Dipass MoFo's" tutorial.
I'm hoping it will look like a men's mag, like Esquire meets Weekly World News after a Guns & Ammo singles mixer.
Until then, you need to stop saying you're "gonna go" and friggin' "GO" see some live comedy. You don't like to laugh? Then why the cheese are you reading this?
=
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Lucky For Some, Talent Is Not Necessary
COME TO THE COMEDY UNDERGROUND TONIGHT FOR THE "HIGH CONTRAST COMEDY" SHOW!
I, Lizzy Pilcher, and Blaine Reeder will each be performing for 20 minutes. At the end, we battle to first blood. Cost is $6, show time is 8:30pm. COME ON DOWN!
NEVERMIND... you missed it... GAWSH
TONIGHT, Wed., 1/19/05: Divine Sucrets of the Ha Ha Sisterhood and Copyright Twins. 8:30pm:
KILLORN O' will be performing, and you need to laugh, so GO.
=============
Tonight marks the 4th season of "American Idol." The auditions are over. Some dreams are going to be realized. Some are going to be crushed, then revived when the dreamer is seen as a novelty, an imp, a "freak" if you will, and people can make money exploiting their lack of talent.
Most of us know the tale of William Hung, a mildly disfigured boy who never says "I quit," and never says "Yes" to orthodontia. His audition for last season's Idol was an enthusiastic but spastic rendition of "She Bangs" by Ricky "Livin' La Vida Retardo" Martin. It was uncomfortable to watch, but he went for it. He did the best he could, and isn't that what counts?
No.
What counts is that the guy caught a break. He did not get to where he is because of talent. Talent is an endowment, a gift, the "it" that seperates the learned from the blessed. However, some people train their skills beyond some other people's natural talents. The human mind can fathom a great number of scenarios (see: Tool Videos or LSD), but the human Spirit is the ultimate catalyst. William Hung has the "it" that a lot of people miss: He cares about what he does, and has fun doing it. He is talentless, but he is not driveless.
And when it comes to talentless puddles of ass-sweat, Ryan Seacrest trails only Carson Daly for "King Dampspot." Carson Daly answers the question "Has any human ever successfully mated with a Furby?" See for yourself.
To get to the point, FINALLY, I have seen a great number of performances on comedy stages lately that make me cringe. These are performances by comics who have been going at it a while, yet are stuck in the wake of the U.S.S. Apathy. These are a few rules I try to follow when I step on stage, so that I give of myself fully and don't blame or assault the audience for lack of response.
* A joke falls flat, and is followed with "I think that joke's funny." Then I should have kept it to myself, or tried it out a few times before dropping it on the crowd, working the rough spots out. There's a big difference between being able to write a good joke that everyone laughs at and whoring yourself for a laugh.
* Asking "Ya know what I mean?", "Know what I'm saying?", or "Right?" As a performer, it's my duty before taking the stage to believe in myself without the need for the audience's agreement that what I'm doing is acceptable. More than that, I would have ceased being connected with my words and I amthen no longer present, but going through the motions.
* Single-phrase joke structure. I see a lot of hacky, offensive comics do this. I have a couple of small jokes that started with a funny idea, a word or two in my head, and I tried to build up the idea around them. There ought to be a few licks before ya get to the center of that funny Tootsie Pop.
* Going over time. We all only get so much time to perform, both on-stage and in life. Every performance of mine should have SOMETHING of benefit, even if it's just for me. Zero growth = additional death. When the time is up, sticking around just bothers everyone who needs to move up a notch. Finish the will, and head for the great green room in the sky. Know what I'm saying?
(I kind of did this last night at the show, sorry guys)
==========
offensive things Take Me Home My Non-Funny Blog.
I, Lizzy Pilcher, and Blaine Reeder will each be performing for 20 minutes. At the end, we battle to first blood. Cost is $6, show time is 8:30pm. COME ON DOWN!
NEVERMIND... you missed it... GAWSH
TONIGHT, Wed., 1/19/05: Divine Sucrets of the Ha Ha Sisterhood and Copyright Twins. 8:30pm:
KILLORN O' will be performing, and you need to laugh, so GO.
=============
Tonight marks the 4th season of "American Idol." The auditions are over. Some dreams are going to be realized. Some are going to be crushed, then revived when the dreamer is seen as a novelty, an imp, a "freak" if you will, and people can make money exploiting their lack of talent.
Most of us know the tale of William Hung, a mildly disfigured boy who never says "I quit," and never says "Yes" to orthodontia. His audition for last season's Idol was an enthusiastic but spastic rendition of "She Bangs" by Ricky "Livin' La Vida Retardo" Martin. It was uncomfortable to watch, but he went for it. He did the best he could, and isn't that what counts?
No.
What counts is that the guy caught a break. He did not get to where he is because of talent. Talent is an endowment, a gift, the "it" that seperates the learned from the blessed. However, some people train their skills beyond some other people's natural talents. The human mind can fathom a great number of scenarios (see: Tool Videos or LSD), but the human Spirit is the ultimate catalyst. William Hung has the "it" that a lot of people miss: He cares about what he does, and has fun doing it. He is talentless, but he is not driveless.
And when it comes to talentless puddles of ass-sweat, Ryan Seacrest trails only Carson Daly for "King Dampspot." Carson Daly answers the question "Has any human ever successfully mated with a Furby?" See for yourself.
To get to the point, FINALLY, I have seen a great number of performances on comedy stages lately that make me cringe. These are performances by comics who have been going at it a while, yet are stuck in the wake of the U.S.S. Apathy. These are a few rules I try to follow when I step on stage, so that I give of myself fully and don't blame or assault the audience for lack of response.
* A joke falls flat, and is followed with "I think that joke's funny." Then I should have kept it to myself, or tried it out a few times before dropping it on the crowd, working the rough spots out. There's a big difference between being able to write a good joke that everyone laughs at and whoring yourself for a laugh.
* Asking "Ya know what I mean?", "Know what I'm saying?", or "Right?" As a performer, it's my duty before taking the stage to believe in myself without the need for the audience's agreement that what I'm doing is acceptable. More than that, I would have ceased being connected with my words and I amthen no longer present, but going through the motions.
* Single-phrase joke structure. I see a lot of hacky, offensive comics do this. I have a couple of small jokes that started with a funny idea, a word or two in my head, and I tried to build up the idea around them. There ought to be a few licks before ya get to the center of that funny Tootsie Pop.
* Going over time. We all only get so much time to perform, both on-stage and in life. Every performance of mine should have SOMETHING of benefit, even if it's just for me. Zero growth = additional death. When the time is up, sticking around just bothers everyone who needs to move up a notch. Finish the will, and head for the great green room in the sky. Know what I'm saying?
(I kind of did this last night at the show, sorry guys)
==========
offensive things Take Me Home My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, January 17, 2005
The Laughs Are Always Louder For The Other Guys
I'm a contestant in the Giggles Laugh-Off. Matt Schmidt's also in it, and many of his sentiments are echoed by any comic who has ever been in any sort of competition.
Comics are a very different breed of performer. I don't know if the composers of classical music way the F-sharp back in Vienna rode the same largely fluctuating highs & lows that comics do. I can't imagine they did, seeing as how opiates were in high supply and legal back then. Then again, there wasn't much else for people to go see as far as theater went. Shakespeare had died hundreds of years before, so it's not like people were bastardizing his work for a sequel. If you wanted to see some live music, you hitched up the fanciest pantaloons you had, silk-stockinged your gout-aching feet, tucked a flask of Absynthe under your powdered wig, and called for a carriage to take thee to the recital hall where emotional movements of deeply layered genius rang about your ears, and everyone looked like a woman.
No matter how I do in these competitions, I have a little voice in my head that is scheming for a way to boost my performances. This time around I included three jokes that were less than 3 weeks old. During my last set on Saturday night I was pretty much forced to verbally address some dumbass in the 2nd row who couldn't figure out that she was bothering everyone. My first thought was that she was ordering a drink. But then I realized that Giggles doesn't sell a drink called a "My Daddy Didn't Give Me Enough Attention," so I gave one hot look to the chatty section.
Knock-knock!
Who's There?
Quiet down.
Quiet down, who?
QUIET DOWN, WHORE.
I attacked her clothes, her looks, her future as a woman, her reputation, all to a certain delight in my head that sat in the massage chair but had it's feet on an ottoman made of broken glass. I didn't want to take time out of my set to deal with that chick, but an instance like that requires the performer to address it. So I did. And I got a great response. The crowd was with me the whole way, and the more cutting my words, especially "You need to work things out with your dad," the louder the crowd responded.
It's in those moments that a comic is either acting, bullying, or accessing a part of their personality. Acting can be sniffed out in a heartbeat. Bullying would imply that the comic goes after the person FIRST, to draw them into the firefight because the comic has nothing to say about what is, a deeply boring and very happy world. But that part of my personality that was fed up with this drunk monkey's antics really enjoyed coming out to play. I can see why some people try to intimidate others all the time; it's very empowering to stand on a stage and have a large group voice their support of your sentiments.
That's probably also the area of my brain that would have been angered had I not been doing well in the competition. This is my 3rd comedy comp., and the overall attitude of the comics is great, which will likely help. But next week a guy will be returning to the contest, after having been tossed out last week, and he'll be overly-serious about the whole thing. When you take anything too seriously, be it yourself or your love of ferret rescue, you get dangerously close to being ridiculed. If you can't laugh at yourself, don't worry, everyone else can and will.
I'd rather be at home watching the rest of the special I started last night regarding the "Da Vinci Code"s references. It's far more interesting than listening to the wingnuts here talk about it as if they're 6th-level Freemasons. If it weren't for my co-workers, a lot of bad coffee would never get made. Overall, today, I'm really F'ing bored with this job.
=================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Comics are a very different breed of performer. I don't know if the composers of classical music way the F-sharp back in Vienna rode the same largely fluctuating highs & lows that comics do. I can't imagine they did, seeing as how opiates were in high supply and legal back then. Then again, there wasn't much else for people to go see as far as theater went. Shakespeare had died hundreds of years before, so it's not like people were bastardizing his work for a sequel. If you wanted to see some live music, you hitched up the fanciest pantaloons you had, silk-stockinged your gout-aching feet, tucked a flask of Absynthe under your powdered wig, and called for a carriage to take thee to the recital hall where emotional movements of deeply layered genius rang about your ears, and everyone looked like a woman.
No matter how I do in these competitions, I have a little voice in my head that is scheming for a way to boost my performances. This time around I included three jokes that were less than 3 weeks old. During my last set on Saturday night I was pretty much forced to verbally address some dumbass in the 2nd row who couldn't figure out that she was bothering everyone. My first thought was that she was ordering a drink. But then I realized that Giggles doesn't sell a drink called a "My Daddy Didn't Give Me Enough Attention," so I gave one hot look to the chatty section.
Knock-knock!
Who's There?
Quiet down.
Quiet down, who?
QUIET DOWN, WHORE.
I attacked her clothes, her looks, her future as a woman, her reputation, all to a certain delight in my head that sat in the massage chair but had it's feet on an ottoman made of broken glass. I didn't want to take time out of my set to deal with that chick, but an instance like that requires the performer to address it. So I did. And I got a great response. The crowd was with me the whole way, and the more cutting my words, especially "You need to work things out with your dad," the louder the crowd responded.
It's in those moments that a comic is either acting, bullying, or accessing a part of their personality. Acting can be sniffed out in a heartbeat. Bullying would imply that the comic goes after the person FIRST, to draw them into the firefight because the comic has nothing to say about what is, a deeply boring and very happy world. But that part of my personality that was fed up with this drunk monkey's antics really enjoyed coming out to play. I can see why some people try to intimidate others all the time; it's very empowering to stand on a stage and have a large group voice their support of your sentiments.
That's probably also the area of my brain that would have been angered had I not been doing well in the competition. This is my 3rd comedy comp., and the overall attitude of the comics is great, which will likely help. But next week a guy will be returning to the contest, after having been tossed out last week, and he'll be overly-serious about the whole thing. When you take anything too seriously, be it yourself or your love of ferret rescue, you get dangerously close to being ridiculed. If you can't laugh at yourself, don't worry, everyone else can and will.
I'd rather be at home watching the rest of the special I started last night regarding the "Da Vinci Code"s references. It's far more interesting than listening to the wingnuts here talk about it as if they're 6th-level Freemasons. If it weren't for my co-workers, a lot of bad coffee would never get made. Overall, today, I'm really F'ing bored with this job.
=================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Friday, January 14, 2005
His Reality Check Bounced, Non-sufficient Funny
It's Friday, and it's time to recap all the issues most-pressing to us as internet users and people who like to dish the dirt. Thanks to the internet, information and half-truths spread faster than ever. And if you have one spread about YOU, well then, REBUT AT THE SPEED OF THOUGHT, or faster, in most cases. But let's go over what's most important to our society these days: Entertainers.
Stick It To The Man
Last night was the first night of the Giggles Laugh-Off, and already there's drama. One of the performers, who is NOT a comic in the truest sense of the art, got pissed off about how things were set up.
This guy has been in the finals each year of the contest by loading the Seattle gigs. That is, he's not funny, but he invites an assload of his friends and family and business contacts to the shows to vote for him. There's always a little different vibe for a performer's friends when their friend is on-stage. Even if the guy's not funny, which this guy is NOT, the performer gets a bigger laugh and sigh from their friends who "cannot believe that's [idiot's name here] up there!" As long as the performer doesn't totally black out and tumble into the second row, taking out the "Babies With Rabies" section, the performer gets off scott-free with a high score from their comedy-illiterate friends. There's usually more unfunny in his "hact" than you can shake the stick at, so I am pretty happy he's gotten on with his life.
His absence legitimizes the contest a wee bit more, but still, it's a contest, and these things are so subjective when you're a moderately insecure comedian. Is it legit to even do a contest, as a performer, where you'd be judged by people who really don't know any better about how you do what you do? Come out to Giggles and find the answer!
(the performer in question is, from what I understand, now BACK in the Giggles Laugh-Off.)
Contests are the only way comics will ever know if they are truly funny. Laughter, respect, and gigs aren't good enough for some of us. No, you have to place well in a contest to be considered a comic.
GW Bush. FUNNY!
READ THIS ARTICLE!!!
That article, for those who have skipped ahead, recounts President Bush's verbal missteps in the almost comprehensible words of the President himself. He's like Yogi Berra without the pesky humanity. I worry that the President has come out to defend himself for things he has said "from the cuff," as it are. He is the President of the United States of America, the best country with America in the name, the 2nd best nation in the continent, and he's reticent over a few things he's blurbled. This is really not the time to backtrack on a few goofy quotes as if atoning for your inability to speak without Cheney's hand pulling the string. He's not a boring President, that's for sure. I don't think anybody is going to be sipping a Roofied "Vodka & RedStates" any time soon, lulled into a false sense of democracy.
Keep 'em coming, George. We'll be there to hear what you write.
Who's That... Girl?
As Madonna has crossed over into 46 human years, she's perhaps showing some signs of age. If you want to see them you'll have to get reeeeeally close to the "leftovers" tray at a doctor's office. The Material Shiksa appears to have been taken by surprise in this new Versace ad. Notice the blonder mane, widened eyes, and stronger jaw-line. Like a fine wine, Madonna is at her best right after she gets a little air.
I pondered the notion of cosmetic surgery the other day, eye's wide as I noticed a couple of now-prominent tributaries at the corners of my eyes. On Feb. 4th I'll be 31 years old, and I see pictures of myself from 5-6 years ago, and I think... "What happened?"
Comedy, for one. A trip to Ireland, for two. Mexico, por tres. I've undergone more free radical intake than a Cuban whorehouse.
Besides, if men really wanted to feel younger, they'd buy their girlfriends SMALLER boobs.
Co-worker update
~ You can't spell "No Makeup Sandie" with out "DIE, PUKE MAN."
~ The conversation two doors away regarding a mother's convo with her kid about what gender of baby the kid wants "mommy to have" this next time around is too loud, too long, and too lame to allow it to continue. I'm going to go close their door.
~ Closing a stranger's door at work will get you some funny, self-important looks. Working with women can really f*cking blow. In this office, at least, men gather around to talk sports in the lunchroom, or talk IT nerdball crap at their desks. 17 minutes now of divorces, kids, lawyers, C-sections, and nursing, and I don't mean the E.R. kind.
Cognitive Slowdown
A number of advocates... oh how I despise advocates... are asking the department of transportation to lower the speed limit on the Alaskan Way Viaduct from 50 to 35. This is after a motorcyclist was killed in a collision with an SUV this past Monday.
Lowering the limit will not save lives, as lives are taken not by speed but by careless driving. Whether the limit is 35 or 350, there will be a few people who aren't paying attention to their surrounds, lost in their own stratocruisers (I think that's Lincoln's next SUV). It provides law enforcement with more opportunities to nail speeders at 51 who are just trying to get to featherplucking work after being held up by a fatality accident all morning.
* Some people are distracted by phones or DVD players in their cars. This is going to cause a lot of accidents until we all get DVD players and learn to drive the way we will in the future: Unattentive and hungover from all the parties to repopulate earth.
* Outlaw motorcycles, unless they are in a cage going around and around to the death. Make the death fiery! Make the cage small enough to fit on top of an SUV.
I'm outta here. Have a good Friday.
Take Me Home My Non-Funny Blog.
Stick It To The Man
Last night was the first night of the Giggles Laugh-Off, and already there's drama. One of the performers, who is NOT a comic in the truest sense of the art, got pissed off about how things were set up.
This guy has been in the finals each year of the contest by loading the Seattle gigs. That is, he's not funny, but he invites an assload of his friends and family and business contacts to the shows to vote for him. There's always a little different vibe for a performer's friends when their friend is on-stage. Even if the guy's not funny, which this guy is NOT, the performer gets a bigger laugh and sigh from their friends who "cannot believe that's [idiot's name here] up there!" As long as the performer doesn't totally black out and tumble into the second row, taking out the "Babies With Rabies" section, the performer gets off scott-free with a high score from their comedy-illiterate friends. There's usually more unfunny in his "hact" than you can shake the stick at, so I am pretty happy he's gotten on with his life.
His absence legitimizes the contest a wee bit more, but still, it's a contest, and these things are so subjective when you're a moderately insecure comedian. Is it legit to even do a contest, as a performer, where you'd be judged by people who really don't know any better about how you do what you do? Come out to Giggles and find the answer!
(the performer in question is, from what I understand, now BACK in the Giggles Laugh-Off.)
Contests are the only way comics will ever know if they are truly funny. Laughter, respect, and gigs aren't good enough for some of us. No, you have to place well in a contest to be considered a comic.
GW Bush. FUNNY!
READ THIS ARTICLE!!!
That article, for those who have skipped ahead, recounts President Bush's verbal missteps in the almost comprehensible words of the President himself. He's like Yogi Berra without the pesky humanity. I worry that the President has come out to defend himself for things he has said "from the cuff," as it are. He is the President of the United States of America, the best country with America in the name, the 2nd best nation in the continent, and he's reticent over a few things he's blurbled. This is really not the time to backtrack on a few goofy quotes as if atoning for your inability to speak without Cheney's hand pulling the string. He's not a boring President, that's for sure. I don't think anybody is going to be sipping a Roofied "Vodka & RedStates" any time soon, lulled into a false sense of democracy.
Keep 'em coming, George. We'll be there to hear what you write.
Who's That... Girl?
As Madonna has crossed over into 46 human years, she's perhaps showing some signs of age. If you want to see them you'll have to get reeeeeally close to the "leftovers" tray at a doctor's office. The Material Shiksa appears to have been taken by surprise in this new Versace ad. Notice the blonder mane, widened eyes, and stronger jaw-line. Like a fine wine, Madonna is at her best right after she gets a little air.
I pondered the notion of cosmetic surgery the other day, eye's wide as I noticed a couple of now-prominent tributaries at the corners of my eyes. On Feb. 4th I'll be 31 years old, and I see pictures of myself from 5-6 years ago, and I think... "What happened?"
Comedy, for one. A trip to Ireland, for two. Mexico, por tres. I've undergone more free radical intake than a Cuban whorehouse.
Besides, if men really wanted to feel younger, they'd buy their girlfriends SMALLER boobs.
Co-worker update
~ You can't spell "No Makeup Sandie" with out "DIE, PUKE MAN."
~ The conversation two doors away regarding a mother's convo with her kid about what gender of baby the kid wants "mommy to have" this next time around is too loud, too long, and too lame to allow it to continue. I'm going to go close their door.
~ Closing a stranger's door at work will get you some funny, self-important looks. Working with women can really f*cking blow. In this office, at least, men gather around to talk sports in the lunchroom, or talk IT nerdball crap at their desks. 17 minutes now of divorces, kids, lawyers, C-sections, and nursing, and I don't mean the E.R. kind.
Cognitive Slowdown
A number of advocates... oh how I despise advocates... are asking the department of transportation to lower the speed limit on the Alaskan Way Viaduct from 50 to 35. This is after a motorcyclist was killed in a collision with an SUV this past Monday.
Lowering the limit will not save lives, as lives are taken not by speed but by careless driving. Whether the limit is 35 or 350, there will be a few people who aren't paying attention to their surrounds, lost in their own stratocruisers (I think that's Lincoln's next SUV). It provides law enforcement with more opportunities to nail speeders at 51 who are just trying to get to featherplucking work after being held up by a fatality accident all morning.
* Some people are distracted by phones or DVD players in their cars. This is going to cause a lot of accidents until we all get DVD players and learn to drive the way we will in the future: Unattentive and hungover from all the parties to repopulate earth.
* Outlaw motorcycles, unless they are in a cage going around and around to the death. Make the death fiery! Make the cage small enough to fit on top of an SUV.
I'm outta here. Have a good Friday.
Take Me Home My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Best of 2005
The List! You've heard of it. It's everywhere. Everyone seems tohave a list. Top 10 Eyeshadows That Are Not Blue. Best 178 Moments In Zydeco. 3 Celebs To Watch Go In The Tank in 2005 (Ashlee, Hedberg, Kilborn). It's all opinion and bluster, unimportant rankings made by someone who just wants to get some recognition for loving, hating, or shrugging-off someone, something, or Sum 41. These are popular now, and will be for about another 3 months, until even the new open mic'ers start doing jokes about them. Then, ploop, a headliner will swing through town and take the best of the list jokes on the road with him, opening for irrelevant musical acts while getting re-booked for Leno. Yeah, THAT guy.
So far this year I've had a good time. Things have been on the high-side of decent. It doesn't seem like I've done much comedy, but I don't remember having any bad sets... yet. Work stinks, but that's what it's supposed to do. I will soon make the necessary moves to get my own business going. Those moves include my nervous hands plunking down a little start-up capital and loosening my pants to a comfortable size to accomodate the huge balls I think I'll need to swan-dive off the Corporate Crossover bridge and into Independence River. It will be a Top-3 moment in my life to do this, punctuated by personal letters delivered to each person who has bothered me beyond reason while I have been at this company. I know, what goes around comes around, but my Credit Kardma has a zero balance. What if nobody ever told you what you do to bother everyone? Well then, you'd be the prettiest, most popular girl in your high school, and therefore your life will be very easy and perfect.
I'm really enjoying the planning stages I'm in right now. I feel like I have been on a really aggressive timetable since December. I turn 31 in 3 weeks, so I'll be officially "in my 30s," and that's doing things with my head. I have to buy a house. I have to pay off my car. I have to get married. I have to start a family. I have to make my first million dollars. I have to. I have. I. . . Correction.
I, nor you, nor the prettiest girl at your alternative high school, will HAVE TO do any of that. It's not a recipe for being happy. Find what makes you happy, and do what you can to include some of it in between crying and waiting for the gin to kick in. And ask yourself what you really do want out of life. So few people seem to know.
"A good job." Define "good."
"A husband/wife." If you're unmarried and looking for a spouse, you'll probably find one. And THEIR spouse will be PISSED, so keep your eyes open for the "right person," preferably one with good credit, if you happen to be a black comedian.
"A black comedian." Congrats on the credit score.
"More money." Yeah, but HOW will you get it. If you want more money, you may very well get a check cut for you from your recently-deceased favorite uncle's insurance company. Enjoy it, and don't ask questions about the explosion at the carnival.
"A new car." Okay, so a NEW new car, or just some new wheels? I highly advise NOBODY buy a NEW new car. A necessity for 99% of us, it's also a constant expenditure, counting costs for gas, insurance, oil change every 7300 miles (whether you need it or not), delousing, kick-ass stereo that keeps getting jacked, and hypnotism to rid you of the need for a stereo that jack-worthy. You're looking at dropping like HUNDREDS of dollars in most cases. Keep what you have in good shape. Before it's absolutely time or a new one, shine yours up and trade it in to start with. Just like your first marriage.
"A 6-inch Black Angus Steak Sandwich from Quiznos, no onions, extra mushrooms, double the horseradish." Well said. That's a clearly defined desire. So shall it be given.
"To know what Love is." I want you to show me. And I want to feel... I want to feel what Love is. I want you to show me.
"Candy." Nope, sorry. Not until you've finished your induction.
"Please?" You asked me to keep you honest, and I want to see you succeed. Now let go of that, that is not yours and it's starting to turn purple.
"To write a good joke about lists." Good luck with that. Some things just aren't funny, like being a lazy stoner comic or a hyper stoner comic or a stoner comic or somebody who isn't clever enough to hide a list in their blog.
So whatever you want to see happen in your life this year, tell yourself it WILL happen. If you WANT it to happen, the only thing that will happen is WANT. And be prepared for whatever it is. In that case, I better go say goodbye to Uncle Larry and hope to Kilborn he hasn't willed me something crappy, like a clown statue or a good job.
I am OUT. See you in Olympia, gorgeous.
==================================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
So far this year I've had a good time. Things have been on the high-side of decent. It doesn't seem like I've done much comedy, but I don't remember having any bad sets... yet. Work stinks, but that's what it's supposed to do. I will soon make the necessary moves to get my own business going. Those moves include my nervous hands plunking down a little start-up capital and loosening my pants to a comfortable size to accomodate the huge balls I think I'll need to swan-dive off the Corporate Crossover bridge and into Independence River. It will be a Top-3 moment in my life to do this, punctuated by personal letters delivered to each person who has bothered me beyond reason while I have been at this company. I know, what goes around comes around, but my Credit Kardma has a zero balance. What if nobody ever told you what you do to bother everyone? Well then, you'd be the prettiest, most popular girl in your high school, and therefore your life will be very easy and perfect.
I'm really enjoying the planning stages I'm in right now. I feel like I have been on a really aggressive timetable since December. I turn 31 in 3 weeks, so I'll be officially "in my 30s," and that's doing things with my head. I have to buy a house. I have to pay off my car. I have to get married. I have to start a family. I have to make my first million dollars. I have to. I have. I. . . Correction.
I, nor you, nor the prettiest girl at your alternative high school, will HAVE TO do any of that. It's not a recipe for being happy. Find what makes you happy, and do what you can to include some of it in between crying and waiting for the gin to kick in. And ask yourself what you really do want out of life. So few people seem to know.
"A good job." Define "good."
"A husband/wife." If you're unmarried and looking for a spouse, you'll probably find one. And THEIR spouse will be PISSED, so keep your eyes open for the "right person," preferably one with good credit, if you happen to be a black comedian.
"A black comedian." Congrats on the credit score.
"More money." Yeah, but HOW will you get it. If you want more money, you may very well get a check cut for you from your recently-deceased favorite uncle's insurance company. Enjoy it, and don't ask questions about the explosion at the carnival.
"A new car." Okay, so a NEW new car, or just some new wheels? I highly advise NOBODY buy a NEW new car. A necessity for 99% of us, it's also a constant expenditure, counting costs for gas, insurance, oil change every 7300 miles (whether you need it or not), delousing, kick-ass stereo that keeps getting jacked, and hypnotism to rid you of the need for a stereo that jack-worthy. You're looking at dropping like HUNDREDS of dollars in most cases. Keep what you have in good shape. Before it's absolutely time or a new one, shine yours up and trade it in to start with. Just like your first marriage.
"A 6-inch Black Angus Steak Sandwich from Quiznos, no onions, extra mushrooms, double the horseradish." Well said. That's a clearly defined desire. So shall it be given.
"To know what Love is." I want you to show me. And I want to feel... I want to feel what Love is. I want you to show me.
"Candy." Nope, sorry. Not until you've finished your induction.
"Please?" You asked me to keep you honest, and I want to see you succeed. Now let go of that, that is not yours and it's starting to turn purple.
"To write a good joke about lists." Good luck with that. Some things just aren't funny, like being a lazy stoner comic or a hyper stoner comic or a stoner comic or somebody who isn't clever enough to hide a list in their blog.
So whatever you want to see happen in your life this year, tell yourself it WILL happen. If you WANT it to happen, the only thing that will happen is WANT. And be prepared for whatever it is. In that case, I better go say goodbye to Uncle Larry and hope to Kilborn he hasn't willed me something crappy, like a clown statue or a good job.
I am OUT. See you in Olympia, gorgeous.
==================================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
This Is What I Feel Like Blogging About: NEW CONTENT ADDED!!!
It's Wednesday and I'm doing whatever I can to stay mentally occupied, short of tripping on Omega-3 fatty acid. I've updated my resumé, which is literally a retarded thing for me to do. I have as much desire to work for another corporation as I do to listen to people repeat their favorite lines from Napoleon Dynamite for an entire open mic. Right, right, MY mom goes to... got it.
NEW CONTENT:
This is my problem at the moment. When I'm at work, all I want to do, and apparently am very efficient at, is surf the internet for tales of human woe and weirdness in order to make jokes or blogs out of it. The internet is great for finding stories of a nature that you would never think could involve people. But next thing ya know some stoner's celebrating the holidays by going "down the chimney" on a robotic sheep at a Nativity Scene, AND suing the people who erected it for not putting up a warning sign. Apparently he broke away from the other Wisemen...
When I'm at work, I don't feel like working. It's in my nature to do what someone tells me specifically NOT to do, but I'm still an adult and accountable enough to handle my responsibilities. So I figure that while I'm at work I will have to move things around in the fridge so people panic as the though crosses their mind "WHAT THE FAWK?!?! WHERE'S MY TUNA TERYIAKI FROM LAST THURSDAY?"
I have an innate sense of going against orders, especially if they are absurd, like "Shovel the sidewalk" or "Don't bury me here!" But when at work, I have to perform tasks in order to keep my job, so you can see my dilemma. Work, boring. Surfing, fun. When I'm not at work, surfing, boring. Work, more boring. My life is great, I love it. I need to find a new mode d'emploi.
=====
Things are getting really weird in my apartment complex. The other night my neighbor was walking around in her underwear, like "no biggie, it's not cold out." The guy across the parking lot was watching porno all night. The couple in F-304 were fighting for a good two hours on Sunday night. I think they were, anyway. That's how it seemed through the telescope.
=====
This is the perfect shirt for this story.
I encourage you to falsify a resumé based on a company's outlandish requirements for a job. Make up terminology that refers to duties of a totally non-existent job. When you get the interview, you have to be a little early, well-dressed, and ready to impress. After you get hired, work a couple of days to get a paycheck, then walk into your new boss' office and say
"I probably should have told you this before I got hired. I'm really not qualified for this position. The company across the street is under surveillance by an unofficially government-funded agency known as SquidJigger. I am here as a decoy for the SJ to observe. I cannot stress to you how important it is that nobody else knows of this."
The next day, wear sunglasses all day, and skip meetings. Sleep under your desk. When you receive your first paycheck, tell your boss that everything's under control. Never show up again. Leave behind a Polaroid of yourself holding a Bowie knife and a bloody wig.
Honestly who gives a shit? You walk with a couple grand in your pocket, and you are totally untraceable.
That went on WAY too long to be that unfunny.
==============
NEW CONTENT:
This is my problem at the moment. When I'm at work, all I want to do, and apparently am very efficient at, is surf the internet for tales of human woe and weirdness in order to make jokes or blogs out of it. The internet is great for finding stories of a nature that you would never think could involve people. But next thing ya know some stoner's celebrating the holidays by going "down the chimney" on a robotic sheep at a Nativity Scene, AND suing the people who erected it for not putting up a warning sign. Apparently he broke away from the other Wisemen...
When I'm at work, I don't feel like working. It's in my nature to do what someone tells me specifically NOT to do, but I'm still an adult and accountable enough to handle my responsibilities. So I figure that while I'm at work I will have to move things around in the fridge so people panic as the though crosses their mind "WHAT THE FAWK?!?! WHERE'S MY TUNA TERYIAKI FROM LAST THURSDAY?"
I have an innate sense of going against orders, especially if they are absurd, like "Shovel the sidewalk" or "Don't bury me here!" But when at work, I have to perform tasks in order to keep my job, so you can see my dilemma. Work, boring. Surfing, fun. When I'm not at work, surfing, boring. Work, more boring. My life is great, I love it. I need to find a new mode d'emploi.
=====
Things are getting really weird in my apartment complex. The other night my neighbor was walking around in her underwear, like "no biggie, it's not cold out." The guy across the parking lot was watching porno all night. The couple in F-304 were fighting for a good two hours on Sunday night. I think they were, anyway. That's how it seemed through the telescope.
=====
This is the perfect shirt for this story.
I encourage you to falsify a resumé based on a company's outlandish requirements for a job. Make up terminology that refers to duties of a totally non-existent job. When you get the interview, you have to be a little early, well-dressed, and ready to impress. After you get hired, work a couple of days to get a paycheck, then walk into your new boss' office and say
"I probably should have told you this before I got hired. I'm really not qualified for this position. The company across the street is under surveillance by an unofficially government-funded agency known as SquidJigger. I am here as a decoy for the SJ to observe. I cannot stress to you how important it is that nobody else knows of this."
The next day, wear sunglasses all day, and skip meetings. Sleep under your desk. When you receive your first paycheck, tell your boss that everything's under control. Never show up again. Leave behind a Polaroid of yourself holding a Bowie knife and a bloody wig.
Honestly who gives a shit? You walk with a couple grand in your pocket, and you are totally untraceable.
That went on WAY too long to be that unfunny.
==============
The Pot Calling the Kettle "Diverse"
While I mull over a few options of things to blather on about, you need to take your lilly-white can to The Onion and see what's up in the world. You think you know, but you have no idea.
And thanks to a seed-based hot sauce condiment on my omelet this morning, I'm the one with the coughing fit. I picked this sauce up at Lenny's in Cabo. It's got a mustard seed base, then is built upon with Worcestestestshoozle, vinegar, chipotle ("chi-poh-fawk that's good"), and black pepper. As far as hot sauces go, it is a great paint stripper. I've got some rad hacks happening every few minutes now. I plan to sit and rack my diaphragm all eucalyptis morning, stopping only to projectile vomit and/or regain consciousness.
I f*cking love you guys.
============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
And thanks to a seed-based hot sauce condiment on my omelet this morning, I'm the one with the coughing fit. I picked this sauce up at Lenny's in Cabo. It's got a mustard seed base, then is built upon with Worcestestestshoozle, vinegar, chipotle ("chi-poh-fawk that's good"), and black pepper. As far as hot sauces go, it is a great paint stripper. I've got some rad hacks happening every few minutes now. I plan to sit and rack my diaphragm all eucalyptis morning, stopping only to projectile vomit and/or regain consciousness.
I f*cking love you guys.
============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
The Revolution Will Be TiVo'ed!
I had a kickass blog going, but some MF'ing TCP connection went chips-up. And, btw, the blog was about how F'ed up Technology is making the human race.
So once again, if THIS makes it past the Matrix, Technology is the new Religion. You might read it here first, before it's beamed into your optical nerves between commercials for CocaCola capsules and Hungry Man TV Dinner Pills.
And the guy I followed last night IS from the center of the Earth.
And Mickey should be up at every open mic. That guy makes me laugh my nerves off.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
So once again, if THIS makes it past the Matrix, Technology is the new Religion. You might read it here first, before it's beamed into your optical nerves between commercials for CocaCola capsules and Hungry Man TV Dinner Pills.
And the guy I followed last night IS from the center of the Earth.
And Mickey should be up at every open mic. That guy makes me laugh my nerves off.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, January 06, 2005
You Know What? Forget Those Clowns
Blogs are to be written in. And some of these "writers" around here haven't written so much as their name on a sure-to-bounce check lately. I'm thinking it's because they haven't had internet access. I'm hoping that's what it is. It's SO HARD to get internet access these days, idn't it?
I'm not going to mention anybody by name, because then I'd have to link them and frankly, I don't feel like I have to give any more to these suckbags. But I, dear reader, I, Geoffrey Lott, will not fail you in the "something to read at work" department, besides the crap not being churned out by Blaine, Doug, or Tony, who all seem to be talented... Dammit, they have TRICKED ME AGAIN. Hang in there with me as it gets better and I find my natural or at least easily-forced "style." Damn, you look... SO fine.
And if you gots any funny internet videos, send 'em my way. Something funny means something out of the ordinary. Cats singing Bob Marley aren't funny, they're posessed and should be eaten promptly.
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I'm not going to mention anybody by name, because then I'd have to link them and frankly, I don't feel like I have to give any more to these suckbags. But I, dear reader, I, Geoffrey Lott, will not fail you in the "something to read at work" department, besides the crap not being churned out by Blaine, Doug, or Tony, who all seem to be talented... Dammit, they have TRICKED ME AGAIN. Hang in there with me as it gets better and I find my natural or at least easily-forced "style." Damn, you look... SO fine.
And if you gots any funny internet videos, send 'em my way. Something funny means something out of the ordinary. Cats singing Bob Marley aren't funny, they're posessed and should be eaten promptly.
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
CES Report: Cheaper Technology Breaks Faster!
The Consumer Electronics Show has kicked off in Las Vegas this week. With all the booze, gambling, debauchery, late nights, blinking lights, and whores whores whores that Vegas offers, it is a choice both perfect and forehead zit-obvious to be overrun with geeks & nerds. But hey, the geeks and nerds deserve a shot at Vegas without their Klingon, Stormtrooper, Xylon, or Tron togs. Expect plenty of camera-phones at the Spearmint Rhino to capture what eyes behind fogged tri-focals cannot.
The biggest upload at the CES has been anything that can be slapped into a mobile telephone. Ten years ago the "brick" phone was seen as the way to go with high-rollers. There was the car-phone, afforded only by the wealthiest of people who really could use a little more time talking to clients, patients, and... who? Friends? NO BEEPING WAY! Those calls cost byte-loads back then, no WAY was anybody in the car killing time on the topic of which actress is going through "the new rehab" (a.k.a. career-resurrecting weightloss).
But things change. As a member of the cell pusher regime, I can't believe how far and how fast phones have come. When I started in this industry in 1998, I was issued a phone the size of a dryboard eraser/small cheese block that weighed around 12oz (that's a full can of glorious PBR, Billy). Within a year I had a phone the size & weight of a checkbook, then a wallet. My latest phone is approximately a bar of soap in the last 2 weeks of it's life span. Silver, sleek, and just as suds-slipping hard to handle. I've dropped that phone more in the past 2 months than any other 3 phones combined. Incoming call from "Engineered Replacement Design," is what I'm calling it. The phones is designed to look one way, but actually functions completely the opposite. I want my old phone back. When I dropped the previous one, about the size of a Clif bar, the LAST thing it would do is call my ex girlfriend and call her a Czech whore. Yeah, this one's got a bad chip. She's not Czech.
But the chip, the brain of the phone, computer, MP3 player, watch, flat-screen, DVD player, and pretty much everything else with a power source... the chip is getting smaller. SMALLER. About 15 years ago my dad told me "Geoff, mark my words, America loves ethnic comedy." He was so right. He also told me that technology, on all fronts, would be about making everyday objects portable, smaller, and they'd leapfrog each other year after year. He may have been joking around a little, because we were running by Field Day for The DeVito-Pearlman Acadamey, but he was right. Jokes have truth.
The big feature being touted and developed with the phone now is MultiMedia Services, or MMS. Also known as MobileMedial Services, as well as the reason the 19 year old in step-mommy's Lexus keeps swerving the F into your lane. Downloadable Ringtones, games, Text Messaging, internet access, access to company e-mails; all are features on 95% of today's new cell phones. This is enough to distract anybody from the boredom that is a million car traffic jam, as we are surrounded by potential disaster. BO-RING. People would rather talk to someone they're going to see at the Rock Bottom in 15 minutes than rock out to a Mudvayne hotstack or fire up the 5:20-Funny on KMTT. Or God Forbid, we be alone with our thoughts for a few moments, ya know? For Bill's Sake, the LAST thing you want to do is be quiet and think for a second. I've tried it a few times. And all I got were a bunch of answers to my issues and a balanced budget and a sense of being independent of technology. Useful? Yes. Fun? Not at all! I was like MAD.
So what's the "next big thing" for your phone? Television! How does that bag your groceries? During Bill Gates' keynote speech and new toy masturbatory display, he had numerous glitches that froze PCs and displays. Thank you Wizard, I'll just rent something near the Oz 'burbs. TV on a phone, Gatesdolf the Bland shorts-out, and I'm supposed to be excited about being able to watch TV anywhere I want? Well by golly, I IS! Everytime I'm in public I want to interact a little, but people are always on their phones, staring intently like Pres. Bush into his Magic 8-Ball (which is actually a real 8-Ball from the Nixon Bunker). I get bored at home in front of the TV. Now I can get OUT of the house, and take the TV with me! Because there's a Real World FULL of great things to watch.
So here's looking at you, taking your picture, e-mailing, calling, text messaging, and singing your favorite song, all into a TELEPHONE. I sure hope it has x-ray features to show me where my eye tumors are!
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The biggest upload at the CES has been anything that can be slapped into a mobile telephone. Ten years ago the "brick" phone was seen as the way to go with high-rollers. There was the car-phone, afforded only by the wealthiest of people who really could use a little more time talking to clients, patients, and... who? Friends? NO BEEPING WAY! Those calls cost byte-loads back then, no WAY was anybody in the car killing time on the topic of which actress is going through "the new rehab" (a.k.a. career-resurrecting weightloss).
But things change. As a member of the cell pusher regime, I can't believe how far and how fast phones have come. When I started in this industry in 1998, I was issued a phone the size of a dryboard eraser/small cheese block that weighed around 12oz (that's a full can of glorious PBR, Billy). Within a year I had a phone the size & weight of a checkbook, then a wallet. My latest phone is approximately a bar of soap in the last 2 weeks of it's life span. Silver, sleek, and just as suds-slipping hard to handle. I've dropped that phone more in the past 2 months than any other 3 phones combined. Incoming call from "Engineered Replacement Design," is what I'm calling it. The phones is designed to look one way, but actually functions completely the opposite. I want my old phone back. When I dropped the previous one, about the size of a Clif bar, the LAST thing it would do is call my ex girlfriend and call her a Czech whore. Yeah, this one's got a bad chip. She's not Czech.
But the chip, the brain of the phone, computer, MP3 player, watch, flat-screen, DVD player, and pretty much everything else with a power source... the chip is getting smaller. SMALLER. About 15 years ago my dad told me "Geoff, mark my words, America loves ethnic comedy." He was so right. He also told me that technology, on all fronts, would be about making everyday objects portable, smaller, and they'd leapfrog each other year after year. He may have been joking around a little, because we were running by Field Day for The DeVito-Pearlman Acadamey, but he was right. Jokes have truth.
The big feature being touted and developed with the phone now is MultiMedia Services, or MMS. Also known as MobileMedial Services, as well as the reason the 19 year old in step-mommy's Lexus keeps swerving the F into your lane. Downloadable Ringtones, games, Text Messaging, internet access, access to company e-mails; all are features on 95% of today's new cell phones. This is enough to distract anybody from the boredom that is a million car traffic jam, as we are surrounded by potential disaster. BO-RING. People would rather talk to someone they're going to see at the Rock Bottom in 15 minutes than rock out to a Mudvayne hotstack or fire up the 5:20-Funny on KMTT. Or God Forbid, we be alone with our thoughts for a few moments, ya know? For Bill's Sake, the LAST thing you want to do is be quiet and think for a second. I've tried it a few times. And all I got were a bunch of answers to my issues and a balanced budget and a sense of being independent of technology. Useful? Yes. Fun? Not at all! I was like MAD.
So what's the "next big thing" for your phone? Television! How does that bag your groceries? During Bill Gates' keynote speech and new toy masturbatory display, he had numerous glitches that froze PCs and displays. Thank you Wizard, I'll just rent something near the Oz 'burbs. TV on a phone, Gatesdolf the Bland shorts-out, and I'm supposed to be excited about being able to watch TV anywhere I want? Well by golly, I IS! Everytime I'm in public I want to interact a little, but people are always on their phones, staring intently like Pres. Bush into his Magic 8-Ball (which is actually a real 8-Ball from the Nixon Bunker). I get bored at home in front of the TV. Now I can get OUT of the house, and take the TV with me! Because there's a Real World FULL of great things to watch.
So here's looking at you, taking your picture, e-mailing, calling, text messaging, and singing your favorite song, all into a TELEPHONE. I sure hope it has x-ray features to show me where my eye tumors are!
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
eBay Soon To Auction Off... eBay?
The former CIO of AT&T Wirelisp, Chris Corrado, was recently hired as CTO by eBay. Corrado's main job at Weinerlash was to "lean out" the operations in IT. That is, cut where he could, and he got to determine where the cuts would happen. During his tenure the AWls family lost over $300,000,000 in fines due to an IT project for Local Number Portability (LNP). That's where you get the number everyone totally knows to call you at, and then you want a cuter phone and totally get to take your number to a totally new company. Mass! The project was mismanaged by Deloitte Consulting, a company that was chosen by Corrado, among other Officers. Deloitte, at the time, had in its employ a manager who was once a cronie of Corrado's at Merrill Lynch. Deloitte also had a large sum of money liened against them for previously mismanaged projects, but they were handed the keys anyway. See how they 404'ed their brains here?
Not only were his shortcomings on display for everyone, being a short man who had his new Ferrari delivered to his office just days after announcing 1,800 layoffs (rumor has it that the car was keyed soon after, amen). $300,000,000 paid in FINES to the FCC due to a project having massive seizures and slow-downs. This crippled, beat, then set-aflame what was left of the AWls esprit de crap and in swept Cingular to buy it up. The men responsible for the loss of thousands of jobs in the Puget Sound area alone were handsomely compensated for their titles, in the A-list Actor range, millions if not tens of millions. For ruining a company.
A fair estimate is that 40% of the people who used to work for Careless have found new employ through contracting... at Cingular. Yeah, Cingular's paying a crapton more to Contracting Firms to have the same people doing the same jobs. Why? Well, for one reason, it cuts Cingular's responsibilities to pay for their insurance. No health, dental, or vision. Whatever that saves the company, it is worth this knowledge to me:
I want more than anything to work for myself, in my own business, running my own show.
Corporate America is a pimp, and they'll keep from lettin' fly the back of a 4-ringed hand as long as the whores keep quiet and keep hittin' the corners. I've had three great managers, and the rest (5, after this last re-org) have all been either so-so, or just absolute crap, as people and thus as managers. Everytime I see a dye-job's roots paired with colored contacts I want to throw a sleeper-hold on a spray-tanned ho-tard. At the very least, I know what NOT to do in a myriad of situations, and having the bad side become so apparent is a perfect perspective. I'm basically playing golf here: Stay quiet, keep my head down, and follow through.
There's a general malaise that's lifting from me, I'm pretty sure it's the weight of the number I've been tagged with when I unintentionally was sucked under by the Rat Race. I'm ready to do something else. Maybe I'll book comics. That seems easy, except for the part where I'd have to deal with comics, some of whom are total whores. Oh great, now Tony Moser's gonna think I'm talking about him.
I am.
I wonder how much comics would cost on eBay?
There's a question to ponder. If one comic could do the same job/material as another comic, but for less money, who should be hired? Sooner or later, we'll see Cover Comics making a Ferrari-load of cash off it. Get ready for it. Impersonators have already started it. But NOTHING, can fake the fact that I love the Black Angus wrap on flatbread at Quizno's.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Not only were his shortcomings on display for everyone, being a short man who had his new Ferrari delivered to his office just days after announcing 1,800 layoffs (rumor has it that the car was keyed soon after, amen). $300,000,000 paid in FINES to the FCC due to a project having massive seizures and slow-downs. This crippled, beat, then set-aflame what was left of the AWls esprit de crap and in swept Cingular to buy it up. The men responsible for the loss of thousands of jobs in the Puget Sound area alone were handsomely compensated for their titles, in the A-list Actor range, millions if not tens of millions. For ruining a company.
A fair estimate is that 40% of the people who used to work for Careless have found new employ through contracting... at Cingular. Yeah, Cingular's paying a crapton more to Contracting Firms to have the same people doing the same jobs. Why? Well, for one reason, it cuts Cingular's responsibilities to pay for their insurance. No health, dental, or vision. Whatever that saves the company, it is worth this knowledge to me:
I want more than anything to work for myself, in my own business, running my own show.
Corporate America is a pimp, and they'll keep from lettin' fly the back of a 4-ringed hand as long as the whores keep quiet and keep hittin' the corners. I've had three great managers, and the rest (5, after this last re-org) have all been either so-so, or just absolute crap, as people and thus as managers. Everytime I see a dye-job's roots paired with colored contacts I want to throw a sleeper-hold on a spray-tanned ho-tard. At the very least, I know what NOT to do in a myriad of situations, and having the bad side become so apparent is a perfect perspective. I'm basically playing golf here: Stay quiet, keep my head down, and follow through.
There's a general malaise that's lifting from me, I'm pretty sure it's the weight of the number I've been tagged with when I unintentionally was sucked under by the Rat Race. I'm ready to do something else. Maybe I'll book comics. That seems easy, except for the part where I'd have to deal with comics, some of whom are total whores. Oh great, now Tony Moser's gonna think I'm talking about him.
I am.
I wonder how much comics would cost on eBay?
There's a question to ponder. If one comic could do the same job/material as another comic, but for less money, who should be hired? Sooner or later, we'll see Cover Comics making a Ferrari-load of cash off it. Get ready for it. Impersonators have already started it. But NOTHING, can fake the fact that I love the Black Angus wrap on flatbread at Quizno's.
===========================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
I'd Rather Be Blogging
Thankfully, this blogging thing is becoming a minor obsession of mine. It's reminding me of old writing habits and why I loved them so much. It's so much more prodcutive than the laboring I do with Excel and Remedy Reporting all motherdusting day.
Speaking of old habits, here's a man whose... or is it "who's?" To show ownership, which "WHO"s/e is it? Anybody know? Anyway, remember that 1-ton guy in Nebraska who went into the hospital last year to lose weight? I've pasted an update below to his saga. The part that bugs me about his situation is that Medicare is paying the bills. His habits of overeating, slothful living, and lack of self-care led to his condition, and Medicare is saying "that's okay." Can't he be like the rest of America and just go on a Makeover Show. The only human makeover ever produced by "This Old House."
Medicare better be around for my liver/lung/cock transplant trifecta.
FAT MAN LESS FAT BUT STILL FAT AS ALL GET-OUT!
Enjoy the creme bruleé.
=======
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Speaking of old habits, here's a man whose... or is it "who's?" To show ownership, which "WHO"s/e is it? Anybody know? Anyway, remember that 1-ton guy in Nebraska who went into the hospital last year to lose weight? I've pasted an update below to his saga. The part that bugs me about his situation is that Medicare is paying the bills. His habits of overeating, slothful living, and lack of self-care led to his condition, and Medicare is saying "that's okay." Can't he be like the rest of America and just go on a Makeover Show. The only human makeover ever produced by "This Old House."
Medicare better be around for my liver/lung/cock transplant trifecta.
FAT MAN LESS FAT BUT STILL FAT AS ALL GET-OUT!
Enjoy the creme bruleé.
=======
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
Tsunami? You Barely Know Me! (or, "Tsunamis Hate Our Freedom")
As you read this, the White House is listening to chatter on an impending tsunami against any of this great nation's strategic (i.e. economically strong) areas of patriotic (i.e. money grabbing) interest. I'm so far to the right of left, but still left of the Right, that even I think this is a complete snowjob, but with ocean water and boogly-eyed fish tossed up from the deep.
The U.S. had an original aid pledge of $30,000,000 to help Tsunami victims. That was called "STINGY," mind you, by more than a few communist countries, including Hollywood's own Sandra Bullock. American aid to the relief efforts, just from the government, has been pledged at over $350,000,000, and that buys a LOT of towels, mops, sponges, squeegies, and waterproof goats, but it can't bring back anybody who was carried out to sea, including Sandra Bullock in "Speed 2: Sequel Boo-ga-loo."
This is truly a tragedy. Tens of thousands of people are gone, not just dead, GONE. The ocean may some day wash return them, a macabre bottle with a note inside that reads "Have you a warning system yet?" The tsunami's work has orphaned many children, widowed many spouses, and ruined a Zagat's guide-full of vacations. 150,000 people are dead as of today. That's all of Vancouver, WA. That's Kirkland, Redmond, and Issaquah, completely emptied of people. It's most of Tacoma. This doesn't include those who are going to die from infection and injury, that 150,000 is the number lost in the original land-fall. I watched a video the other night of the incoming wave, and it's pretty frightening. The water rushes out in about a minute... and 10 minutes later you can see, in the distance, a wall of water growing taller as the bottom of the incoming water hits the land shelf and forces the volume of it upwards. It's surreal and frightening, and is currently in production for a CBS Movie Of The Week: "Tsunami; The Devil's Bathtub."
Yes, there are fewer people to offshore jobs to, now. But that's not the point... Here are my questions: With $350,000,000 pledged to the relief efforts, have the victims of the Hurricane tag-team that wiped through Florida this year been taken care of? If they had insurance, then of COURSE they aren't taken care of yet. Insurance companies need proof that it was a hurricane before paying you for missing walls. Also, if there's $350,000,000 going to aid the tsunami efforts, why the F*CK can't two of my co-workers throw down $3 for some MF'ing cough drops so I don't have to hear what sounds like impressions of a car in need of some ingnition work?
Paris Hilton Break! Recently, Ms. Hilton crashed a party, CRASHED as in NOT INVITED, and sauntered in like everyone would drop to their knees and sniff her royal heinie. Her eyes weren't the only things turning red, however, when she glanced at the video monitors around the party to see the entertainment was HER VERY OWN X-RATED ROMP VIDEO. No word on whether or not she did a Pornaoke turn.
Back to the tsunami stuff. So that's the question, is the U.S. responsible to always handle the world's problems, especially when the problem is the result of a Force of Nature. This is going to be a mess, as relief money gets nicked by however many greedy people exchange it. Every exchange, of anything, be it money or information, leaves less and less of the original product to be delivered. (Sorry Billy, this doesn't hold true for STDs.) The best of people has come forward to help, and that generous altruistic nature is likely to be pilfered by a large number of scumbags wanting a piece of the seacucumber for no effort. The best and worst will happen when people are involved. For proof, see any of my reviews of Open Mic from the last year.
If you can't do it for the people, do it for the trapped dolphins and elephants. I can't imagine the hell that people are being put through there, standing in breadlines next to streets lined with bodies. But we can do SOMETHING. Prayers. Generally good thoughts of recovery for the area. The right people in the right times. Good weather. And if you want to give, here are two places that can use your dough:
Salvation Army
and
World Vision
Okay, I'm off to look at houses now. Wish me luck. And if you'd like to give anything to my mortgage relief fund, please use a plain brown bag tied to the neck of a stoned donkey in overalls. It's code for "Ass, Gas, Or Grass, Nobody Gets Relief For Free." Look for the cost of jeans to drop in the next year.
Quit groaning.
-------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
The U.S. had an original aid pledge of $30,000,000 to help Tsunami victims. That was called "STINGY," mind you, by more than a few communist countries, including Hollywood's own Sandra Bullock. American aid to the relief efforts, just from the government, has been pledged at over $350,000,000, and that buys a LOT of towels, mops, sponges, squeegies, and waterproof goats, but it can't bring back anybody who was carried out to sea, including Sandra Bullock in "Speed 2: Sequel Boo-ga-loo."
This is truly a tragedy. Tens of thousands of people are gone, not just dead, GONE. The ocean may some day wash return them, a macabre bottle with a note inside that reads "Have you a warning system yet?" The tsunami's work has orphaned many children, widowed many spouses, and ruined a Zagat's guide-full of vacations. 150,000 people are dead as of today. That's all of Vancouver, WA. That's Kirkland, Redmond, and Issaquah, completely emptied of people. It's most of Tacoma. This doesn't include those who are going to die from infection and injury, that 150,000 is the number lost in the original land-fall. I watched a video the other night of the incoming wave, and it's pretty frightening. The water rushes out in about a minute... and 10 minutes later you can see, in the distance, a wall of water growing taller as the bottom of the incoming water hits the land shelf and forces the volume of it upwards. It's surreal and frightening, and is currently in production for a CBS Movie Of The Week: "Tsunami; The Devil's Bathtub."
Yes, there are fewer people to offshore jobs to, now. But that's not the point... Here are my questions: With $350,000,000 pledged to the relief efforts, have the victims of the Hurricane tag-team that wiped through Florida this year been taken care of? If they had insurance, then of COURSE they aren't taken care of yet. Insurance companies need proof that it was a hurricane before paying you for missing walls. Also, if there's $350,000,000 going to aid the tsunami efforts, why the F*CK can't two of my co-workers throw down $3 for some MF'ing cough drops so I don't have to hear what sounds like impressions of a car in need of some ingnition work?
Paris Hilton Break! Recently, Ms. Hilton crashed a party, CRASHED as in NOT INVITED, and sauntered in like everyone would drop to their knees and sniff her royal heinie. Her eyes weren't the only things turning red, however, when she glanced at the video monitors around the party to see the entertainment was HER VERY OWN X-RATED ROMP VIDEO. No word on whether or not she did a Pornaoke turn.
Back to the tsunami stuff. So that's the question, is the U.S. responsible to always handle the world's problems, especially when the problem is the result of a Force of Nature. This is going to be a mess, as relief money gets nicked by however many greedy people exchange it. Every exchange, of anything, be it money or information, leaves less and less of the original product to be delivered. (Sorry Billy, this doesn't hold true for STDs.) The best of people has come forward to help, and that generous altruistic nature is likely to be pilfered by a large number of scumbags wanting a piece of the seacucumber for no effort. The best and worst will happen when people are involved. For proof, see any of my reviews of Open Mic from the last year.
If you can't do it for the people, do it for the trapped dolphins and elephants. I can't imagine the hell that people are being put through there, standing in breadlines next to streets lined with bodies. But we can do SOMETHING. Prayers. Generally good thoughts of recovery for the area. The right people in the right times. Good weather. And if you want to give, here are two places that can use your dough:
Salvation Army
and
World Vision
Okay, I'm off to look at houses now. Wish me luck. And if you'd like to give anything to my mortgage relief fund, please use a plain brown bag tied to the neck of a stoned donkey in overalls. It's code for "Ass, Gas, Or Grass, Nobody Gets Relief For Free." Look for the cost of jeans to drop in the next year.
Quit groaning.
-------------------
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, January 03, 2005
The Definition of A Screw Up
I am fully aware that our globe is in upheaval lately, politically, violently, and summarily seismic to capture all of the above. It's pretty frightening, and of course, any comic worth their salt is trying to write jokes about it without writing jokes about "it." But this is a story that I just cannot bypass as 2005 kicks off.
Yesterday the Seattle Seahawks were playing for the rights to host at least one home-field playoff game. 16 weeks of football behind them, at least 2 more to go, as of kick-off yesterday. And a very talented player was inactive for the game. Deactivated from the roster, Koren Robinson missed the team's Saturday practice, citing car trouble. Now, I've been on my way somewhere and had a car go narcoleptic on me, I understand that those things happen. But on Saturday, or New Year's Day as it were, Koren Robinson's car wouldn't start.
A 24 year-old multimillionaire with most of a college education, 3 years of professional football under his belt, on the backside of a 4-game suspension for having violated the NFL's policy on abusing controlled substances, and his car will not start. I don't believe he only has one car. I don't believe NONE of the cars would start. I don't believe he used all of his options (teammates, cabs, limos, police escort, magnificent white stallion, Segway scooter, etc.). I believe he was likely not home or just so F'ed up from the night before that he couldn't practice and would have been tested again for a controlled substance resulting in another hit to the wallet and loss of playing time.
He played 10 of 16 games this season. 6 games missed because of behavior problems. His teammates, bruised and battered and bullish to win against a much-better Atlanta squad showed up Saturday, priorities in check, helmets on, cobwebs working themselves out. To quote Steve Kelley in this morning's Seattle Times, Robinson is a "serial knucklehead" and a "lousy teammate."
So what lessons can I take from this?
First off, the guy's 24, so there are some maturity things happening here. Understood, I was a friggin' gooner nutlog when I was 23-24, more-so than now, mmkay? But I worked when I had to, for a hell of a lot less fun and compensation than Robinson's weekly haul.
Second, I've only ever had one car at a time because that's all I could barely afford, and I took care of it. Dead batteries happen in '86 Buick Skyhawk's; not in the likely H2, Escalade, or Benz driven by a former First Round draft pick. I'm positive he's got one of those, if not all.
Third, it's a little reminder that I am sometimes responsible to other people, coming through when I am expected to, and because of that, I may have to reign in something I want. This won't be every day or probably not even a weekly occurrence, but when somebody's counting on me arriving and helping a cause, the least I can do is show up as ready to work and fully-trousered as possible.
When someone screws up as much as Koren Robinson has this year, it makes me think aloud "4 game suspension, 2 games out with behavioral problems, is this guy high or drunk or both?"
In a world where I'm not on a lot of teams, at my job and in my performing, I'm still responsible for not letting myself down, at the very least. This means trying to be better at what I do, whatever "Better" entails on personal, physical, mental, creative, financial, and animal husbandry levels. I have work to do if I want to reach my next tier of goals, one of which is being paid a daily stipend as Koren Robinson's personal chauffeur. Cirrus don't fail me now!
Happy New Year, and lay off the drugs.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Yesterday the Seattle Seahawks were playing for the rights to host at least one home-field playoff game. 16 weeks of football behind them, at least 2 more to go, as of kick-off yesterday. And a very talented player was inactive for the game. Deactivated from the roster, Koren Robinson missed the team's Saturday practice, citing car trouble. Now, I've been on my way somewhere and had a car go narcoleptic on me, I understand that those things happen. But on Saturday, or New Year's Day as it were, Koren Robinson's car wouldn't start.
A 24 year-old multimillionaire with most of a college education, 3 years of professional football under his belt, on the backside of a 4-game suspension for having violated the NFL's policy on abusing controlled substances, and his car will not start. I don't believe he only has one car. I don't believe NONE of the cars would start. I don't believe he used all of his options (teammates, cabs, limos, police escort, magnificent white stallion, Segway scooter, etc.). I believe he was likely not home or just so F'ed up from the night before that he couldn't practice and would have been tested again for a controlled substance resulting in another hit to the wallet and loss of playing time.
He played 10 of 16 games this season. 6 games missed because of behavior problems. His teammates, bruised and battered and bullish to win against a much-better Atlanta squad showed up Saturday, priorities in check, helmets on, cobwebs working themselves out. To quote Steve Kelley in this morning's Seattle Times, Robinson is a "serial knucklehead" and a "lousy teammate."
So what lessons can I take from this?
First off, the guy's 24, so there are some maturity things happening here. Understood, I was a friggin' gooner nutlog when I was 23-24, more-so than now, mmkay? But I worked when I had to, for a hell of a lot less fun and compensation than Robinson's weekly haul.
Second, I've only ever had one car at a time because that's all I could barely afford, and I took care of it. Dead batteries happen in '86 Buick Skyhawk's; not in the likely H2, Escalade, or Benz driven by a former First Round draft pick. I'm positive he's got one of those, if not all.
Third, it's a little reminder that I am sometimes responsible to other people, coming through when I am expected to, and because of that, I may have to reign in something I want. This won't be every day or probably not even a weekly occurrence, but when somebody's counting on me arriving and helping a cause, the least I can do is show up as ready to work and fully-trousered as possible.
When someone screws up as much as Koren Robinson has this year, it makes me think aloud "4 game suspension, 2 games out with behavioral problems, is this guy high or drunk or both?"
In a world where I'm not on a lot of teams, at my job and in my performing, I'm still responsible for not letting myself down, at the very least. This means trying to be better at what I do, whatever "Better" entails on personal, physical, mental, creative, financial, and animal husbandry levels. I have work to do if I want to reach my next tier of goals, one of which is being paid a daily stipend as Koren Robinson's personal chauffeur. Cirrus don't fail me now!
Happy New Year, and lay off the drugs.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Shit, and What To Do About It. (for Beka Barry)
It's been a month + a few days since I first landed in Cabo, and exactly one month since the marathon that was Friday, Dec. 3rd. It started early and went late, and in the middle was a liver-testing amount of booze. Everything from tequila to margaritas to Tecate y Corona. It was stellar. It also pretty much ruined me for the rest of the trip.
When I say "ruined me" I mean internally. That night I got a bug or something. Whatever it was, I wasn't "right" for the rest of the trip, and haven't been since I returned. Not to be too gross, but I made 3 trips to el baño before 8:30am one morning. Fully juxtaposed was Killorn's problem, where-in she couldn't pass so much as a test. We rountabled her idea for O'Neill relief, that being laying her waist-deep in the surf and dropping a SuperFly on her from the shoulders of a turtle-whistling beach vendor, trying to really horse it out of her. But she balked after my test-Fly necessitated my rolling in the surf to "purify the ruins." I wasn't well. My energy was very low, my steps very nimble, and my eyes eagled any potential restroom. Note the use of "potential."
Tuesday morning found us on a snorkeling adventure. Off in remote-like beach, Santa Maria Bay, everyone was ready to hop in the water and have a grand ol' time before the booze cruises showed up. Those were pathetic, btw. Before I mask and fin the bod here, I had the burn of the Baja Boiler roil inside me, and I HAD to go. I refused to take that into the water, although it may have fended off the Water Pumas. Water Pumas are jellyfish about the size of a button mushroom that attack in legions of 2-5, and are nearly impossible to escape from, unless you decide to turn slowly in your floating and kick to an area that is Puma-safe. They WILL sting you mercilessly, leaving welts and a hot tingling sensation to rival that of a fast spitwad or a good flick.
Before adventuring into the bay I asked the "guide" (i.e. the guy who drove the van to the beach, then handed out beers) where the nearest baño was. His mostly-toothed smile and slight chuckle told me I was shit-out-0f-luck, and would therefore have to shit-out-of-doors. So, with feet turned outward, I headed behind a little outcropping that provided both shade and shield from my snorkel crew's eyes. The decibel level of my gurgling colon told them what I was up to, I'm sure. But hey, when ya gotta go, you may as well tell everyone about it, even if they weren't there. I was able to find some quarter where I was sure I'd be safe. A few seconds after getting into position I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me, but I figured it was either a compatriot or a Mexicanimal in for the shock of its life. Either way, a quick scan of footprints and scattered McDonalds napkins told me I wasn't among the first 50 people to do what I was doing where it was being done. I watched my step on the way out.
Those were the extremes I was driven to with this sickness. I drank a fair 8oz of Pepto, Mylanta, and straight wax in attempts to slow the processes. I know that copious amounts of alcohol, chicken, and beans weren't doing my any favors, but I've never had anything like this that sends me and my sweaty upper-lip doing a tip-toe hop to the can at least twice a day. So I have only one avenue left to heal myself: Colon Hydrotherapy.
I've had two such therapies before, and lemme tell ya what... they're amazing. A literal Fountain of Youth. The reason they work is that they cleanse the body of most of your toxins, or prepare it to do so. The lymph system we all hold onto filters toxins from our system, running them through a sort of liquid filter (lymphatic fluid), and depositing the toxins in our colon for expulsion. If the pipes are clogged, or not running right, then something's amiss. And something is Biblically amiss with me. I feel sluggish and sick and a step behind, more than I normally do. The colonic therapy clears all the toxins out, then kickstarts your liver, which you can feel and will recognize if you've ever drank too much PBR at Dante's. Usually I leave with a bounce in my step and a very clear head... yeah, I know.
So as I prepare to scoot off again to Tony Moser-ize the 2nd floor men's room (I work on the 3rd floor), I recommend that you seek some naturopathic remedies whenever possible. Nature holds a cure for almost every ailment, except childhood and the desire to be a comic. Other than that, Nature's already found a way to heal you. Western Medicine couldn't hold me back. I'm ready to SuperFly through the front door of Mountlake Terrace Acupuncture and Naturopathic Healing Clinic. Note... "HEALING." Not "Doctor's Office." I can attest, nothing ever gets done in an office. Go forth and cleanse thyself of evil. Especially after the holidays. Nobody needs this much nog.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
When I say "ruined me" I mean internally. That night I got a bug or something. Whatever it was, I wasn't "right" for the rest of the trip, and haven't been since I returned. Not to be too gross, but I made 3 trips to el baño before 8:30am one morning. Fully juxtaposed was Killorn's problem, where-in she couldn't pass so much as a test. We rountabled her idea for O'Neill relief, that being laying her waist-deep in the surf and dropping a SuperFly on her from the shoulders of a turtle-whistling beach vendor, trying to really horse it out of her. But she balked after my test-Fly necessitated my rolling in the surf to "purify the ruins." I wasn't well. My energy was very low, my steps very nimble, and my eyes eagled any potential restroom. Note the use of "potential."
Tuesday morning found us on a snorkeling adventure. Off in remote-like beach, Santa Maria Bay, everyone was ready to hop in the water and have a grand ol' time before the booze cruises showed up. Those were pathetic, btw. Before I mask and fin the bod here, I had the burn of the Baja Boiler roil inside me, and I HAD to go. I refused to take that into the water, although it may have fended off the Water Pumas. Water Pumas are jellyfish about the size of a button mushroom that attack in legions of 2-5, and are nearly impossible to escape from, unless you decide to turn slowly in your floating and kick to an area that is Puma-safe. They WILL sting you mercilessly, leaving welts and a hot tingling sensation to rival that of a fast spitwad or a good flick.
Before adventuring into the bay I asked the "guide" (i.e. the guy who drove the van to the beach, then handed out beers) where the nearest baño was. His mostly-toothed smile and slight chuckle told me I was shit-out-0f-luck, and would therefore have to shit-out-of-doors. So, with feet turned outward, I headed behind a little outcropping that provided both shade and shield from my snorkel crew's eyes. The decibel level of my gurgling colon told them what I was up to, I'm sure. But hey, when ya gotta go, you may as well tell everyone about it, even if they weren't there. I was able to find some quarter where I was sure I'd be safe. A few seconds after getting into position I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me, but I figured it was either a compatriot or a Mexicanimal in for the shock of its life. Either way, a quick scan of footprints and scattered McDonalds napkins told me I wasn't among the first 50 people to do what I was doing where it was being done. I watched my step on the way out.
Those were the extremes I was driven to with this sickness. I drank a fair 8oz of Pepto, Mylanta, and straight wax in attempts to slow the processes. I know that copious amounts of alcohol, chicken, and beans weren't doing my any favors, but I've never had anything like this that sends me and my sweaty upper-lip doing a tip-toe hop to the can at least twice a day. So I have only one avenue left to heal myself: Colon Hydrotherapy.
I've had two such therapies before, and lemme tell ya what... they're amazing. A literal Fountain of Youth. The reason they work is that they cleanse the body of most of your toxins, or prepare it to do so. The lymph system we all hold onto filters toxins from our system, running them through a sort of liquid filter (lymphatic fluid), and depositing the toxins in our colon for expulsion. If the pipes are clogged, or not running right, then something's amiss. And something is Biblically amiss with me. I feel sluggish and sick and a step behind, more than I normally do. The colonic therapy clears all the toxins out, then kickstarts your liver, which you can feel and will recognize if you've ever drank too much PBR at Dante's. Usually I leave with a bounce in my step and a very clear head... yeah, I know.
So as I prepare to scoot off again to Tony Moser-ize the 2nd floor men's room (I work on the 3rd floor), I recommend that you seek some naturopathic remedies whenever possible. Nature holds a cure for almost every ailment, except childhood and the desire to be a comic. Other than that, Nature's already found a way to heal you. Western Medicine couldn't hold me back. I'm ready to SuperFly through the front door of Mountlake Terrace Acupuncture and Naturopathic Healing Clinic. Note... "HEALING." Not "Doctor's Office." I can attest, nothing ever gets done in an office. Go forth and cleanse thyself of evil. Especially after the holidays. Nobody needs this much nog.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
TwoThousand High-Five
Darlings. I thank thee for checking this out.
New Year's Eve was spent with some of my best, closest (read: They know SECRETS, and are trusted, 'cause I know SECRETS), friends, including Keem, Ali Bobba, Jen, Chili D. & Angela, and my favorite person in the whole world, Alicia. We showed up to be entertained by "Black Celebration", a Depeche Mode cover band (I love DM. What? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of me loving DM and not caring what you think), and SuperDiamond, a Neil Diamond cover band. Both bands just came out and entertained the hell outta the crowd. Lots o' fun for all. GAWSH, it was fun!
I'm in love. Real love, the kind where I am 95% myself around her (the other 5% isn't what adults do at the dinner table), and I have full perspective of how truly good, real, and beautiful this woman is. I had been jaded in relationships, hating the circling and the dance that can cumulate in a few weeks of sniping, topped off with a big floater of "F*ck You More!" I didn't really know this is what it's supposed to feel like, good and real and it's not endless hours of looking into each other's eyes. My only regret is that I did not meet her earlier in my life. BUT, I know that in the scheme that is my life, I was not ready for her until the night I met her, September 22, 2004. The best first date of my life. The best New Year's Eve of my life. The best. I have fears of course, but they're more that I will not check myself when I'm tired or hungry or stressed and be an immature ass and hurt her. Part of my growth has been in seeing when I may get assy, and heading it off at the pass, and trying to communicate it the best I can. I don't have it all figured out, I just know what NOT to do, so I will not do those things, and actively Love the best I can. Love is a verb. Did I know that?
The one resolution I really want to keep is to do More. Stave of sloth with activity, involvement, and Life, basically. I'm gonna be tired for while, but shooooooot, I may end up losing a good 304 el-beez out of the deal.
What-not
I've already done 2 sets in 2005, tonight at Giggles. First show was good, I did a joke for the second time that gets a Kirstie Alley's Muffin-sized groan bucket. It's about the Tsunami, which some ho-tard had not heard of as of last Wednesday night (how can anybody not be informed, even by accident, in this age of inundation with useless info?), and it takes a turn that is sad, challenging to the audience, and makes me laugh in a way that I know is wrong. But what's the funniest part of something to me? The subtextual references that point out truth, the perspective, the nooks and/or crannies where a light is shined... shone... pointed into and something new is seen. And I do it for all those reasons. Is it too soon? Nah. It's only gonna work for like 2 weeks anyway.
Geoff Brousseau had a great point tonight. Brousseau wanted to ask people in the audience to watch the show tonight, then watch the stand-up that fills half hours on Comedy Central. Get a perspective of comedy. Get hip to it, basically, and come out and see us. I think Seattle's crew is going to take some big steps this year. Change can be frightening, but the other side of it is usually a great set of butterfly wings, more money, better living, or even gender reassignment. (Good Luck with that, Tony!)
Don't sell yourself short. You haven't yet begun to disappoint your parents. The good thing is, you are now your own person. Get happy, and stop your pity parties, the world ain't waiting for you to start feeling better.
Happy New Year, Sweetpeas.
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
New Year's Eve was spent with some of my best, closest (read: They know SECRETS, and are trusted, 'cause I know SECRETS), friends, including Keem, Ali Bobba, Jen, Chili D. & Angela, and my favorite person in the whole world, Alicia. We showed up to be entertained by "Black Celebration", a Depeche Mode cover band (I love DM. What? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of me loving DM and not caring what you think), and SuperDiamond, a Neil Diamond cover band. Both bands just came out and entertained the hell outta the crowd. Lots o' fun for all. GAWSH, it was fun!
I'm in love. Real love, the kind where I am 95% myself around her (the other 5% isn't what adults do at the dinner table), and I have full perspective of how truly good, real, and beautiful this woman is. I had been jaded in relationships, hating the circling and the dance that can cumulate in a few weeks of sniping, topped off with a big floater of "F*ck You More!" I didn't really know this is what it's supposed to feel like, good and real and it's not endless hours of looking into each other's eyes. My only regret is that I did not meet her earlier in my life. BUT, I know that in the scheme that is my life, I was not ready for her until the night I met her, September 22, 2004. The best first date of my life. The best New Year's Eve of my life. The best. I have fears of course, but they're more that I will not check myself when I'm tired or hungry or stressed and be an immature ass and hurt her. Part of my growth has been in seeing when I may get assy, and heading it off at the pass, and trying to communicate it the best I can. I don't have it all figured out, I just know what NOT to do, so I will not do those things, and actively Love the best I can. Love is a verb. Did I know that?
The one resolution I really want to keep is to do More. Stave of sloth with activity, involvement, and Life, basically. I'm gonna be tired for while, but shooooooot, I may end up losing a good 304 el-beez out of the deal.
What-not
I've already done 2 sets in 2005, tonight at Giggles. First show was good, I did a joke for the second time that gets a Kirstie Alley's Muffin-sized groan bucket. It's about the Tsunami, which some ho-tard had not heard of as of last Wednesday night (how can anybody not be informed, even by accident, in this age of inundation with useless info?), and it takes a turn that is sad, challenging to the audience, and makes me laugh in a way that I know is wrong. But what's the funniest part of something to me? The subtextual references that point out truth, the perspective, the nooks and/or crannies where a light is shined... shone... pointed into and something new is seen. And I do it for all those reasons. Is it too soon? Nah. It's only gonna work for like 2 weeks anyway.
Geoff Brousseau had a great point tonight. Brousseau wanted to ask people in the audience to watch the show tonight, then watch the stand-up that fills half hours on Comedy Central. Get a perspective of comedy. Get hip to it, basically, and come out and see us. I think Seattle's crew is going to take some big steps this year. Change can be frightening, but the other side of it is usually a great set of butterfly wings, more money, better living, or even gender reassignment. (Good Luck with that, Tony!)
Don't sell yourself short. You haven't yet begun to disappoint your parents. The good thing is, you are now your own person. Get happy, and stop your pity parties, the world ain't waiting for you to start feeling better.
Happy New Year, Sweetpeas.
======================
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thursday, December 30, 2004
2004-ever, Never Again
What a year.
But really, it's all just days to change over to keep the calendar kiosk conglomerate in business. Point taken. There were days I slept, nights that I couldn't. Days I wrote, nights I spoke. Days and nights I drank. Days and nights I wept. And it's all history.
This year has been a jump for me. I took a couple of leaps and learned a lot. A year of growth, a year of shrinkage, a year of lessons to take in and share outwards. At some point, you must give it out of love. At some point you must stop giving. At some point you should assess where you are. At some point you should keep moving and stop thinking and just Do. At some point you have to make sense of it all. At some point you may realize it will never make sense, because It simply Is. Don't try and make sense of the Komodo Dragon; just respect that it is, and hope that it lets go of your kneecap.
I am making greater strides at the moment, I feel like I'm running the last 50 meters of a mile, feet hitting the ground less often but with more force, propelling me forward, not simply guiding under me. It's like I'm powering up a hill and not looking to the summit, just slightly up so as to navigate the fallen tree, the boulder, the cougar WHOA shit a cougar. It sees me, but it's not moving. If it does, I'm not waiting for it to attack, I must move towards it now, or be forever tracked by it, waiting for me to slip and it's then on me.
This year has brought great highs and great lows, and it's what I needed: PERSPECTIVE. Why does Bad happen in the world? Because of our Free Will. Because of years of neglecting our needs. From decades of thinking we have everyone else's problems figured out, while ours stare at us from across the table, a shadow that skews in the light and disappears in the dark, but that thing is THERE, and without the shadow, we wouldn't know where the light's coming from. Yin/Yang, Dark/Light, Hogg/Hazzard, Vader/Skywalker, where you at? I haven't denied once that events could turn sour in a caffeine-nicotine-sped heartbeat, because I've mis-timed my whoopee cushion salutes enough in the past to know how to mess it up. Sometimes, the knowledge of failure is all you need to ensure success. Put that on a magnet and sell it, $5, gimme half.
I'm looking forward to at least one good fist fight in 2005. Not sure when or where, and I may get thumped, but oh lord, I'll have fun. America sucks, by the way. We're not truly free to do what we want, but some laws are there to protect us. It depends on the What we are being protected From that bothers me. But we suck a lot less than a lot of places, except Europe, which is still a couple thousand years of civilization ahead of us. We may have more toys, but money can't buy class.
I'm outta here. Thanks for reading. Catch you on Saturday. E-mail me if you like.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
But really, it's all just days to change over to keep the calendar kiosk conglomerate in business. Point taken. There were days I slept, nights that I couldn't. Days I wrote, nights I spoke. Days and nights I drank. Days and nights I wept. And it's all history.
This year has been a jump for me. I took a couple of leaps and learned a lot. A year of growth, a year of shrinkage, a year of lessons to take in and share outwards. At some point, you must give it out of love. At some point you must stop giving. At some point you should assess where you are. At some point you should keep moving and stop thinking and just Do. At some point you have to make sense of it all. At some point you may realize it will never make sense, because It simply Is. Don't try and make sense of the Komodo Dragon; just respect that it is, and hope that it lets go of your kneecap.
I am making greater strides at the moment, I feel like I'm running the last 50 meters of a mile, feet hitting the ground less often but with more force, propelling me forward, not simply guiding under me. It's like I'm powering up a hill and not looking to the summit, just slightly up so as to navigate the fallen tree, the boulder, the cougar WHOA shit a cougar. It sees me, but it's not moving. If it does, I'm not waiting for it to attack, I must move towards it now, or be forever tracked by it, waiting for me to slip and it's then on me.
This year has brought great highs and great lows, and it's what I needed: PERSPECTIVE. Why does Bad happen in the world? Because of our Free Will. Because of years of neglecting our needs. From decades of thinking we have everyone else's problems figured out, while ours stare at us from across the table, a shadow that skews in the light and disappears in the dark, but that thing is THERE, and without the shadow, we wouldn't know where the light's coming from. Yin/Yang, Dark/Light, Hogg/Hazzard, Vader/Skywalker, where you at? I haven't denied once that events could turn sour in a caffeine-nicotine-sped heartbeat, because I've mis-timed my whoopee cushion salutes enough in the past to know how to mess it up. Sometimes, the knowledge of failure is all you need to ensure success. Put that on a magnet and sell it, $5, gimme half.
I'm looking forward to at least one good fist fight in 2005. Not sure when or where, and I may get thumped, but oh lord, I'll have fun. America sucks, by the way. We're not truly free to do what we want, but some laws are there to protect us. It depends on the What we are being protected From that bothers me. But we suck a lot less than a lot of places, except Europe, which is still a couple thousand years of civilization ahead of us. We may have more toys, but money can't buy class.
I'm outta here. Thanks for reading. Catch you on Saturday. E-mail me if you like.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Paris Hilton Video Effects Analagous To Major Searching
See, what I'm doing there is making a title that will be hit about a billion times by people who have yet to see the Paris Hilton video. "Paris Hilton Video" should get a lot. Then the word "analogous" is gonna get attention because of the words "anal" and "log" and "us." In the meantime, a 5'2" earth-momma who favors tropical flower short sets is roaming the workplace telling people "See Ya Next Year, meeeaaa ha ha ha ha!" So yes, your fears are realized; people still say that.
Thank you God for the Sybase group's giftbasket having Bailey's in it. Thank you sparsely attended workplace.
Dude, Did You Put A Scene In?
Pornaoke is a hit! Who'd-a thunk it? What is it? It's like Karaoke, but with porn. No, you're not making the "bow bow, chikka-chikka-chikka, bow bow" guitar sound to the music. Even better. The "DJ," - yep, that's his Viking van out front with the "LUVBORG" plates - puts up a scene from a pornographic movie, likely something from his "Tuesday" collection, and random people "off the street" make up the voices and noises of the people having sex on camera.
This will never happen in the states. I mean, COME ON people, they could only do it in a public place like a smokey BAR attended by ADULTS, and we can't risk the people who ARE NOT IN THE BAR being offended.
And lord knows it's gonna lead to other things, like people leaving the bar ready to have sex after watching those videos! Because that's NEVER happened before Pornaoke, has it? Come on American bars, this is a GOLD MINE!
"Okay, we need McKenzie and the Southern Oregon Men's Rugby Team on stage for this next scene from 'Friends In Low Places; Starrla's New Roommates.' "
Where Do You Think You're Going?
Seeing as how I haven't had one work-related e-mail since 3pm Monday afternoon, I'm getting the F outta here. The Bailey's is almost gone, the contractors are still here, and nobody has brought in a decent muffin plate in 2 weeks. I'm leaving. Plus, I just saw Sandie the earth momma and told her "See ya next year!" She got pissed that I jumped her punchline. I WIN, I WIN, I WIN! Leave 'em wanting more.
Tonight, 9:30pm, Pegasus Pizza. Be there.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Thank you God for the Sybase group's giftbasket having Bailey's in it. Thank you sparsely attended workplace.
Dude, Did You Put A Scene In?
Pornaoke is a hit! Who'd-a thunk it? What is it? It's like Karaoke, but with porn. No, you're not making the "bow bow, chikka-chikka-chikka, bow bow" guitar sound to the music. Even better. The "DJ," - yep, that's his Viking van out front with the "LUVBORG" plates - puts up a scene from a pornographic movie, likely something from his "Tuesday" collection, and random people "off the street" make up the voices and noises of the people having sex on camera.
This will never happen in the states. I mean, COME ON people, they could only do it in a public place like a smokey BAR attended by ADULTS, and we can't risk the people who ARE NOT IN THE BAR being offended.
And lord knows it's gonna lead to other things, like people leaving the bar ready to have sex after watching those videos! Because that's NEVER happened before Pornaoke, has it? Come on American bars, this is a GOLD MINE!
"Okay, we need McKenzie and the Southern Oregon Men's Rugby Team on stage for this next scene from 'Friends In Low Places; Starrla's New Roommates.' "
Where Do You Think You're Going?
Seeing as how I haven't had one work-related e-mail since 3pm Monday afternoon, I'm getting the F outta here. The Bailey's is almost gone, the contractors are still here, and nobody has brought in a decent muffin plate in 2 weeks. I'm leaving. Plus, I just saw Sandie the earth momma and told her "See ya next year!" She got pissed that I jumped her punchline. I WIN, I WIN, I WIN! Leave 'em wanting more.
Tonight, 9:30pm, Pegasus Pizza. Be there.
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Monday, December 27, 2004
An Open Letter To Dickwads, Cock-Knockers, And F*ckTards
At some point in the past week I've had a number of people make comments about my comedy, life, or personality. These people have zero knowledge of me what-so-ever, and don't really get what I'm doing with comedy. And since it's not their place to make a judgment on things that affect them not, I am having fun walking my dog "Righteous" on a leash made of "Truth."
Last night's set at Gigglets was up & down, with basic laughs coming from stuff I knew would work, and chuckles on the new stuff. That's what Open Mic'ing is about, working the new stuff, a skill, a bit, a joke, a chunk. It's not, in my mind, about the whoring of old jokes so that my ego isn't rankled. And yet two complete diaper-wipes had something to say after my set.
One guy made mention of my set not being "killer" and that I "tanked on purpose." I told him that I'm not whoring old material (he's suspect for writing his own) just to kill for 6 minutes at an open mic. The other guy, who is the new SpongeBen DirtPants, purports his act like a Yiddish Dat Phan, and said that I was passive aggressive. I told him he could f*ck off. Those two got into a verbal altercation shortly there-after, mostly because of miscommunication between overblown egos and false senses of hilarity.
So anyway, if you have something to say about me, my life, or my comedy, make sure you do it to my face, and be prepared to defend your case. If you just don't like me, believe me, I began disliking you a long time ago, so we're square. But when a couple of people I have very little if any respect for decide they're going to make judgment calls based on their own skewed "head in the ass" views of the comedy world we co-exist in - let alone a judgment by a complete stranger - I begin to wonder how sad and pathetic their lives really are. From what I can tell of the shabby clothing, lack of jokes, and Small Man's Complex, the answer is Quite. I guess I must be getting a lot better at this, if people are taking shots at me for reasons that don't affect them.
Look out, World. Duke Discerning is on the case.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Last night's set at Gigglets was up & down, with basic laughs coming from stuff I knew would work, and chuckles on the new stuff. That's what Open Mic'ing is about, working the new stuff, a skill, a bit, a joke, a chunk. It's not, in my mind, about the whoring of old jokes so that my ego isn't rankled. And yet two complete diaper-wipes had something to say after my set.
One guy made mention of my set not being "killer" and that I "tanked on purpose." I told him that I'm not whoring old material (he's suspect for writing his own) just to kill for 6 minutes at an open mic. The other guy, who is the new SpongeBen DirtPants, purports his act like a Yiddish Dat Phan, and said that I was passive aggressive. I told him he could f*ck off. Those two got into a verbal altercation shortly there-after, mostly because of miscommunication between overblown egos and false senses of hilarity.
So anyway, if you have something to say about me, my life, or my comedy, make sure you do it to my face, and be prepared to defend your case. If you just don't like me, believe me, I began disliking you a long time ago, so we're square. But when a couple of people I have very little if any respect for decide they're going to make judgment calls based on their own skewed "head in the ass" views of the comedy world we co-exist in - let alone a judgment by a complete stranger - I begin to wonder how sad and pathetic their lives really are. From what I can tell of the shabby clothing, lack of jokes, and Small Man's Complex, the answer is Quite. I guess I must be getting a lot better at this, if people are taking shots at me for reasons that don't affect them.
Look out, World. Duke Discerning is on the case.
=============
Take Me Home
My Non-Funny Blog.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)