I'll Take "Days That Remind Me Of Nothing" for $600
My respiratory illness is being beat back by a cocktail of DayQuil, NyQuil, Penicillin, Juicy Juice! (100% Juice!), and a lot of sleep. I slept most of last night, but woke this morning to the dulcet tones of my lungs forcefully expelling air and whatever else is in there. I've got some sort of hoofed beast in my manifold, it's horrific. Overall I feel fine. No aches or pains, except the ones that are in my back and abs from the full-body lung-spasms. I'm actually gettin' a pretty good work out in all this. Lots of cardio, lots of abs, and my neighbors are kept up all night by my hacking or crying. Either way, I'm a winner.
So I get up and get moving today, and thankfully my first human contact is with M, who's got your Quizno's right here punk, and not hearing Gary Jules again. Gawd, how can you face a day when the first words you hear are "I find it kinda funny/I find it kinda sad/That the dreams in which I'm dying/are the best I've ever had." I need huggy now.
I get to work, 9-ish, not much going on. I have jack-all to do, a couple of reports to run, which I ran, and really weren't worth the time to run them. But it's my job, so I did it. And that's about where I stand now. Yay. Ideally I would like to win the Lotto, and work at some job I could abuse customers at all day. That's a blown premise, but gawd if it isn't true.
Cool: Coffee ice cream, knuckle pushups, squats, romanian deadlifts, gettin' fonky, open bar, Monterey Jack cheese, BioTest GROW! Low-carb protein shake mix (chocolate), and cool people.
Cold: Trucker hats, pooka shell necklaces, baseball traffic, men wearing jerseys, bleeding ulcers, non-bleeding ulcers, ringer t's, rumpley jeans, Frats, Sluts, and hacks.
Take Me Home
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.
Wednesday, April 07, 2004
Tuesday, April 06, 2004
Working Out My Issues
Last week I had a weird encounter at the gym. I was doing some lat-pulls, and was finishing a set of 15, and did 2 behind my head, which as we all know is BAD BAD BAD, right? Compresses your vertebrae a little more than is necessary. As I'm walking away from the machine, a "trainer" comes over and says to me…
"Hiiii! I'm Angie, and I've been here about 3 weeks now as a trainer. I noticed you were doing lat pulls behind your head which can cause some strain and injury to your cervical collar. Try to do all of your pulls in front of your head to protect your neck, okay?"
Apparently Angie gets her exercise from jumping to conclusions. All I could muster was "Hi Angie, I'm Geoff. I've been lifting weights for the better part of 15 years. I notice you like cheap make-up and home perms, which turn your skin orange and your hair to Easter grass. From now on, try not to answer questions I didn't ask, and I won't damage your cervix, mmkay?"
Canyon Park Fitness has an opening for Personal Trainers, if anyone's looking.
Opening Day Of Pro Baseball...
Today is the first day of the Major League Baseball season. That means for 81 days, at the least, traffic into Seattle will be 4 times as crappy as usual. It means little else to those of us who could care less about baseball. I don't like pro baseball. In-stadium, okay, but not on TV, not on the radio. BO-RING. Since I'm not frequenting the park, but 45,000 other people are, that's an average of 7 million more cars on the road, and not nearly enough entertaining if not horrific accidents involving Semis and Mariner car-pools.
If you're a big baseball fan, good for you. I'm sure I could tell by your pull-over, t-shirt, socks, cap, pins, sweatbands (sweatbands? you have a desk job), and SoDo Mojo decal, which is now 4 years too late, I think. Anyway, this marks the end of many nights for me at the Comedy Underpants with the Mariners are in town. It will be harder to find parking than finding a straight guy wintering in Ibiza.
Take me out to the ball game, take me out with a bat.
Take Me Home
Last week I had a weird encounter at the gym. I was doing some lat-pulls, and was finishing a set of 15, and did 2 behind my head, which as we all know is BAD BAD BAD, right? Compresses your vertebrae a little more than is necessary. As I'm walking away from the machine, a "trainer" comes over and says to me…
"Hiiii! I'm Angie, and I've been here about 3 weeks now as a trainer. I noticed you were doing lat pulls behind your head which can cause some strain and injury to your cervical collar. Try to do all of your pulls in front of your head to protect your neck, okay?"
Apparently Angie gets her exercise from jumping to conclusions. All I could muster was "Hi Angie, I'm Geoff. I've been lifting weights for the better part of 15 years. I notice you like cheap make-up and home perms, which turn your skin orange and your hair to Easter grass. From now on, try not to answer questions I didn't ask, and I won't damage your cervix, mmkay?"
Canyon Park Fitness has an opening for Personal Trainers, if anyone's looking.
Opening Day Of Pro Baseball...
Today is the first day of the Major League Baseball season. That means for 81 days, at the least, traffic into Seattle will be 4 times as crappy as usual. It means little else to those of us who could care less about baseball. I don't like pro baseball. In-stadium, okay, but not on TV, not on the radio. BO-RING. Since I'm not frequenting the park, but 45,000 other people are, that's an average of 7 million more cars on the road, and not nearly enough entertaining if not horrific accidents involving Semis and Mariner car-pools.
If you're a big baseball fan, good for you. I'm sure I could tell by your pull-over, t-shirt, socks, cap, pins, sweatbands (sweatbands? you have a desk job), and SoDo Mojo decal, which is now 4 years too late, I think. Anyway, this marks the end of many nights for me at the Comedy Underpants with the Mariners are in town. It will be harder to find parking than finding a straight guy wintering in Ibiza.
Take me out to the ball game, take me out with a bat.
Take Me Home
Monday, April 05, 2004
The Weekend In Review
I had myself a great weekend. It was way more relaxed than I thought it would be, but that's good, as I'm soldiering through the SARS-like chest cold that everyone else beat about 6 weeks ago.
I played a little pool on Friday night at Jillians. Here's a quick transcription of me playing pool, regardless of how easy the shot is:
"7, corner pocket, (breathe, breathe), >PLICK< SH*T!"
We almost ended up at some dive on Cap Hill, a bar that has an awning that says "Typewriters" (and why wouldn't it?). It apparently serves only imported beers from Belgium, Denmark, and North Dakota. I didn't want to go in at first because the billowing smoke was reminiscent of a couch fire, but we were there to meet friends and were going to play the PR and be like dat.
I was there with M, who wants to Rock&Roll All Wednesday, and we bailed after 5 minutes of waiting on the friends who suggested the place. We hoofed it to B&O Espresso, which has a very café-like bar and a dessert case that would shame Anna Nicole's breakfast menu. She apparently Trim Spa'ed her way to a leaner bod. That's no big feat, when you consider Trim Spa is in pill form, and she was already downing more pills than a test-rat for Bayer. "Take one more? Okay, but I gets to wash 'er down with buttermilk! Eew, this one taste like the green food." Bluck.
Saturday comes around, and I head to the state Capitol, then South-ish for two towns I've never been to. I got to see a little of Satsop and the Mini-Mart in Brady. Great night of chillin', chattin', and serious eatin' in Satsop. Met M's mom, M's brother and his fiancee, and threw darts against a jail guard with a penchant for do-it-his-own-damn-self woodfire stove installation. The amount of smoke that thing emitted INSIDE the garage/workshop/dart arena, compounded with the Friday night Typewriter joint's smokiness, probably only exacerbated the amount of lunggage I am carrying. It was funny to hear them say "Close the door, you're letting the heat out!" Guys, that's not heat, that's lactic acidosis from asphyxiation. At the risk of sounding like a weenie, I'm not down with monoxide-induced bronchial spasms. Call me fickle, pickle, but my brain cells are leaving in clown cars every other hour. Dig it.
Sunday started late due to not setting the clock an hour ahead. I wasn't paying attention to the clock anywho, but I think the time change figured a bit into today. Read on...
I SCREAM FOR THIS STUFF!
Last night we got some iced cream, a treat for me as I'm usually adhering to a strict high-protein, low-fun diet. I opted for Godiva Chocolate Truffle Raspberry, and M, who could kick it if it needs to be kicked, grabbed a pint of Ben & Jerry's classic Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.
The CCCD is always a crowd pleaser. I had a hankering for something fruity with a kick, but there's only one David Lee Roth. So I grab the Godiva Chocolate Truffle Raspberry, plop on the couch for a viewing of Cold Creek Manor (wait for it on GameBoy), and settle in for a-viewin'. Damned if I didn't eat 3/4ths of the pint. I don't even feel bad about it. It was good. NAY, it was spiritually erotic, or erotically spiritually. It was a delight for all the senses. Don't eat any, it will kill you. If you eat a bunch, I won't be able to have any, and I will pants you at lunch.
Try me, jerk-hole.
More Hacks Than The Tacoma Underground
Holy Lumberhacks I have a chest cold that is working me over like Ike on Tina. About 4-6 weeks back it seemed EVERYONE had this cold. It starts in your face and makes your head feel like it's going to pop, but not the fun "One more DayQuil & Cran, bartender!" kind of floaty-head popping. It feels like a quick turn of your head could cause inertia to take over the contents of the nasal passages, and sling it back to the other side while your face collapses. I suggest Claritin, lots of water, and not looking at stuff.
So I get past that part of it, and for 2 days I am golden-retriever healthy. Good color, cold, wet snout, peeing outside, plenty of yard-time. Then it hits me. Last Tuesday night, WHAM, this chest cold lungjacks me and won't leave. It's taken up squatter's rights in my bronchial tubes, and the only way to get it out is through the spasms my lungs are running through. This isn't "tickle in the throat, time for tea and honey!" coughing, this is full-diaphragm, red eye bursting, back cracking, ab-tightening lung assault to break this up. Last night I would sleep for 40 minutes, wake for 20, and cough for 10 of those. I'm surprised I wasn't asked to sleep in my car. Don't think I wasn't gonna volunteer.
My plan of attack for tonight: DayQuil and 1 Tylenol PM, OR, Cherry NyQuil over Godiva Chocolate Raspberry Truffle Chocolate, a.k.a "The AnnaNicole."
The Straight Dope
There is almost no more liberating feeling than realizing and accepting your parents as People, not just Mom & Dad. It makes it much easier to see where they've been in life, how we can affect each other with the smallest gestures of love and kindness, and how much it's gonna suck to put them in Shady Pines Adult Center. That sounds kinda saucy, if you aks me.
Go ahead, aks me…
Geoffers
What UpHomey?
I had myself a great weekend. It was way more relaxed than I thought it would be, but that's good, as I'm soldiering through the SARS-like chest cold that everyone else beat about 6 weeks ago.
I played a little pool on Friday night at Jillians. Here's a quick transcription of me playing pool, regardless of how easy the shot is:
"7, corner pocket, (breathe, breathe), >PLICK< SH*T!"
We almost ended up at some dive on Cap Hill, a bar that has an awning that says "Typewriters" (and why wouldn't it?). It apparently serves only imported beers from Belgium, Denmark, and North Dakota. I didn't want to go in at first because the billowing smoke was reminiscent of a couch fire, but we were there to meet friends and were going to play the PR and be like dat.
I was there with M, who wants to Rock&Roll All Wednesday, and we bailed after 5 minutes of waiting on the friends who suggested the place. We hoofed it to B&O Espresso, which has a very café-like bar and a dessert case that would shame Anna Nicole's breakfast menu. She apparently Trim Spa'ed her way to a leaner bod. That's no big feat, when you consider Trim Spa is in pill form, and she was already downing more pills than a test-rat for Bayer. "Take one more? Okay, but I gets to wash 'er down with buttermilk! Eew, this one taste like the green food." Bluck.
Saturday comes around, and I head to the state Capitol, then South-ish for two towns I've never been to. I got to see a little of Satsop and the Mini-Mart in Brady. Great night of chillin', chattin', and serious eatin' in Satsop. Met M's mom, M's brother and his fiancee, and threw darts against a jail guard with a penchant for do-it-his-own-damn-self woodfire stove installation. The amount of smoke that thing emitted INSIDE the garage/workshop/dart arena, compounded with the Friday night Typewriter joint's smokiness, probably only exacerbated the amount of lunggage I am carrying. It was funny to hear them say "Close the door, you're letting the heat out!" Guys, that's not heat, that's lactic acidosis from asphyxiation. At the risk of sounding like a weenie, I'm not down with monoxide-induced bronchial spasms. Call me fickle, pickle, but my brain cells are leaving in clown cars every other hour. Dig it.
Sunday started late due to not setting the clock an hour ahead. I wasn't paying attention to the clock anywho, but I think the time change figured a bit into today. Read on...
I SCREAM FOR THIS STUFF!
Last night we got some iced cream, a treat for me as I'm usually adhering to a strict high-protein, low-fun diet. I opted for Godiva Chocolate Truffle Raspberry, and M, who could kick it if it needs to be kicked, grabbed a pint of Ben & Jerry's classic Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.
The CCCD is always a crowd pleaser. I had a hankering for something fruity with a kick, but there's only one David Lee Roth. So I grab the Godiva Chocolate Truffle Raspberry, plop on the couch for a viewing of Cold Creek Manor (wait for it on GameBoy), and settle in for a-viewin'. Damned if I didn't eat 3/4ths of the pint. I don't even feel bad about it. It was good. NAY, it was spiritually erotic, or erotically spiritually. It was a delight for all the senses. Don't eat any, it will kill you. If you eat a bunch, I won't be able to have any, and I will pants you at lunch.
Try me, jerk-hole.
More Hacks Than The Tacoma Underground
Holy Lumberhacks I have a chest cold that is working me over like Ike on Tina. About 4-6 weeks back it seemed EVERYONE had this cold. It starts in your face and makes your head feel like it's going to pop, but not the fun "One more DayQuil & Cran, bartender!" kind of floaty-head popping. It feels like a quick turn of your head could cause inertia to take over the contents of the nasal passages, and sling it back to the other side while your face collapses. I suggest Claritin, lots of water, and not looking at stuff.
So I get past that part of it, and for 2 days I am golden-retriever healthy. Good color, cold, wet snout, peeing outside, plenty of yard-time. Then it hits me. Last Tuesday night, WHAM, this chest cold lungjacks me and won't leave. It's taken up squatter's rights in my bronchial tubes, and the only way to get it out is through the spasms my lungs are running through. This isn't "tickle in the throat, time for tea and honey!" coughing, this is full-diaphragm, red eye bursting, back cracking, ab-tightening lung assault to break this up. Last night I would sleep for 40 minutes, wake for 20, and cough for 10 of those. I'm surprised I wasn't asked to sleep in my car. Don't think I wasn't gonna volunteer.
My plan of attack for tonight: DayQuil and 1 Tylenol PM, OR, Cherry NyQuil over Godiva Chocolate Raspberry Truffle Chocolate, a.k.a "The AnnaNicole."
The Straight Dope
There is almost no more liberating feeling than realizing and accepting your parents as People, not just Mom & Dad. It makes it much easier to see where they've been in life, how we can affect each other with the smallest gestures of love and kindness, and how much it's gonna suck to put them in Shady Pines Adult Center. That sounds kinda saucy, if you aks me.
Go ahead, aks me…
Geoffers
What UpHomey?
Friday, April 02, 2004
I had a good set last night at Giggles Open Mic. I still think comedy is a joke. I once had grandiose notions of being part of the revolution of comedy. It won't happen. Too many styles fitting too many people's ideas of funny. Comedy reminds me a lot of what it takes to make it in great in the Budoir:
Do what you think is funny.
Something like that.
If you see me on stage and you're offended, I don't care. At least you got the joke. Next we'll work on your definition of "joke."
Take Me Home
Do what you think is funny.
Something like that.
If you see me on stage and you're offended, I don't care. At least you got the joke. Next we'll work on your definition of "joke."
Take Me Home
Creating Memories One Mouse-Click At A Time
I'm at work today. It's gorgeous out, and I'm at work. You, too, are in front of a computer. I don't want to be here. Unless you're tracking al-Quesadilla operatives with your computer, then you should be doing THAT instead of reading this.
So here's what I'm dealin' with today. Got a couple new reports I'm supposed to run for a couple of teams that are spread out all over. These reports reflect how much time it takes teams to accomplish the work they are asked to do. I formulated an equation which I bristle at divulging, but here goes:
TIME = $$$, where $$$ = money.
Keep the time down, keep the cost down, keep the people happy. Long story short, this is not going to amount to a hill of fiddled beans when I'm 50. I know this. This is a job. That's it. Not a spiritual quest. Not a calling. A job. Justification of the ways and the means. I'm doing what I don't want to do. Me and every other person out there is doing it about 40 hours a week. I should be commended for the fact that I don't have a drug problem, neck tattoos, or a Benadryl addiction. I'm a winner, even if I'm working for a Loser.
In the meantime, my company keeps the people down, and the money down. I hope to be on the next train to LayOffBerg. Time will tell. Or is it Money? I better run a report.
Not funny.
Geoff
Take Me Home
I'm at work today. It's gorgeous out, and I'm at work. You, too, are in front of a computer. I don't want to be here. Unless you're tracking al-Quesadilla operatives with your computer, then you should be doing THAT instead of reading this.
So here's what I'm dealin' with today. Got a couple new reports I'm supposed to run for a couple of teams that are spread out all over. These reports reflect how much time it takes teams to accomplish the work they are asked to do. I formulated an equation which I bristle at divulging, but here goes:
TIME = $$$, where $$$ = money.
Keep the time down, keep the cost down, keep the people happy. Long story short, this is not going to amount to a hill of fiddled beans when I'm 50. I know this. This is a job. That's it. Not a spiritual quest. Not a calling. A job. Justification of the ways and the means. I'm doing what I don't want to do. Me and every other person out there is doing it about 40 hours a week. I should be commended for the fact that I don't have a drug problem, neck tattoos, or a Benadryl addiction. I'm a winner, even if I'm working for a Loser.
In the meantime, my company keeps the people down, and the money down. I hope to be on the next train to LayOffBerg. Time will tell. Or is it Money? I better run a report.
Not funny.
Geoff
Take Me Home
Thursday, April 01, 2004
The Freedom of Not Giving a Sh*t
Today, I do not give a sh*t. This may be temporary. It may last a few days. But for today, I'm riding shotgun on the Apathy Express, the 9:09 out of Olympia, and I'm embracing it.
I'm at work running a report nobody cares about for reasons nobody can remember. This morning I was in Olympia with someone about whom I do care (it would be untoward and grody to say "about whom I give a sh*t," pardon the break), then I had to come in to run these reports. An hour of driving so I could engage in a staring contest with this ridiculous database that can bite my honeybaked. All this technology sh*t's really cool if you give a sh*t, but I don't, so it's basically sh*t.
I am fully in touch with the fact that I am the most important person in my life. If you think that's selfish, guess what I won't be giving? Did you guess "a sh*t?" I have no kids. I have no wife. I am solely responsible for making my life as close to not-sh*tty as I possibly can. When it comes to your life, I don't give a sh*t. When it comes to mine, I take all the sh*t I didn't give elsewhere and I build a protective cabin with a hammock with it. It doesn't stink, because it's not real sh*t, and also because when you don't give a sh*t, your non-given sh*t don't stink. I just told you I'm living in a sh*t cabin, dear reader. Yes, I'm in therapy.
The truth is this: To the extent I am here doing my job, and I left M, who thinks you're fakin' it, in Olympia to be here, I give some semblance of sh*t. The nice weather outside, the lovely woman with whom I should be picnicking or trying to impress with consecutive push-ups or swing-dancing geriatrics before snacktime (pleeeease let it be butterscotch anything), the mild headache and chalkboard/fingernail laughter emitted from a conference room (ROME DID NOT CONQUER THE WORLD IN MEETINGS...) behind me remind that until the day I can truly act out on my not giving a sh*t, I need to at least fake like I have sh*t to give. Even if it's left in a flaming bag on a doorstep, at least when I give, I mean it.
And if you could see videotape of the mutilation of Americans in Iraq or Janet Jackson's tit for an hour a night, which would you TiVo? Vote with your heart. And Ryan Seacrest should be punched in the d*ck.
Geoff Lott, on your side, right after this nap.
Take Me Home
Today, I do not give a sh*t. This may be temporary. It may last a few days. But for today, I'm riding shotgun on the Apathy Express, the 9:09 out of Olympia, and I'm embracing it.
I'm at work running a report nobody cares about for reasons nobody can remember. This morning I was in Olympia with someone about whom I do care (it would be untoward and grody to say "about whom I give a sh*t," pardon the break), then I had to come in to run these reports. An hour of driving so I could engage in a staring contest with this ridiculous database that can bite my honeybaked. All this technology sh*t's really cool if you give a sh*t, but I don't, so it's basically sh*t.
I am fully in touch with the fact that I am the most important person in my life. If you think that's selfish, guess what I won't be giving? Did you guess "a sh*t?" I have no kids. I have no wife. I am solely responsible for making my life as close to not-sh*tty as I possibly can. When it comes to your life, I don't give a sh*t. When it comes to mine, I take all the sh*t I didn't give elsewhere and I build a protective cabin with a hammock with it. It doesn't stink, because it's not real sh*t, and also because when you don't give a sh*t, your non-given sh*t don't stink. I just told you I'm living in a sh*t cabin, dear reader. Yes, I'm in therapy.
The truth is this: To the extent I am here doing my job, and I left M, who thinks you're fakin' it, in Olympia to be here, I give some semblance of sh*t. The nice weather outside, the lovely woman with whom I should be picnicking or trying to impress with consecutive push-ups or swing-dancing geriatrics before snacktime (pleeeease let it be butterscotch anything), the mild headache and chalkboard/fingernail laughter emitted from a conference room (ROME DID NOT CONQUER THE WORLD IN MEETINGS...) behind me remind that until the day I can truly act out on my not giving a sh*t, I need to at least fake like I have sh*t to give. Even if it's left in a flaming bag on a doorstep, at least when I give, I mean it.
And if you could see videotape of the mutilation of Americans in Iraq or Janet Jackson's tit for an hour a night, which would you TiVo? Vote with your heart. And Ryan Seacrest should be punched in the d*ck.
Geoff Lott, on your side, right after this nap.
Take Me Home
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
Go Up Early, Drink Up Late
I haven't much enthusiasm for comedy right now. Rephrase... here...
I love comedy. I love performing. It's how I express myself, looking at the idiosyncracies of idiocratic idiots and realizing that on any given minorly hungover, underfed, vitamin deficient day, I AM that idiot. I am no worse than the best around, but I'm way better than the worst.
This is what's up with me. I did this contest where I knocked out 19 sets in 9 days, and a total of 23 sets in 21 days total. That's a lot of time listening to yourself talk. I was on auto-pilot for delivery, but my heart was totally in the moment of the Finals week. Fully in-tune with the audience, riding the wave of my delivery and confident that I was going to get both cheeks into every punchline I swung at. I was parking punchlines in the cheap seats, leading the wave, AND bringin' hot dogs to your grill, you gifted little creature, you. I was in it. I was on it. I f*cking BROUGHT IT, I dug a hole, I planted it, it rooted and grew to give you shade and a place to hang a tire swing from.
Now I just wanna sit under the tree and hope that I get Newton'ed by a comedy apple. That may very well happen, but the meat isn't cooking while I sit in shade and anticipate in-spur-ay-shun. It's time I get back to the kitchen, bring forth the squashes and the sauces, brulee the creme, and fire up the grill. I'm doing that tonight. I'll be working on new recipes. I'm inspired, focused, and getting back to Fearless. I hope you brought a bib and a bucket. The main course is gonna stick to your ribs, full carb, full fat, full flavor. You don't like what's on the menu? Fine, eat from here.
Otherwise, grab the vino and loosen your belts.
Dig in.
Geoffers
p.s. YES, I am in counseling. Don't worry, all's well. I'll write and talk more later. In the meantime, enjoy your baggage.
Take Me Home
I haven't much enthusiasm for comedy right now. Rephrase... here...
I love comedy. I love performing. It's how I express myself, looking at the idiosyncracies of idiocratic idiots and realizing that on any given minorly hungover, underfed, vitamin deficient day, I AM that idiot. I am no worse than the best around, but I'm way better than the worst.
This is what's up with me. I did this contest where I knocked out 19 sets in 9 days, and a total of 23 sets in 21 days total. That's a lot of time listening to yourself talk. I was on auto-pilot for delivery, but my heart was totally in the moment of the Finals week. Fully in-tune with the audience, riding the wave of my delivery and confident that I was going to get both cheeks into every punchline I swung at. I was parking punchlines in the cheap seats, leading the wave, AND bringin' hot dogs to your grill, you gifted little creature, you. I was in it. I was on it. I f*cking BROUGHT IT, I dug a hole, I planted it, it rooted and grew to give you shade and a place to hang a tire swing from.
Now I just wanna sit under the tree and hope that I get Newton'ed by a comedy apple. That may very well happen, but the meat isn't cooking while I sit in shade and anticipate in-spur-ay-shun. It's time I get back to the kitchen, bring forth the squashes and the sauces, brulee the creme, and fire up the grill. I'm doing that tonight. I'll be working on new recipes. I'm inspired, focused, and getting back to Fearless. I hope you brought a bib and a bucket. The main course is gonna stick to your ribs, full carb, full fat, full flavor. You don't like what's on the menu? Fine, eat from here.
Otherwise, grab the vino and loosen your belts.
Dig in.
Geoffers
p.s. YES, I am in counseling. Don't worry, all's well. I'll write and talk more later. In the meantime, enjoy your baggage.
Take Me Home
Tuesday, March 30, 2004
Take Me It's Not As Bad As It Looks... It's Probably Worse
Whistle Stumpenlegs behind me here at work has some sort of brain disconnect. This is a person who is frightened of silence. As if his thoughts will never manifest if he doesn't make some sort of noise at all times. He observes a strict open door policy, which is to say "Well hello, this here fella is one heck of a fella to know and to be a fella with. Come on in and we'll ring up a few whistly tuney tunes! WOO HOO WEEEE!" If I had an "Open Door Policy" it would be this: "If my door is open, close it."
I'd be way more upset if I weren't blogging about his bass-ackwards attempts at being "folksy" or so obscenely wine-drunk right now.
What's That Guy's Deal?
I encountered a complete a-hole today at Starbucks. The guy two spots ahead of me in line gets to the counter, and as he's ordering, he's got his face turned downward to his hand while he counts change, likely to be used to pay for his coffee. He's likely muttering, as the gal behind the counter says, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't get your order." His head snaps up and he leans with one hand on the counter, and repeats, in a condescending tone, "GRANDE DECAF NON-FAT 2-PUMP SUGAR FREE HAZELNUT NO FOAM EXTRA HOT LATTE."
The only man who should drink something that complicated is either Ryan Seacrest, because he's a teenage girl, or Geoff Lott, because I order whatever the frango I feel like ordering.
So the dude pays in change, even though he's wearing a pair of Cole Haans and the outfit of a man who is desk-boundly employed. In CHANGE, is this a Summer Camp? NO, it's a friggin' Starbucks. Hit a Coinstar first, use a Debit Card, or just steal a fresh drink off the counter, but don't pay in Change, Skippy, 'cause then they gotta count it, and my life is getting shorter than Joan Rivers' eyelids.
As the drink is placed on the counter, the cockstomer and the barista have a clash. The barista, already backlogged and dredlocked (how Now! that's What I Call Hip Hiring!), reads the order outloud, the way they've been taught, and leaves the "no-foam" part of his recitation. The asstomer says "No foam, right?" Barista dude - "Yeah, sorry, no foam." Dickstomer - "Are you sure?" Barista - "Positive, you can look and see, sir." Cockstomer - "Because I don't like a lot of foam on the lattes that's there." In the meantime, my drink is sitting next to the drink of a man who has an aversion to all things frothed. I carry some pretty colorful baggage, my friends, but I know when to leave them in the car, and YES, I usually crack a window.
I decide that I'm going to get my drink, even if someone ends up with a bruised kidney, because hey, I'm not sure how FoamHomer is gonna react. I will throw an elbow if necessary, in Starbucks or anywhere it's called for. So I stand as close to the guy as possible, reaching across him, my arm about 8 inches from his face... 8 inches,yeah, I measured it, heh heh... and say "Excuse my reach, I'm in the way." I didn't touch him, I didn't yell at him, and I even held back from hugging him and gently petting his balding bird-like head, whispering, "There we go, you're safe now. The foam won't get you."
The dictatertot throws a lengthy order into the hopper, and one bit of it, the least-important bit of it, next to "In a cup, please," is left out. Pop the top, check the foam levels. WTF? The point of this story is this: Whenever you think your Iced Grande Non-Fat Light Ice Latte is pushing boundaries, there's some change-paying waste of bladder space crying over foamed milk. You're fine.
p://www.geofflottrules.com/index.html">Home
Whistle Stumpenlegs behind me here at work has some sort of brain disconnect. This is a person who is frightened of silence. As if his thoughts will never manifest if he doesn't make some sort of noise at all times. He observes a strict open door policy, which is to say "Well hello, this here fella is one heck of a fella to know and to be a fella with. Come on in and we'll ring up a few whistly tuney tunes! WOO HOO WEEEE!" If I had an "Open Door Policy" it would be this: "If my door is open, close it."
I'd be way more upset if I weren't blogging about his bass-ackwards attempts at being "folksy" or so obscenely wine-drunk right now.
What's That Guy's Deal?
I encountered a complete a-hole today at Starbucks. The guy two spots ahead of me in line gets to the counter, and as he's ordering, he's got his face turned downward to his hand while he counts change, likely to be used to pay for his coffee. He's likely muttering, as the gal behind the counter says, "I'm sorry sir, I didn't get your order." His head snaps up and he leans with one hand on the counter, and repeats, in a condescending tone, "GRANDE DECAF NON-FAT 2-PUMP SUGAR FREE HAZELNUT NO FOAM EXTRA HOT LATTE."
The only man who should drink something that complicated is either Ryan Seacrest, because he's a teenage girl, or Geoff Lott, because I order whatever the frango I feel like ordering.
So the dude pays in change, even though he's wearing a pair of Cole Haans and the outfit of a man who is desk-boundly employed. In CHANGE, is this a Summer Camp? NO, it's a friggin' Starbucks. Hit a Coinstar first, use a Debit Card, or just steal a fresh drink off the counter, but don't pay in Change, Skippy, 'cause then they gotta count it, and my life is getting shorter than Joan Rivers' eyelids.
As the drink is placed on the counter, the cockstomer and the barista have a clash. The barista, already backlogged and dredlocked (how Now! that's What I Call Hip Hiring!), reads the order outloud, the way they've been taught, and leaves the "no-foam" part of his recitation. The asstomer says "No foam, right?" Barista dude - "Yeah, sorry, no foam." Dickstomer - "Are you sure?" Barista - "Positive, you can look and see, sir." Cockstomer - "Because I don't like a lot of foam on the lattes that's there." In the meantime, my drink is sitting next to the drink of a man who has an aversion to all things frothed. I carry some pretty colorful baggage, my friends, but I know when to leave them in the car, and YES, I usually crack a window.
I decide that I'm going to get my drink, even if someone ends up with a bruised kidney, because hey, I'm not sure how FoamHomer is gonna react. I will throw an elbow if necessary, in Starbucks or anywhere it's called for. So I stand as close to the guy as possible, reaching across him, my arm about 8 inches from his face... 8 inches,yeah, I measured it, heh heh... and say "Excuse my reach, I'm in the way." I didn't touch him, I didn't yell at him, and I even held back from hugging him and gently petting his balding bird-like head, whispering, "There we go, you're safe now. The foam won't get you."
The dictatertot throws a lengthy order into the hopper, and one bit of it, the least-important bit of it, next to "In a cup, please," is left out. Pop the top, check the foam levels. WTF? The point of this story is this: Whenever you think your Iced Grande Non-Fat Light Ice Latte is pushing boundaries, there's some change-paying waste of bladder space crying over foamed milk. You're fine.
p://www.geofflottrules.com/index.html">Home
Monday, March 29, 2004
This morning I sat on my couch and began meditating. I try to start the day with some inner-searching to allow my spirit catch up from the dream world it was just in. Some people call it hokey, but nobody's ever died by my hands. At least not since I started meditating. At least not with a garden trowel... Never you mind.
I began to meditate on the energies of my friends and loved ones (they're the same, actually), to radiate love and happiness to each of them. I imagined each of their faces, heads bowed, hands open to the prosperity and joy of the universe. Each breath I took lifted me higher into a state of conscious unconsciousness, to be awake and alert yet deeply removed from the Daily World.
I began to understand why some of my friends are angry at life. I began to see how I can encourage other friends. I could see myself making changes I've wanted to make. I could see one very special person's arms opening to allow love and happiness surround them, as their hesitations and fears were broken down by the strength of self-belief and incoming affection, fully in tune with their own ability to Love. We hugged each other across the planes of existence.
My breathing flattened my energy out to wrap around my Life, an entity I was once frightened of, the potential to be Great, the accompanying prosperous living of nice homes and things, with the right woman, perhaps children. No longer frightening, I embraced it and implanted thoughts of Who and What I want from my Life so that my beacon is set to address those things.
I understood fully that we can not be fixed, as we are not broken. Our souls cannot be damaged if we hold on to them and follow a moral compass. We each have a little bag where the slights and hurts of interactions past reside, and unless that bag is emptied and the contents placed in order and promptly burned, we carry our "baggage" and knock into others along our way. I imagined my bag, a black canvas bag. I opened the drawstring and poured out the contents. I saw how one hurt resembled an older one, but the colors of the newer one were much brighter. The older one was still solid, yet the color had faded. Carrying it around only added to the weight of the bag. I began to pile these items into a pyramid. I asked the Divine Power to take these things away from me. And they began to dissipate. They began to disappear.
As the love I sent to my dearest people radiated over me, as I allowed my spirit to open to the good of Life, as the hurt of a lifetime or more fell away I realized something in the middle of this universe, of which I am for my own existence. I realized something profound, something true, something grounding in the middle of my quest for Higher Consciousness...
People like dick jokes.
====================
Nice day out. How about shutting that computer down and doing something for YOU right now? I DARE YOU.
By-eeeeeee!
Take Me Home
I began to meditate on the energies of my friends and loved ones (they're the same, actually), to radiate love and happiness to each of them. I imagined each of their faces, heads bowed, hands open to the prosperity and joy of the universe. Each breath I took lifted me higher into a state of conscious unconsciousness, to be awake and alert yet deeply removed from the Daily World.
I began to understand why some of my friends are angry at life. I began to see how I can encourage other friends. I could see myself making changes I've wanted to make. I could see one very special person's arms opening to allow love and happiness surround them, as their hesitations and fears were broken down by the strength of self-belief and incoming affection, fully in tune with their own ability to Love. We hugged each other across the planes of existence.
My breathing flattened my energy out to wrap around my Life, an entity I was once frightened of, the potential to be Great, the accompanying prosperous living of nice homes and things, with the right woman, perhaps children. No longer frightening, I embraced it and implanted thoughts of Who and What I want from my Life so that my beacon is set to address those things.
I understood fully that we can not be fixed, as we are not broken. Our souls cannot be damaged if we hold on to them and follow a moral compass. We each have a little bag where the slights and hurts of interactions past reside, and unless that bag is emptied and the contents placed in order and promptly burned, we carry our "baggage" and knock into others along our way. I imagined my bag, a black canvas bag. I opened the drawstring and poured out the contents. I saw how one hurt resembled an older one, but the colors of the newer one were much brighter. The older one was still solid, yet the color had faded. Carrying it around only added to the weight of the bag. I began to pile these items into a pyramid. I asked the Divine Power to take these things away from me. And they began to dissipate. They began to disappear.
As the love I sent to my dearest people radiated over me, as I allowed my spirit to open to the good of Life, as the hurt of a lifetime or more fell away I realized something in the middle of this universe, of which I am for my own existence. I realized something profound, something true, something grounding in the middle of my quest for Higher Consciousness...
People like dick jokes.
====================
Nice day out. How about shutting that computer down and doing something for YOU right now? I DARE YOU.
By-eeeeeee!
Take Me Home
Thursday, March 25, 2004
Accomplishments
~ Showered, Shaved, Cologned, Dressed, Fed (Trader's Joes Apple-Cinnamon Cereal, non-fat milk, 45g protein shake)
~ Meditated on "remaining centered, remaining light, remaining hey folks thanks for having us here tonight at the Tacoma Sheraton where I'll be a pork tenderloin and that wine last night was so freakin' good I hope I have the bottle or the cork because holy shift supervisor at Alfy's Pizza when I was 16 was a total cock-a-doodle dog doo or doo not, that's not funny, there's no joke there, as long as I can get to work before 10 I should be able to get some decent parking lot attendants can kiss my honeybaked and look me in the I remain calm, remain as one with the moment, remain as a breath in, a breath out, remain as love, be as love, beastie beastie boys, aaaw yeeeeeah... did I eat yet?"
~ Deny that I have A.D.D.
~ Drive to work. Road Rage 743 - Me 2
~ Review action plan from yesterday. Ooops, I missed something. #3-A: Give two sh*ts.
~ IM with Shoogs-B
~ Question again whether or not I'd be a good father after almost choking on water.
~ Talk with M on the mo-bile 'bout nothin' I can put on here.
~ Review set-list for tonight (friggin' GOLDEN)
~ IM with Kilo G.
~ Almost miss a team call where we dialed-in and used the password "SUCKAGE." Review how to use webtool to track all time used on projects and other items of daily work. It's micromanagement minutiae.
~ Update webtool with "Blogging, bite me" project. It has no budget, yet I feel that since they won't lay me off, I'll just throw extra slack into the day. Call it a "rolling Layoff."
~ Read some of THE MOST REAL BLOG EVER, www.DOOCE.com
~ Despise Stumpy Von Whistlechunk for being stumpy and whistling and coughing and sniffing like an 88 Escort.
I think that's all of the parts left, anywhere.
~ Went to Quizno's... stop the singing!... for a sub. Honey Bourbon Chicken, it's gone now. Big sandy, it was the size of my head. And that's big.
~ List my goals. One of them is This. Another is This.
~ Forget the funniest thing I was gonna put on here, making it almost totally moot. How can I forget some of the things I want to dark chocolate is better than milk, any day. Frigging Valrhona will kick you in the nuggets. I could totally go for some 45 miles to Tacoma, 40 miles an hour avg., I should get there by Tuesday.
~ Realize that I'm not as big a player in the comedy scene as I thought I was. Take solace in that fact. Lightly brush hand past the grocery bundle.
~ Drink 53oz of water already today. Feelin' moist.
~ Fart. Sorry Aspenwood Conference Room... sorry it wasn't occupied when I did it.
~ Stop blogging.
G
Take Me Home
~ Showered, Shaved, Cologned, Dressed, Fed (Trader's Joes Apple-Cinnamon Cereal, non-fat milk, 45g protein shake)
~ Meditated on "remaining centered, remaining light, remaining hey folks thanks for having us here tonight at the Tacoma Sheraton where I'll be a pork tenderloin and that wine last night was so freakin' good I hope I have the bottle or the cork because holy shift supervisor at Alfy's Pizza when I was 16 was a total cock-a-doodle dog doo or doo not, that's not funny, there's no joke there, as long as I can get to work before 10 I should be able to get some decent parking lot attendants can kiss my honeybaked and look me in the I remain calm, remain as one with the moment, remain as a breath in, a breath out, remain as love, be as love, beastie beastie boys, aaaw yeeeeeah... did I eat yet?"
~ Deny that I have A.D.D.
~ Drive to work. Road Rage 743 - Me 2
~ Review action plan from yesterday. Ooops, I missed something. #3-A: Give two sh*ts.
~ IM with Shoogs-B
~ Question again whether or not I'd be a good father after almost choking on water.
~ Talk with M on the mo-bile 'bout nothin' I can put on here.
~ Review set-list for tonight (friggin' GOLDEN)
~ IM with Kilo G.
~ Almost miss a team call where we dialed-in and used the password "SUCKAGE." Review how to use webtool to track all time used on projects and other items of daily work. It's micromanagement minutiae.
~ Update webtool with "Blogging, bite me" project. It has no budget, yet I feel that since they won't lay me off, I'll just throw extra slack into the day. Call it a "rolling Layoff."
~ Read some of THE MOST REAL BLOG EVER, www.DOOCE.com
~ Despise Stumpy Von Whistlechunk for being stumpy and whistling and coughing and sniffing like an 88 Escort.
I think that's all of the parts left, anywhere.
~ Went to Quizno's... stop the singing!... for a sub. Honey Bourbon Chicken, it's gone now. Big sandy, it was the size of my head. And that's big.
~ List my goals. One of them is This. Another is This.
~ Forget the funniest thing I was gonna put on here, making it almost totally moot. How can I forget some of the things I want to dark chocolate is better than milk, any day. Frigging Valrhona will kick you in the nuggets. I could totally go for some 45 miles to Tacoma, 40 miles an hour avg., I should get there by Tuesday.
~ Realize that I'm not as big a player in the comedy scene as I thought I was. Take solace in that fact. Lightly brush hand past the grocery bundle.
~ Drink 53oz of water already today. Feelin' moist.
~ Fart. Sorry Aspenwood Conference Room... sorry it wasn't occupied when I did it.
~ Stop blogging.
G
Take Me Home
Right About Now, The Funk Soul Bruva
I have a gig tonight for a Lexus dealership that I'm sure I'm being paid WAY under the MSRP for. I didn't book it, I agreed to do the show. But it's pocket-style change and I get to slyly make fun of Car Sales-holes for 30 minutes. Mostly I'll be making fun of myself and my place in the world, but I'll let them know they're still just a notch or two above lawyers. Besides, Lexus paid however much for two guys they've never heard of to tell them jokes they won't remember at a moderately nice hotel. Lexus needs a Knute Rockne, not a c*ck joke.
My work laptop has been booting up for just under 23 minutes now. "The fastest wireless data network, ever." My cellphone could log in to the system faster than my Dell WheelChockXR9. Say it with me... "PILE OF SHIIIIIIaaaving cream." Dude, where's my job? India? Dhangh.
Epiphany this morning. Not going to divulge the what & such of it, but I feel like a weight was simultaneously ("at the same time," for the King Of Queens fans) taken from my shoulders and then wrapped 'round me heart. I think it's this feeling that pressed-forth the saying "Ignorance is Bliss." It was either this feeling or somebody who caught their grandma comin' out the pond after a skinny dippin'.
Oh lord, did anybody else just throw up a little?
Most Americans Oppose Gay Marriage. They're all for Gay Marriage, but not if they're gonna do all that gay stuff, like gay off with gays and totally gay up their gay parties. While America has a veritable Krystle vs. Alexis Carrington over whether or not people of the same sex should be allowed to have the same rights as a serial inseminator with a penchant for bathtub crank and fishin' shows, there's a cave full of Yankee Haters in the Middle Earth planning their next move. Let's get the Department for HomoLand Security on this right away. Do we have a surplus of love we're trying to trim down lately? I judge people on what they do. They're here, they're queer, I'm used to it, and now it's their turn to buy a round, and NOBODY leaves the bar before buying a round.
If you're that deeply affected by somebody you don't know doing something you never see in place you've never heard of, you're either psychic, psychotic, or a Falwell. Hey, let's have a sit-down and we can talk a bit. Give me directions to your glass house, I'll bring tea and some Windex and my friend Maurice to redecorate.
Can't Buy Me Love. Underappreciated? Come on... Ronald McDonald Miller's "African Anteater Ritual" is classic, no? "Aaaw, he must be in Special Ed." The best slow-clap of all time after Kenneth and Ron... I'm done, you can't follow this, I'm done with you.
What about Kenneth crying in the arcade after throwing Ronald into the Galaga machine because Ronald "sh*t on (his) house, man. You sh*t on my house."
So far, so what.
Geoff Lott... yeah, do something.
Take Me Home
I have a gig tonight for a Lexus dealership that I'm sure I'm being paid WAY under the MSRP for. I didn't book it, I agreed to do the show. But it's pocket-style change and I get to slyly make fun of Car Sales-holes for 30 minutes. Mostly I'll be making fun of myself and my place in the world, but I'll let them know they're still just a notch or two above lawyers. Besides, Lexus paid however much for two guys they've never heard of to tell them jokes they won't remember at a moderately nice hotel. Lexus needs a Knute Rockne, not a c*ck joke.
My work laptop has been booting up for just under 23 minutes now. "The fastest wireless data network, ever." My cellphone could log in to the system faster than my Dell WheelChockXR9. Say it with me... "PILE OF SHIIIIIIaaaving cream." Dude, where's my job? India? Dhangh.
Epiphany this morning. Not going to divulge the what & such of it, but I feel like a weight was simultaneously ("at the same time," for the King Of Queens fans) taken from my shoulders and then wrapped 'round me heart. I think it's this feeling that pressed-forth the saying "Ignorance is Bliss." It was either this feeling or somebody who caught their grandma comin' out the pond after a skinny dippin'.
Oh lord, did anybody else just throw up a little?
Most Americans Oppose Gay Marriage. They're all for Gay Marriage, but not if they're gonna do all that gay stuff, like gay off with gays and totally gay up their gay parties. While America has a veritable Krystle vs. Alexis Carrington over whether or not people of the same sex should be allowed to have the same rights as a serial inseminator with a penchant for bathtub crank and fishin' shows, there's a cave full of Yankee Haters in the Middle Earth planning their next move. Let's get the Department for HomoLand Security on this right away. Do we have a surplus of love we're trying to trim down lately? I judge people on what they do. They're here, they're queer, I'm used to it, and now it's their turn to buy a round, and NOBODY leaves the bar before buying a round.
If you're that deeply affected by somebody you don't know doing something you never see in place you've never heard of, you're either psychic, psychotic, or a Falwell. Hey, let's have a sit-down and we can talk a bit. Give me directions to your glass house, I'll bring tea and some Windex and my friend Maurice to redecorate.
Can't Buy Me Love. Underappreciated? Come on... Ronald McDonald Miller's "African Anteater Ritual" is classic, no? "Aaaw, he must be in Special Ed." The best slow-clap of all time after Kenneth and Ron... I'm done, you can't follow this, I'm done with you.
What about Kenneth crying in the arcade after throwing Ronald into the Galaga machine because Ronald "sh*t on (his) house, man. You sh*t on my house."
So far, so what.
Geoff Lott... yeah, do something.
Take Me Home
Wednesday, March 24, 2004
A guy asked me why I was taking the stairs this morning. I couldn’t tell him the truth, which was, even though he had an elevator waiting, I really couldn’t stand to talk to him for 30 seconds as my first human interaction of the day.
Idiot: “Yeah, so the contingency for the roll-out is in effect and now everybody’s depressed. How’s your morning?”
G-off: ”I should have been in Olympia last night, and now I’m hoping to just make it through the morning without a felony arrest or hallucinogenics. Nice sweater, is that HyperColor?”
I fibbed a little and told him I always take the stairs. I didn’t tell him it helps with a hangover.
“Personality” Out The Wazzu
Last night I was chatting away with M, who is the cat’s jammies, and we started talking about personality. I mentioned that I had once met somebody who didn’t have any personality, just kind of a Being and not really an Entity. I don’t work well with those kind of people. I’m far too extroverted to have a speedbump of a human being sitting there in my road to Funberg. So as we’re chatting away M, who is all killer and no filler, mentioned “well, personality can mean a lot of things.” True dat.
Personality I suppose can be negative, not just a person’s ebullient jocularity. A Personality is a ToyChest of Moods and Moments, and together they create either one Personality, or if you’re really smart, you channel another personality, call it “CrinkleFry, the 4,000 Year Old Mystic Weasel,” and bilk $5,000 weekends out of saps looking for a Higher Calling. Your Person-ality is the Outward expression of your experiences in life. Some people have a bright Personality, and some people are just, well, hungover today.
Moods are like the weather. It’s different with anyone, and some people become less like Weather and more like Climates when they’re together. Sun can be happy as much as it can be overbearing. Rain can be drowning as much as it can be helpful to growth. Some rain, some sun, and things grow. Rain, rain, rain, and your prize pumpkin ain’t gonna grow and all your best shirts get mildew and then the umbrellas come out. Too much sun and you scorch things and cause tumors, and then we wear sunscreen and can’t stand to be in it for too long.
The key is to be balanced. Not too much Rain, not too much Sun, not too much Wind, not too much Cold. If you can temper your Rain with some warmth, it’s a little more tolerable. If you can shine some Sun and have a few clouds, people won’t get burned out. If you can throw a little Sunbreak into your Cold days, people take notice and make sure they give your Carpenter’s CDs back sooner. Just ask anybody who lives in Seattle. Basically you can’t predict anybody’s Personality, no matter how many radars and experts you have trained on them.
As I write this, there’s a heavy rain being blown into the windows of this building. I know M, who isn’t taking any of your shine-ola Buster, is in the middle of this deluge, and that has a dampening effect my mood.
The preceding message was brought to you by AntiDepressants: AntiDepressants don’t kill people, untreated psychiatric disorders and God-Complex Doctors, among other things, kill people.
Take Me Home
Idiot: “Yeah, so the contingency for the roll-out is in effect and now everybody’s depressed. How’s your morning?”
G-off: ”I should have been in Olympia last night, and now I’m hoping to just make it through the morning without a felony arrest or hallucinogenics. Nice sweater, is that HyperColor?”
I fibbed a little and told him I always take the stairs. I didn’t tell him it helps with a hangover.
“Personality” Out The Wazzu
Last night I was chatting away with M, who is the cat’s jammies, and we started talking about personality. I mentioned that I had once met somebody who didn’t have any personality, just kind of a Being and not really an Entity. I don’t work well with those kind of people. I’m far too extroverted to have a speedbump of a human being sitting there in my road to Funberg. So as we’re chatting away M, who is all killer and no filler, mentioned “well, personality can mean a lot of things.” True dat.
Personality I suppose can be negative, not just a person’s ebullient jocularity. A Personality is a ToyChest of Moods and Moments, and together they create either one Personality, or if you’re really smart, you channel another personality, call it “CrinkleFry, the 4,000 Year Old Mystic Weasel,” and bilk $5,000 weekends out of saps looking for a Higher Calling. Your Person-ality is the Outward expression of your experiences in life. Some people have a bright Personality, and some people are just, well, hungover today.
Moods are like the weather. It’s different with anyone, and some people become less like Weather and more like Climates when they’re together. Sun can be happy as much as it can be overbearing. Rain can be drowning as much as it can be helpful to growth. Some rain, some sun, and things grow. Rain, rain, rain, and your prize pumpkin ain’t gonna grow and all your best shirts get mildew and then the umbrellas come out. Too much sun and you scorch things and cause tumors, and then we wear sunscreen and can’t stand to be in it for too long.
The key is to be balanced. Not too much Rain, not too much Sun, not too much Wind, not too much Cold. If you can temper your Rain with some warmth, it’s a little more tolerable. If you can shine some Sun and have a few clouds, people won’t get burned out. If you can throw a little Sunbreak into your Cold days, people take notice and make sure they give your Carpenter’s CDs back sooner. Just ask anybody who lives in Seattle. Basically you can’t predict anybody’s Personality, no matter how many radars and experts you have trained on them.
As I write this, there’s a heavy rain being blown into the windows of this building. I know M, who isn’t taking any of your shine-ola Buster, is in the middle of this deluge, and that has a dampening effect my mood.
The preceding message was brought to you by AntiDepressants: AntiDepressants don’t kill people, untreated psychiatric disorders and God-Complex Doctors, among other things, kill people.
Take Me Home
Tuesday, March 23, 2004
Tuesday and No Changes! What the pup?
That puppy report I was doing yester-puppy-day is still puppy running! It was corrupt yesterday due to, oh gosh, a puppy drive that didn't want to puppy up the puppy data I needed. This is like having a fight with your neighbor that never stops. I'd say "a fight with a psychotic ex-girlfriend," but my database doesn't call me to pick it up from some dude's house because he ran out of Tequila and she feels like drinking more!
However, much like a psychotic ex of mine, this puppy database IS stealing moments of my life that would be better spent elsewhere. If I could choose 5 minutes with that crazy puppy spore or a walk across hot coals with my besties in a C-clamp... grab the matches and tighten that screw down pronto.
The puppy whistling puppy-sock is back, so I'm going to lunch. Everyone with a puppy door in this corridor just closed-up due to his puppy whistling. What a pile of puppy split.
Not one dirty word, and all the rage is out!
G
That puppy report I was doing yester-puppy-day is still puppy running! It was corrupt yesterday due to, oh gosh, a puppy drive that didn't want to puppy up the puppy data I needed. This is like having a fight with your neighbor that never stops. I'd say "a fight with a psychotic ex-girlfriend," but my database doesn't call me to pick it up from some dude's house because he ran out of Tequila and she feels like drinking more!
However, much like a psychotic ex of mine, this puppy database IS stealing moments of my life that would be better spent elsewhere. If I could choose 5 minutes with that crazy puppy spore or a walk across hot coals with my besties in a C-clamp... grab the matches and tighten that screw down pronto.
The puppy whistling puppy-sock is back, so I'm going to lunch. Everyone with a puppy door in this corridor just closed-up due to his puppy whistling. What a pile of puppy split.
Not one dirty word, and all the rage is out!
G
Monday, March 22, 2004
Fakin' It 'Til I'm Makin' It
Here's what I do at my job, to stay sane.
1) If it's the day after a drawing, I check my Lotto numbers at work. I wait until I'm at work so that I can have a dramatic exit that includes the words "leverage," "market share," and "my honeybaked ham in your face." Why hang out for references? I'M RICH!
2) I walk around with my earbud from my cell-phone plopped in my earhole, and my phone in my hand. If someone I no wanna talky to comes by, I nod and silenty say "Hey," then wave the phone as if to say "my pending ear tumor beats your ideas of upgrading the Sonics by a long shot. You suck."
3) Fake keyboard: I want one so I can hammer away, quickly, and make people think I'm throwing work around like beads at Mardi Gras. Most of my work goes to boobs, anyway. Yes, I see the loopholes in using a fake keyboard. Send me your comments in the form of cash.
4) Conference Room Ninja attacks. Lots of meetings going on. When one wraps up and another one is happening soon after, I'll sneak in and write something on a whiteboard to mess with folks. Just make a fake list, if you like. My recent favorite is as follows
1: Budget & Restrictions: Cut training, cut promotions, downgrade bonuses, decrease benefits
2: Headcount Reductions & De-Hirings: Most of NW Corner of building gone in 25 days
3: Office Supply Purchase Moratorium: Must supply own Pens and Chairs
4: Executive Trip: Hawaii or Mexico?, Discuss menus, entertainment, duration of stay (5 or 7 days?)
Paranoia works two ways, no?
What I Do For My Job:
Do not read this entry while operating heavy machinery.
I run reports that reflect the amount of time it took for an IT-related issue to get resolved. The time-to-resolution is tracked in an application called Remedy, which is pretty close to an old "buttons and sh-shing!" cash-register. The time starts when a new record is created by an employee. Each record has an assigned "Severity Level," depending upon how big the problem is. A big issue would be, for example, when a heavily-used file, e-mail, or web-server decides to do something other than work properly, and there are about 300 different reasons for that to happen, to be modest. A small issue is accidentally deleting an e-mail and needing to have it recovered. That usually means a call from "beeg weeg" who needs "to have the e-mail team back the server up to the time the e-mail existed and re-fresh my mailbox, because I need that (insert recipe or directions to some lawn party at a fat white dude's house) ASAP," usually pronounced "ay-sap" because the caller's self-importance far outweighs their courtesies or coolness or knowledge of retrieving deleted e-mails. [Click on Deleted Items>>Tools Menu>>Recover Deleted Items>>Choose proper message to retrieve>>Understand that we all get laughed at for this kind of thing]
So when the work is done and the record rolls off "live" status to "closed" status, it is available to my database for retrieval. I enter a date range to grab all data for a month (it's cumulative, a Latin word for "morbidly useless data"), and it takes about 90 minutes for the database to pool the data, and that’s only if the database runs all the way through. Sometimes it runs for 2 hours then vomits an error message, but I don't know it vomits because the screen goes blank after 20 minutes and I'm not always at my desk, as you read above.
Next I run an Excel spreadsheet that formats the data, which is then accessed by another report in Access (it goes from Access to Excel, back to Access… um…), and then kicked back to Excel… wake up… to be formatted into the weekly or monthly reports. Then I send those reports out to peeps hosting LawnParties this weekend, and they don't tell me how they liked it, and I don't get invited to any parties.
If anyone needs me I'll be drying my tears with Dilbert "bathroom tissue."
Help Me Help Myself to Office Supplies,
Geoffers
Here's what I do at my job, to stay sane.
1) If it's the day after a drawing, I check my Lotto numbers at work. I wait until I'm at work so that I can have a dramatic exit that includes the words "leverage," "market share," and "my honeybaked ham in your face." Why hang out for references? I'M RICH!
2) I walk around with my earbud from my cell-phone plopped in my earhole, and my phone in my hand. If someone I no wanna talky to comes by, I nod and silenty say "Hey," then wave the phone as if to say "my pending ear tumor beats your ideas of upgrading the Sonics by a long shot. You suck."
3) Fake keyboard: I want one so I can hammer away, quickly, and make people think I'm throwing work around like beads at Mardi Gras. Most of my work goes to boobs, anyway. Yes, I see the loopholes in using a fake keyboard. Send me your comments in the form of cash.
4) Conference Room Ninja attacks. Lots of meetings going on. When one wraps up and another one is happening soon after, I'll sneak in and write something on a whiteboard to mess with folks. Just make a fake list, if you like. My recent favorite is as follows
1: Budget & Restrictions: Cut training, cut promotions, downgrade bonuses, decrease benefits
2: Headcount Reductions & De-Hirings: Most of NW Corner of building gone in 25 days
3: Office Supply Purchase Moratorium: Must supply own Pens and Chairs
4: Executive Trip: Hawaii or Mexico?, Discuss menus, entertainment, duration of stay (5 or 7 days?)
Paranoia works two ways, no?
What I Do For My Job:
Do not read this entry while operating heavy machinery.
I run reports that reflect the amount of time it took for an IT-related issue to get resolved. The time-to-resolution is tracked in an application called Remedy, which is pretty close to an old "buttons and sh-shing!" cash-register. The time starts when a new record is created by an employee. Each record has an assigned "Severity Level," depending upon how big the problem is. A big issue would be, for example, when a heavily-used file, e-mail, or web-server decides to do something other than work properly, and there are about 300 different reasons for that to happen, to be modest. A small issue is accidentally deleting an e-mail and needing to have it recovered. That usually means a call from "beeg weeg" who needs "to have the e-mail team back the server up to the time the e-mail existed and re-fresh my mailbox, because I need that (insert recipe or directions to some lawn party at a fat white dude's house) ASAP," usually pronounced "ay-sap" because the caller's self-importance far outweighs their courtesies or coolness or knowledge of retrieving deleted e-mails. [Click on Deleted Items>>Tools Menu>>Recover Deleted Items>>Choose proper message to retrieve>>Understand that we all get laughed at for this kind of thing]
So when the work is done and the record rolls off "live" status to "closed" status, it is available to my database for retrieval. I enter a date range to grab all data for a month (it's cumulative, a Latin word for "morbidly useless data"), and it takes about 90 minutes for the database to pool the data, and that’s only if the database runs all the way through. Sometimes it runs for 2 hours then vomits an error message, but I don't know it vomits because the screen goes blank after 20 minutes and I'm not always at my desk, as you read above.
Next I run an Excel spreadsheet that formats the data, which is then accessed by another report in Access (it goes from Access to Excel, back to Access… um…), and then kicked back to Excel… wake up… to be formatted into the weekly or monthly reports. Then I send those reports out to peeps hosting LawnParties this weekend, and they don't tell me how they liked it, and I don't get invited to any parties.
If anyone needs me I'll be drying my tears with Dilbert "bathroom tissue."
Help Me Help Myself to Office Supplies,
Geoffers
WARNING: SARCASM, SATIRE, SARDONIC TEXT TO FOLLOW.
LET HE WHO IS WITHOUT HUMOR CAST THE FIRST GROAN
"The Passion Of The Christ" Was Not "Merchandise Tie-in and 4% of Gross"
Mel Gibson's 'independent' film "The Passion Of The Christ" has soared past the $300-million mark. Made for $30Million, which in Hollywood can be found in the "Scientology Dues, March '04" envelope, the film has surpassed the critics expectations of a film starring Jim Caveizel. I was pretty astounded myself. I will not dive into the debate of "Religion And How It's Ruined By The Religious," or some such.
Religion is big business, always. Whether a person is Against The Use Of Religion As a Means Of Furthering a Secular Cause, or For The Use Of Religion As a Means of Life-long Guilt And Repression, the spiritual quests that humans find themselves in can be pilfered and plundered for profit, if you play your Tarot right. Now that we see a movie that is graphic in its depiction of the death of Jesus, how far behind are films for other Religions? I figure a lot of folks owe the positive changes in their lives to the teachings of Christ, Buddha, and Dr. Atkins, among others.
Now here's this movie about the final hours of Jesus' life, prior to and including the Crucifixion. That's not to be confused with the CruciFiction, likely the name of a grind-core metal band, nor with the title of countless poems soy-inked to Textiles 103-made paper by Liberal Arts majors who discovered the joys of Rice Protein and decorative clay beads. Father forgive them; they know not what they do with patchouli.
I have not seen the film, but I've heard a number of comments on it. When people throw around words like "Heartbreaking," "Powerful," and "Evocative," they are really trying to sound less-shallow than they are. I've heard some of these folks describe my Cappuccino Brownies and "2Fast 2Furious 4SmartPeople" in the same manner, so…
If you want to know where I fit in, because, after all, it's MY name on the bill for all of these webpages, I am a Spiritual person. Spirituality and Religion are not necessarily walking Hand-in-Hand, but they can see each other across the stream of Life. I'm connected with the Higher Power, I know that a piece of it is in all of us and that drives us forward to greater things if we acknowledge and nurture it, and I try to do the best I can to treat others with as much respect and dignity as I would want. I'm happy I got over my Masochist phase! So why aren't I more Religious? The biggest turn in my head comes when I realize that Religion is a lot like Spirituality, but with more homework and meetings. I guess I'm an independent-study kind of guy. Good? Bad? You decide. It's not my place to judge. (Those shoes don't go with the ensemble, btw)
This is all another case in the study of Perspective. To some, the most important person around is the Espresso Machine Repairman. If this were my job I'd organize a union and see that we got paid a percentage of every cup of kawfi that was sold after our repairs were done. I wish I could use this power for my own Good.
One Last Thingy
I swear I have no idea what to do about comedy right now. Stand-up comedy is taking a spanking in Seattle, and I don't know why. People WANT to laugh, but I think we're looking for more Realism and Direct Honesty right now. Too much realism and people have to read between the lines and feel belittled. Not enough realism and people know it's a sham. Or do they? I guess it's a fine line between comedy and commentary, but Comedy MUST be Funny. Funny is Subjective, therefore Comedy is Subjective, and therefore it will never be totally figured out. My passion for creative expression through Comedy has taken a seat in a dark corner of a smoke-free environment, and may very well be on its way through bottle of Merlot #4 unless I either:
1) Close its tab
2) Sit and drink and converse with it, slurred as it may be
3) Let it drink the pain away, and wrangle it early tomorrow when its head hurts and it wants to sleep in. I think it needs a jog around the park and a soy-protein shake. If I get my Passion back into fighting trim, I believe I can pay for the sins of numerous comics who have defiled stages before me.
There, but for the grace of Laughter, go I.
And I saw that it was good,
Geoffers
LET HE WHO IS WITHOUT HUMOR CAST THE FIRST GROAN
"The Passion Of The Christ" Was Not "Merchandise Tie-in and 4% of Gross"
Mel Gibson's 'independent' film "The Passion Of The Christ" has soared past the $300-million mark. Made for $30Million, which in Hollywood can be found in the "Scientology Dues, March '04" envelope, the film has surpassed the critics expectations of a film starring Jim Caveizel. I was pretty astounded myself. I will not dive into the debate of "Religion And How It's Ruined By The Religious," or some such.
Religion is big business, always. Whether a person is Against The Use Of Religion As a Means Of Furthering a Secular Cause, or For The Use Of Religion As a Means of Life-long Guilt And Repression, the spiritual quests that humans find themselves in can be pilfered and plundered for profit, if you play your Tarot right. Now that we see a movie that is graphic in its depiction of the death of Jesus, how far behind are films for other Religions? I figure a lot of folks owe the positive changes in their lives to the teachings of Christ, Buddha, and Dr. Atkins, among others.
Now here's this movie about the final hours of Jesus' life, prior to and including the Crucifixion. That's not to be confused with the CruciFiction, likely the name of a grind-core metal band, nor with the title of countless poems soy-inked to Textiles 103-made paper by Liberal Arts majors who discovered the joys of Rice Protein and decorative clay beads. Father forgive them; they know not what they do with patchouli.
I have not seen the film, but I've heard a number of comments on it. When people throw around words like "Heartbreaking," "Powerful," and "Evocative," they are really trying to sound less-shallow than they are. I've heard some of these folks describe my Cappuccino Brownies and "2Fast 2Furious 4SmartPeople" in the same manner, so…
If you want to know where I fit in, because, after all, it's MY name on the bill for all of these webpages, I am a Spiritual person. Spirituality and Religion are not necessarily walking Hand-in-Hand, but they can see each other across the stream of Life. I'm connected with the Higher Power, I know that a piece of it is in all of us and that drives us forward to greater things if we acknowledge and nurture it, and I try to do the best I can to treat others with as much respect and dignity as I would want. I'm happy I got over my Masochist phase! So why aren't I more Religious? The biggest turn in my head comes when I realize that Religion is a lot like Spirituality, but with more homework and meetings. I guess I'm an independent-study kind of guy. Good? Bad? You decide. It's not my place to judge. (Those shoes don't go with the ensemble, btw)
This is all another case in the study of Perspective. To some, the most important person around is the Espresso Machine Repairman. If this were my job I'd organize a union and see that we got paid a percentage of every cup of kawfi that was sold after our repairs were done. I wish I could use this power for my own Good.
One Last Thingy
I swear I have no idea what to do about comedy right now. Stand-up comedy is taking a spanking in Seattle, and I don't know why. People WANT to laugh, but I think we're looking for more Realism and Direct Honesty right now. Too much realism and people have to read between the lines and feel belittled. Not enough realism and people know it's a sham. Or do they? I guess it's a fine line between comedy and commentary, but Comedy MUST be Funny. Funny is Subjective, therefore Comedy is Subjective, and therefore it will never be totally figured out. My passion for creative expression through Comedy has taken a seat in a dark corner of a smoke-free environment, and may very well be on its way through bottle of Merlot #4 unless I either:
1) Close its tab
2) Sit and drink and converse with it, slurred as it may be
3) Let it drink the pain away, and wrangle it early tomorrow when its head hurts and it wants to sleep in. I think it needs a jog around the park and a soy-protein shake. If I get my Passion back into fighting trim, I believe I can pay for the sins of numerous comics who have defiled stages before me.
There, but for the grace of Laughter, go I.
And I saw that it was good,
Geoffers
Thursday, March 18, 2004
I Can't Tell If Those Are Horns, But That Is Some Serious Bull
Last night sucked. Major suckage. Hoover-like vacuum of fun last night. I'm fighting a cold, I got dissed on a job I applied for because I don't have enough retail experience (who thought a LACK of time folding shirts would be a negative?), had a dismal set at Pegasus (hey, let's have more talking in the side of the room, okay now the back... ridiculous), got home at a decent hour and then had a Tourette's-like phone conversation on Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Jell-O Shots between the times of 2:46am and 3:50am. Then I couldn't fall back to sleep so I had to write about all the crap I stepped in and over yesterday. I need a walk and about 250 knuckle push-ups right NOW.
My life is truly grand on an overall scale. I'm doing the best I can to just be myself. To be honest, I can be a handful. I run at about 40% of MySelf when I'm at work, and closer to 60% when I'm away from work in the real world. The moments when I'm most myself are when I have a little leeway to talk and could give a sh*t about how they feel about me. For the most part, I consider myself to be a good man. I don't have to step into the ring to feel good about myself, but when I'm in there, regardless of the opponent, I prefer bare-knuckling it. If you're gonna fight, FIGHT. Otherwise, don't waste my time. Yeah, I'm one bad white boy.
Cube neighbor is trying to remember the Scarecrow's lines from "Wizard Of Oz," and reciting them out loud. Why can't she blog like the rest of us? If she only had a blog.
And that's why I don't write blogs when I'm dehydrated.
Best be movin' on,
Geoffers
"I'm the Dude, man." ~The Dude, "The Big Lebowski"
Last night sucked. Major suckage. Hoover-like vacuum of fun last night. I'm fighting a cold, I got dissed on a job I applied for because I don't have enough retail experience (who thought a LACK of time folding shirts would be a negative?), had a dismal set at Pegasus (hey, let's have more talking in the side of the room, okay now the back... ridiculous), got home at a decent hour and then had a Tourette's-like phone conversation on Life, Love, and the Pursuit of Jell-O Shots between the times of 2:46am and 3:50am. Then I couldn't fall back to sleep so I had to write about all the crap I stepped in and over yesterday. I need a walk and about 250 knuckle push-ups right NOW.
My life is truly grand on an overall scale. I'm doing the best I can to just be myself. To be honest, I can be a handful. I run at about 40% of MySelf when I'm at work, and closer to 60% when I'm away from work in the real world. The moments when I'm most myself are when I have a little leeway to talk and could give a sh*t about how they feel about me. For the most part, I consider myself to be a good man. I don't have to step into the ring to feel good about myself, but when I'm in there, regardless of the opponent, I prefer bare-knuckling it. If you're gonna fight, FIGHT. Otherwise, don't waste my time. Yeah, I'm one bad white boy.
Cube neighbor is trying to remember the Scarecrow's lines from "Wizard Of Oz," and reciting them out loud. Why can't she blog like the rest of us? If she only had a blog.
And that's why I don't write blogs when I'm dehydrated.
Best be movin' on,
Geoffers
"I'm the Dude, man." ~The Dude, "The Big Lebowski"
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
I Couldn't Have Said It Better, But if I Tried To I'd Likely Be Boring You With Too Many Words Anway, So Let's Just Say That It's Better To Shorten Up What You're Saying and Get To The Point
People can talk a LOT about very little far too often. I'm not good with small talk. I can do it, but I'm perhaps a deeper thinker or not as up-to-speed on a topic as the other person who is introducing it. Maybe I'm just an a-hole. I don't think that's it, though. I like it when people get to the point and stop wasting my time blabbing about a topic with no direction. I can only hear so many stories about Dina at work. Most Dina's are of a questionable moral fiber anyway. Until the day we find out that Dina decided to go to Holland for the final surgery in her trans-gendering, let's save the Dina stories. What can you tell me about YOU?
If you're gonna talk to me, be honest, be direct, be funny, but have a point. Don’t ramble. When I'm 95 and lying on the floor of my mansion, bleeding from a back wound after being shot by a jealous 19 year-old lover, I'm gonna need back those 3 minutes you stole talking about your pants-loading kids to crawl to the phone and brag about my exploits to 911. The only thing in my life that should ever last longer than it needs to is the act of "Totally Doin' It." Other than that, don't waste my time.
And if I sound like an a-hole for mentioning this, the door is behind you. Bye. NEXT.
Speaking of "Next"...
No Need For Undershorts
I'm in the midst of an "All Employee TeleConference" with the Executives of this company. The title of this entry refers to the lack of testosterone-generators they have. After a year of lying and back-pedaling we are now going to be updated on "Regulatory Transition Tasks," "Milestones in the Merger Process." Those are terms that big-wigs use instead of saying "Selling Out," and "Next Week? Golf in Hawaii!" I swear this guy just said "I hope you're all watching and voting on American Idol." This company sponsors the text-messaging voting of American Idle, and that's about the biggest offer we have. (btw, the only woman I'd lay an angry hand on is Ryan Seacrest.)
Some new warty toad is talking about our network quality improvements. If anyone needs me I'll be lowering the life raft, as I can see "Integrity Island" from here, I'm rowing on. All I can hope is to get there before the rats do. And some guy on the call just called the CEO "Judas." That guy is my hero of the day.
People can talk a LOT about very little far too often. I'm not good with small talk. I can do it, but I'm perhaps a deeper thinker or not as up-to-speed on a topic as the other person who is introducing it. Maybe I'm just an a-hole. I don't think that's it, though. I like it when people get to the point and stop wasting my time blabbing about a topic with no direction. I can only hear so many stories about Dina at work. Most Dina's are of a questionable moral fiber anyway. Until the day we find out that Dina decided to go to Holland for the final surgery in her trans-gendering, let's save the Dina stories. What can you tell me about YOU?
If you're gonna talk to me, be honest, be direct, be funny, but have a point. Don’t ramble. When I'm 95 and lying on the floor of my mansion, bleeding from a back wound after being shot by a jealous 19 year-old lover, I'm gonna need back those 3 minutes you stole talking about your pants-loading kids to crawl to the phone and brag about my exploits to 911. The only thing in my life that should ever last longer than it needs to is the act of "Totally Doin' It." Other than that, don't waste my time.
And if I sound like an a-hole for mentioning this, the door is behind you. Bye. NEXT.
Speaking of "Next"...
No Need For Undershorts
I'm in the midst of an "All Employee TeleConference" with the Executives of this company. The title of this entry refers to the lack of testosterone-generators they have. After a year of lying and back-pedaling we are now going to be updated on "Regulatory Transition Tasks," "Milestones in the Merger Process." Those are terms that big-wigs use instead of saying "Selling Out," and "Next Week? Golf in Hawaii!" I swear this guy just said "I hope you're all watching and voting on American Idol." This company sponsors the text-messaging voting of American Idle, and that's about the biggest offer we have. (btw, the only woman I'd lay an angry hand on is Ryan Seacrest.)
Some new warty toad is talking about our network quality improvements. If anyone needs me I'll be lowering the life raft, as I can see "Integrity Island" from here, I'm rowing on. All I can hope is to get there before the rats do. And some guy on the call just called the CEO "Judas." That guy is my hero of the day.
Tall Double-Karma No Foam Geoff Lott, eh?
Yesterday afternoon, 2:47-ish, I ran to the community kitchen for a cup of coffee. The work coffee is a few steps above the water used to rinse the socks of gangrelous feets in Viet Nam, or was it HempFest... I was there, dude... I saw some sh*t... but I needed a bump so I dropped a half-cup of shiz in my mug. Half-Caff, Half-Decaff.
The Caff side of this equation went as such... I took a half-cup, then another guy who hates working here but is chasing a caffeine horse with a DayQuil Monkey on its back... scratch that... this fella comes in and gets maybe 1/3rd of a cup before the well runs dry. I figure, hey, he took the last of it, so he's on new pot patrol. Sorry fella, that's the way it perks sometimes. These little moments of others being screwed without my intent are things that put a skip in my step and footlong in my grocery bag. Deal with it.
This morning I walk in and need, which isn't a strong enough word, REQUIRE... DEMAND... whatever I gotta have the coffee. So's I hit the button for some Caff... and all I get are 4 drops. BAMMO, Karma rears it's lovely head. And folks, if making a fresh pot of coffee not even 24 hours after the last one ran dry is my Karma, I'm running naked in it's sprinkler of Cosmic Justice, free of clothing, covered in SPF 50, and more lit than Vegas on New Year's.
I'm off to change bulbs.
Yesterday afternoon, 2:47-ish, I ran to the community kitchen for a cup of coffee. The work coffee is a few steps above the water used to rinse the socks of gangrelous feets in Viet Nam, or was it HempFest... I was there, dude... I saw some sh*t... but I needed a bump so I dropped a half-cup of shiz in my mug. Half-Caff, Half-Decaff.
The Caff side of this equation went as such... I took a half-cup, then another guy who hates working here but is chasing a caffeine horse with a DayQuil Monkey on its back... scratch that... this fella comes in and gets maybe 1/3rd of a cup before the well runs dry. I figure, hey, he took the last of it, so he's on new pot patrol. Sorry fella, that's the way it perks sometimes. These little moments of others being screwed without my intent are things that put a skip in my step and footlong in my grocery bag. Deal with it.
This morning I walk in and need, which isn't a strong enough word, REQUIRE... DEMAND... whatever I gotta have the coffee. So's I hit the button for some Caff... and all I get are 4 drops. BAMMO, Karma rears it's lovely head. And folks, if making a fresh pot of coffee not even 24 hours after the last one ran dry is my Karma, I'm running naked in it's sprinkler of Cosmic Justice, free of clothing, covered in SPF 50, and more lit than Vegas on New Year's.
I'm off to change bulbs.
Tuesday, March 16, 2004
Take That Nonsense Outside
Be it the moon, my cube neighbor's 37 minute conversation on trust-issues with the family cats, or that I'm having my period, I am in one of the worst moods of my life. I'm hungry, I haven't worked out in a week, and if Square Neigh-Bore doesn't stop giggling at every other sentence that comes out of their mouth I'm gonna play a CD by a local comic who has opened for Johnny Mathis and laughs at his own jokes. You can't laugh at your own jokes, you may as well give yourself a nickname.
I need to go work myself into a froth with some weights or there will be some sort of punishment meted out. I didn't sleep so well last night, either, so why not throw a laugh-a-thon about crazy, I say, CRAZY cats wrestling with pillows!!! into my morning? Would anyone like to give me a wedgie? How about keying "Support The Troops" into the tailgate of my car? Unless you send me upwards of $20 today, you can kiss my honeybaked ham.
Yeah, that goes for YOU, too.
Why can't I stop crying?
Be it the moon, my cube neighbor's 37 minute conversation on trust-issues with the family cats, or that I'm having my period, I am in one of the worst moods of my life. I'm hungry, I haven't worked out in a week, and if Square Neigh-Bore doesn't stop giggling at every other sentence that comes out of their mouth I'm gonna play a CD by a local comic who has opened for Johnny Mathis and laughs at his own jokes. You can't laugh at your own jokes, you may as well give yourself a nickname.
I need to go work myself into a froth with some weights or there will be some sort of punishment meted out. I didn't sleep so well last night, either, so why not throw a laugh-a-thon about crazy, I say, CRAZY cats wrestling with pillows!!! into my morning? Would anyone like to give me a wedgie? How about keying "Support The Troops" into the tailgate of my car? Unless you send me upwards of $20 today, you can kiss my honeybaked ham.
Yeah, that goes for YOU, too.
Why can't I stop crying?
Monday, March 15, 2004
Almost Tuesday
How does a day like today seem to stretch on forever, when other days skip by with nary a blink? I suppose it's for Perspective. That's a word I can't get away from lately.
Perspective.
The Flip Side. The Yang to the Yin (or Yin to...). The laughter to the tears. The humming afterglow to the walk of shame.
I'm sitting at my desk waiting for a report to draw 6 records out of 455 for one, count it, ONE entry in Excel. The first attempt took 13 minutes. I wonder if I could have done it faster with my own eyes and fingers. I'm betting that I would be a slight favorite if the data was properly arranged.
But this is perspective. For the 10 times I find my keys right away, there are 2 times that I left them on a bus in a jacket now being worn by a homeless man's 1-legged dog, "Pogo."
For all the times I've had $2000 at my disposal, I've surely been hit with an overdraft fee 7 seconds before my paycheck was automatically deposited - F*** You, Bank of American't, you diseased goat of a financial institution. For the hundreds of times I didn't get the girl I thought I wanted, I get to see her true personality and be thankful I'm not changing locks or listening to her drunk-cry into a cell phone at 4 in the morning about her ex, her dad, and a mean girl in Jr. High who just never was nice to her. (we all hope the Jr. High girl's life turned to crap, agreed?)
(17 minutes and counting on the report data retrieval)
So in Life, I have a good perspective of how things are going. I want more to my life than I currently have, but I am doing really well in the meantime. I have great friends, a few loud enemies (fear the quiet ones, they're plotting against you), and a bright future in either writing, performing, or food service.
And I live in a country where I can pursue any life I choose, just as soon as this frigging database is done.
I Wanna See Y'All On Yo' Baddest Behavior
Geoffers
"Oh my pants are half-empty!" from Grumpy Cripples, by Blaine Reeder
How does a day like today seem to stretch on forever, when other days skip by with nary a blink? I suppose it's for Perspective. That's a word I can't get away from lately.
Perspective.
The Flip Side. The Yang to the Yin (or Yin to...). The laughter to the tears. The humming afterglow to the walk of shame.
I'm sitting at my desk waiting for a report to draw 6 records out of 455 for one, count it, ONE entry in Excel. The first attempt took 13 minutes. I wonder if I could have done it faster with my own eyes and fingers. I'm betting that I would be a slight favorite if the data was properly arranged.
But this is perspective. For the 10 times I find my keys right away, there are 2 times that I left them on a bus in a jacket now being worn by a homeless man's 1-legged dog, "Pogo."
For all the times I've had $2000 at my disposal, I've surely been hit with an overdraft fee 7 seconds before my paycheck was automatically deposited - F*** You, Bank of American't, you diseased goat of a financial institution. For the hundreds of times I didn't get the girl I thought I wanted, I get to see her true personality and be thankful I'm not changing locks or listening to her drunk-cry into a cell phone at 4 in the morning about her ex, her dad, and a mean girl in Jr. High who just never was nice to her. (we all hope the Jr. High girl's life turned to crap, agreed?)
(17 minutes and counting on the report data retrieval)
So in Life, I have a good perspective of how things are going. I want more to my life than I currently have, but I am doing really well in the meantime. I have great friends, a few loud enemies (fear the quiet ones, they're plotting against you), and a bright future in either writing, performing, or food service.
And I live in a country where I can pursue any life I choose, just as soon as this frigging database is done.
I Wanna See Y'All On Yo' Baddest Behavior
Geoffers
"Oh my pants are half-empty!" from Grumpy Cripples, by Blaine Reeder
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)