2008 - The Year It Began To Start To Get Different Again

What a Year. 2008, wow. Everything changed this year. I've recapped a lot throughout this blog, so I'm not gonna try and get every little detail, but I'll hit some high-points and see who gets upset over things that were intended to be offensive and came across as "funny."

1. BLACK PRESIDENT! There ya go. We have a fantastic President Elect in Barack Obama. I don't really care about the color of his skin as much as the content of his cabinet. The state of this nation - greed-fisted into a shame spiral and geographically and emotionally entrenched in two foreign occupations via military - can be rejuvenated. Obama's the man to lead us. But seriously, a national income tax, on top of taxes for homes, property, goods, services, and food? Fist that. What a fistful of hate-farts.
   
2. DREAM-MAKING! Whenever somebody I meet in the comedy world states "I quit my job to do comedy," I ask them what they did for a living. They say "Oh, I was answering phones at this company..." or "I was a manager at a shoe store" or some-such. THAT is not job-quitting. That is "I didn't show up for my shift so I could stay up later and smoke/drink/try-for-more-ass." I quit a career in IT where I was making phat money, because my heart was elsewhere. I listen(ed) to the voice in my heart/gut that said "Go, I'll take care of you," and my wife totally called my bluff. Just tell folks you're out there making your dream happen; don't marginalize your run-up to it by inching around the fact you were no good on the grill. The Grill will be waiting.
   
3. Gerry Lott (1943-2008)! My dear dad, Gerry Lott, passed away on November 16th. He had battled Dementia and all that it did to him for about 5 years, that we know of. The years prior to that, however, were lived the way that culminated in the type of memories and sentiments most people would choose to have spoken of them. How? Because my dad loved Life. He embraced the struggle of being Human, in that we all shared it, and in that he found compassion for others. He encouraged, cared, befriended, hugged, loved, laughed, danced, sang, joked, taught, learned, cried, and Had Faith in every bit of it. It's not easy. But he did it right. I have missed him for years. I will love him always. And I only slotted him at #3 because of his modesty.
4. UW GOES WINLESS! The winless, 12-loss, ironically-named Tye Willingham uncoached my alma mater through 12 games without a win. Being a stoic, fridgid, unable to win a football game-like coach doesn't help a damn thing when you start throwing 19 year-old players under the bus. When they all make the same mistakes, that is a COACHING error. We get a new coaching staff, a new lease on football life, and hopefully a 6-win, low-tier bowl next year. If we do, you read it here first, I will get a "W" tattoo on my body somewhere.
   
5. WEIGHTGAIN! Son of a ... after getting down around 223 earlier this year, I'm again in the high 230s, thanks to the last 6 weeks of my life. Between my dad's services and 10 days in Las Vegas and the Holidays, I gots work to do. I now believe that most of the "diets" pushed by a lot of the men's fitness mags are there to keep weight on you, and buying their magazine. If you don't believe me, try the "PeanutButter FudgeSteak" diet and see for your fat self.
6. Mixed Martial Arts! Most of us know this as the UFC. There are organizations world-wide, however, many of them better than UFC. Most of the fighters are college-educated athletes with backgrounds in wrestling, Muay Thai kickboxing, and minor buffoonery. It's taken off to a new level this year, and with any luck, will cause numerous meat-heads to punch each other in the face while waiting in line for the bathroom at a bar.
   
7. FACEBOOK! It has surpassed MySplorch in terms of usability and intelligent networking, but not for self-promotion... yet.
   
8. GREED! Who didn't get this ass-chomp of a reality check this year? Car makers, home-owners who didn't handle their finances, banks going in the shit-chewer, politicians being voted out, Big Oil, Governor Blabonovich, EVERYBODY who went for the Bad Green got face-corned this year. I love it. It will turn around soon. But that was the shakedown, so I hope we are all paying attention.

Go get yours.

Happy New Year!
There's mass more but I have to go now.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

What Happened In Vegas Stayed In My Brain

Let’s talk Las Vegas, Comedy, and what ten days in Sin City will do to a man on a limited budget.

Recently I reached another comedy career milestone by performing for over 50 drunk trashbags from a drywalling company from Riverside, CA. Their behavior, for the normal standards of “indoors,” was nothing short of “exemplary,” as defined by Webster’s “Dictionary For Everyday Spousal Abuse.” Many of them should be sterilized by my “Animal Beer Eugenics” plan, which will go into effect secretly within the next 6 months. Frankly, a fiery crash consuming their drug addled corpses, leaving behind only their armband tattoos and some serious handlebar mustaches, may be too good of a death for them. I won’t mention the name of the company because I wouldn’t want to offend them. They may yet turn their life around. Or I may end up at a drywall job, sober, and question their ability to float a seam properly… AND QUESTION THEIR SEXUALITY.

Ten days in Las Vegas is about 7 days past my max tolerance. After 72 hours, my tolerance of humanity waned considerably, somewhere between “Earthquake” and “Idi Amin.” Performing was fantastic. Over the 20 shows, I performed about 300minutes of comedy. That’s about 5 hours. That’s bootcamp, folks. I got WAAAAAAAY better, broke that muscle down a lot, let myself get really loose on-stage, and came out a different, hopefully better, comic and person. BUT… there are 23.5 hours of the day that I was not performing. Had I a drug habit (expensive and/or illegal, that is), alcoholism (full-blown, not just the dabbling), or majorly-consuming vice of some sort, things may have been different. For example, I would have had more fun during the day. It turns out I DO have a serious gambling problem: I blew all my luck. One day I went 3-for-11 on elevators, hitting UP and getting a DOWN for the next lift. Also, Giuseppe “The Dream Crusher” Santini, roll another triple-run of 00 and I’ll come across the chips on ya, 73 years old or not. Thanks for the $50 vodka-soda, fart-saver.

It’s important to get a routine going. Not easy when I was there, because everything costs money. The only freebs were found at the employee cafeteria. Imagine a buffet, with drab walls, low-ceilings, and CNN blaring on one TV, Mexican news or Soap Operas blaring on the other, and being glared at for not having a gold nametag on. Having fun yet? But soldiered forth. Get up, take a walk, check e-mail, work out, nap, write, read, nap, shower, SHOWTIME!, hang out, SHOWTIME!, drink, in bed by 2a.m. But most of that time isn’t spent with friends, so please don’t imply that I was on a vacation. My mind went “The Shining” late Friday afternoon. A ½-Xanax and Bud Light later, all was a bit better.

In those ten days, I missed my wife very much. I realize how much we depend on each other for daily emotional support and physical energy. To know that she was at home, alone, with those guys from that Under Armour ad, just really saddened me. I hope she had fun. But I know that I changed as a person, man, and comedian. Hopefully the changes were beneficial to my marriage and career and performance. One thing is for sure, I have very little patience right now. I have patience to tolerate unchangeable circumstances, but if somebody asks me a question just for the sake of small talk, I feel like ignoring them, or asking them why they want to know. Not trying to be “better” than anybody, mind you. Just, you know, we have a black president and things are changing and nobody cares which hospital your third grandson was born in so stop holding the conversation up while you search your softly-edged memory for a name THAT IS IMMATERIAL TO THE STORY of the first time you slept with a Thai woman in front of your sleeping wife. With a dumbshit like you for a grandpa, he’s probably on his way to a career in drywalling anyway, the fag.

My deepest thanks go out to TJ Markwalter, Tom Rhodes, Carl Strong, John Bizarre, Robert Duchaine, and the entire staff at The Comedy Stop @ The Trop. Fantastic time, y'all. I wish you only the best.

If anybody knows how to get my grandma to stop talking and it doesn't involve a pillow, pills, elbow (Flying or otherwise), let me know. How does this woman know what EVERYBODY is doing wrong on the news?
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Lee or Ray, part 3

Furthering my list of factual information stating that the middle names "Lee" and "Ray" only cause problems in the life of the middly-named...
http://geofflottrules.blogspot.com/2008/06/lee-or-ray-part-2.html

I submit THIS STORY, wherein Major LEE Ray, 51, was killed in a homeless encampment near I-5 in Seattle. Terrible news.

Keep 'em coming, folks.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

That's What Friends are (meta)For

Solid carriage. Decent shape. Front tube, randomly disconnected and hanging downward.
Loses fluids frequently, causing to overheat. Not good for long trips. Runs hotter than it should. When hot, needs longer than usual to cool down.

Direction-signals need new covers. Somebody took them a while ago. There may be a blinker out, because a light comes on to say one is out, but they all work. False alarms on what's working and what's not. If you stop too quickly, the front bumper may fall off.

Massive chunk-shot to the windshield, causing a blindspot to the left. Gotta lean over to see around it. Out of windshield washer fluid. Wipers could use a replacement, but cleaning the windshield hits a major divot in the chunk-shot, causing more smearing than smoothing. The sun visor has been removed, forcefully, from the look of the shards.

Can't tell how much gas is in it, just gotta fuel up when you can, especially if the light comes on. No idea how the fuel efficiency measures up.

The interior windows are hazily bonded with a sheer coat of nicotine. All external viewing is through a slightly-distorted glaze of chain-puffed smokes. Ash-blown back seats and upholstery. Interior panel of the passenger side, which holds the handles for exit and window-dropping is off, stuffed into the trunk. Somebody else must open the door from outside to allow the passenger to leave. Unless the passenger can grip mightily enough to the one cable that opens the door. Wires bounce along, exposed to the elements.

Work needs to be done under the hood. The only person who knows how best to handle it is a man in a valley far away. But overall, it goes from point A to D to C, as long as you don't push it too hard.

A car, lent to me by a friend?
Or a friend?

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

On Defining One's Self

I have a comedic spirit. I find humor in tragedy, and layers on the surface alone. I'm not saying I'm special, it's merely how I am wired. Were I wired for neurosurgerence, I'd be brain-poking with the same zeal and goopy fingers I phutz around with in my comedic pursuits. But I don't define myself as a Comedian.

I write a lot. I need to refocus my energy and focus on 2 projects more and write here less, but this is a comforting zen-like moment for me to write, as a Writer. What does that mean, anyway, to be a Writer? It's to translate what I see and think into visible words as well as possible so that reader's brains are flooded with pictures, emotions, or desires to send me money via PayPal.

The other day I was exiting a grocery store in Westwood, near UCLA. It was clean, well-lit, and not your typical LA-area grocer. On the way out, there was one double-automatic door, and three Asian guys, about mid-20's, were walking in. There was a cramped area near the front door, full of holiday florals and displays. One guy was text messaging on the phone his parents pay for, the others were making sure they were ribbing him for being a "fag" while they adjusted either their chain necklaces or their perfectly-flat-sticker-attached "LA" ball caps. In front of them, to my right, was a very disheveled, heavily-bearded, slightly odiferous man.

In one hand he held a bucket with cleaning supplies. In the other, two Ralph's bags filled with, from what I could tell, paper products and cereal. He stood there, looking out towards the doors, blank stare on his face. The youths were paying almost no attention to him, and nearly bumped into him. He grunted hard through his stare and they split around him, the one with the text session never looked up.

I paused as they passed, and glanced at the guy with the bucket. Thinking he was going to go first, I motioned with my hand towards the doors. Nothin'. Three seconds passed.

I then said "Pardon me sir" and made my way past him, about a foot of space between us. As I did, he took a step. To his left. Not forward. Directly into me. Not aggressively, just directly into me. I kept moving, and said "Excuse me, sorry," and he stopped, and flopped his carriage against his sides with a grunt. It was like he was trying to bump into me and then get angry. Odd, I thought, so I turned and said "Sorry, really," and he grunted again, blankly staring. So I said "oh, come on." Weird.

I made my way to the car, and headed out. But it's been with me all week for some reason. In the wake of my dad's passing it seems that every interaction I have actually has meaning. I have also not been sleeping too well. Everything seems heightened a bit. But hey, there's only so much I can do.

What I'm driving at is the fact that people define themselves, quite often, based on the efforts of others. Like showing off a tattoo on your calf in mid-January. Nice shorts, and what a great tribal seahorse. No, I'm not asking you about it. Or like blaring rap music to say "HEY PEOPLES! I AM BAD WITH MONEY AND DON'T GIVE A FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU*K!" Awesome. Giant flaming a-hole.

At this point in my life, I define myself a few ways, and will do so differently as I age, I am sure. But one thing I will never do is define myself on the output of others. Not their music, their clothing, their cars, nor their favorite color. Go with yourself. And shut up about it.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Dumb and Violent

I feel very bad for the situations of violence that have erupted in my hometown area of Seattle. In the past few months, Jet City was witness to:

1) The mugging and beating-death of The Tuba Man, Edward McMichael, a man who would play his tuba outside of sporting events for money. He was as regular as rain on a sunny day and self-righteous vegans staring at you for not bringing your reusable bags to Whole Foods. He was beaten by 4 or 5 teens. How sad. Those poor boys have been failed by the System. Those of them that were caught, gosh, probably have to go to jail for a good 10 years at least. Hopefully the will reap the benefits of that correctional facility. How terrible for them.

2) The shooting death of a 16 year-old at SouthCenter Mall last weekend. I have been to that mall hundreds of times. I, too, found myself on the brink of madness more than once per trip. But to shoot somebody!? Well, that takes a level of commitment that is to be commended. There were reports that the young men involved in the altercation leading to the shooting and death were "throwing gang signs" using their hands, as if to say, "My hand signal should be all you need to 'step off,' or 'back it up a piece, sir.' Look at my hands!" It's never a good idea to use your hands where a gun will suffice. Always shoot first, expect your friends to not rat you out later. How sad. Another victim of the System.

3) In Spokane, two men, 18 and 20, robbed a wheelchair-bound man of his groceries. The man in the wheelchair, aged 87 years, had just purchased the groceries. Jeez, what an idiot! Doesn't he know how dangerous it is out there!?!? It's one thing to be 87, but when you're in a wheelchair, you shouldn't expect anything from anybody. Somebody should arrest his family for not looking after him. Danger is everywhere. This is totally on him.

So as you can see, there's a lot of dumb people and bad planning leading to a lot of crime in the Northwest. I would like to applaud all the parents of kids who are commiting crimes for doing the best they could with those kids. Some kids, gosh, you just can't teach them, so the best you can do, is make sure they have clothes on their backs, and a safe place to sleep after a long night of "acting a fool" or "thugging out." Be it in the suburban havens of small-time pot dealing and pill trading, or the inner-city pressure of being respected for your hand signals, it's gotta be tough to have a job AND know what your kids are up to.

more to come...

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Dealing With Dying

My dad, Gerry Lott, passed away on November 16, 2008.
He was 65 years old.
He had fought dementia and the symptoms and effects of it for over 5 years.
He is no longer struggling.
I have an unparalleled peace, as I know he is currently in the Presence of God, and that I will see him again one day.
==========================

In my dad's passing, this is the closest I have ever been to a death. It is the heaviest weight I have ever carried, and the lightest of burdens to bear, as I have only love and respect for my dad.

His body is gone.
He is deceased, no longer on Earth.
He is biologically dead.
As a human form, he is no more.

I have to express these things as a way of real-izing them for myself. The last time I saw my dad was in September, prior to moving to Los Angeles. He was as he had been for a long time; gentle-eyed, slow to react, and stuck in that wheelchair. He was merely existing. It's a rotten way to watch somebody go. I don't really know how much of him was still there. He could react with a laugh/cry thing when something funny happened or somebody familiar was near by. But we do know that some of that kind and great man was still in there.

In his passing, my dad fought through a couple of illnesses in the last few weeks. Pneumonia weakened his system, causing very high fevers and breathing problems. The lack of oxygen led to angina. He may have had a mild heart attack. He was suffering, physically. We all hurt to know he was struggling. He deserved much better than this pain.

I last spoke to him on November 15th. My mom held the phone to his ear as his body fought for breath. I told him that i loved him, that I was so proud to be his son, that he was a great father, and that if he was ready, to go on Home. To go on to Heaven. That we'll always love him and we'll see him again. It is never enough, or correct, or timely, to say these things. But my dad, in his 65 years of life, lived with a compassion and love for others and life. And "The Time" had come.

I hung up with my mom and began sobbing harder than I ever have. I told my wife "My dad is dying, honey. He's really dying." We all knew it. Never would I have said it before, in case the mere breathing of the word "dying" would accelerate anything. We truly had him taken from us by the dementia over the past few years. And physically, now, he was dying. His spirit was about to soar, if it had not already been called Home to Heaven. I know that he heard me, regardless.

After hours of crying and planning for a trip home, I slept a bit. I had no dreams I can recall. My phone rang at 5a.m. It was my mom.

My dad, Gerald Embert Lott, Jr., had died.

A man of integrity, character, compassion, love, faith, and humor, had died. A good man. A great father and husband. A man of peace and friendship. They die, too. We all will. So... now what?

After talking with my mom, I felt a lightness. It was either a peace, or an elation, or a relief of a burden I carried. It was like a weight I forgot I had been toting around. Perhaps it was the question "When?" had now been answered. No more waiting. No more anticipation of a phone call that I dreaded knowing the subject of. My dad, now in Heaven, was free of the body that was felled by Dementia. Healed, whole, in the Presence of The Lord.

Knowing this is the greatest comfort I have. I believe we all share this, in my family, and those we know who knew and loved my dad. To know that right now, my dad's spirit has returned to The Glory, the place from which all Creation sprung, to be surrounded by his family from ages past, with his friends who preceded him, begins to erase the pain of missing him.

I want to begin focusing on THAT. On my father's spiritual reward now, I will rest my heart and my thoughts, in knowing he is standing tall, he is speaking with loved ones, he is the Greatest he has ever been. He IS, still.

Were it not for the love he and my mom showed us, the teaching and avenues they directed us towards, and the freedom to choose, I cannot tell you that I would be elated or peaceful. But my father is Home now. Where he wanted to go when this was enough for him.

Amen.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Gerry Lott, My Dad, My Hero.

When I can, I will write more.
Thanks Dad. Love you always, for everything.

October 26, 1943 - November 16, 2008

Geoff & Gerry, his dad, Georgia 1976

My Blog About My Dad

Fit In Where You Get In - TURBULENCE TRAINING RULES

When I first started lifting weights at the age of 13, I had no clue what I was doing. I would hoist anything heavy until I couldn't lift it anymore, then rest for about 3 minutes, then try it again. Push-ups and whatever we did in Jr. High PE classes, which I hated, because I was a chubbo.

As I got older, I realized that I really don't NEEEEED to bench 350lbs. It so rarely comes up that a gig requires me to close with the 800lb deadlift. So I searched, researched, and re-researched something that would help me
1) Burn and lose fat
2) Build and keep muscle without sacrificing cardio quality
3) Be portable, so I don't have to be in a gym/meatmarket to keep progressing
4) Constantly challenging

I found TURBULENCE TRAINING. Started up by Craig Ballantyne, this guy puts together seriously challenging workouts you can do with your own bodyweight. No 45minutes of treadmill walking. You're done with the entire workout in about 40min. If you have 40min laying around, 3 times a week, get this. You deserve it. I did these workouts prior to my triathlon in 2006 and it got me in shape like nothing else, even while I "rested" my shinsplints.

Here's a pic of Craig, if you want some proof. I am nowhere near this ripped, but if necessary, I could single-handedly grapple a puma.

It turns out that just about 15 years ago, Craig was heading down
the wrong path...eating and drinking too much and not working out.

But one day just after Christmas in 1994, Craig stumbled upon a
bodyweight workout that changed his life.

I want you to read the rest of Craig's embarrassing story here:

Check it out!

To mark the anniversary of the turning point in his life, Craig is
launching the Turbulence Training Bodyweight Fat Burning Solution,
full of all of his best bodyweight workouts...

PLUS, his NEWEST workout - the TT Hotel Room Workouts that even
include FOLLOW-ALONG workouts for the beginner and intermediate.

It's like having Craig Ballantyne as your personal trainer in the
comfort of your own home!

You'll get instant access to these NEW workouts, but MORE
importantly, he's also going to ship you FREE DVD's of the Hotel
Room Workouts and his most popular bodyweight workouts.

In fact, he's holding a PRE-launch sale for the first 50 copies and
cutting the price by 50 bucks.

This new Turbulence Training Bodyweight Fat Burning Solution package
includes...

1) DVD's and hardcopy manual of the 6-Month TT Bodyweight Program

2) A DVD and hardcopy manual of my NEW, Never-Seen-Before TT Hotel
Room Workouts (featuring the first ever "follow-along" beginner and
intermediate TT workouts)

3) A DVD and hardcopy manual of the TT Bodyweight 500

4) A DVD and hardcopy manual of the TT Bodyweight 1000

5) Free shipping on all of the above

6) And a Free 1-Year Platinum Turbulence Training Membership

The value of the entire Turbulence Training Bodyweight Fat Burning
Solution is over $1662.89, but the first 50 copies are available in
this Pre-Launch Sale for only $247.

(NOTE: These copies are going so fast since the website went "live"
yesterday that there are only 21 copies remaining at the PRE-release
price!.)

Grab yours here: (or up at the "CLICK HERE" link in my links on the upper Right)

=> http://www.BodyweightCardio.com

(But the low price and free shipping won't be around for long.)

Turn your life around today,

Geoffers
CLICK HERE NOW, You deserve this!

PS - Don't forget, you'll receive...

1) DVD's and hardcopy manual of the 6-Month TT Bodyweight Program

2) A DVD and hardcopy manual of my NEW, Never-Seen-Before TT Hotel
Room Workouts (featuring the first ever "follow-along" beginner and
intermediate TT workouts)

3) A DVD and hardcopy manual of the TT Bodyweight 500

4) A DVD and hardcopy manual of the TT Bodyweight 1000

5) Free shipping on all of the above

6) And a Free 1-Year Platinum Turbulence Training Membership

This package is worth over $1662.89, but it's yours for only $247...

BUT only 21 copies remain at the PRE-release price of $247!

Get started here:

=> GET GOING NOW!

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Blog 600! Gotta Do What Ya Gotta Do

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

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

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

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

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

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

My Issues With The Issues

This is how I think I feel about everything that's important.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Gay Marriage - Marriage between any two consenting adults deemed mentally competent should be legal. Marriage is a legally-recognized institution. Everyone should have equal pressure from their family and be made to feel like they are hideous freaks if not married by the age of 29. And they should not have open the backdoor of saying "Oh, we WOULD get married, but YOU won't let us!" I don't care what you do, when you do it, or how much it costs.
At the very least, incorporate. If you think the paperwork and inclusion in newspapers is what will solidify your relationship, have at 'er. Butch & Sundance were Partners. Lucy and Ricky were Spouses. Enyoy.
Apparently the Gay Community is unaware that, as tough as they've had it, they will NOT be discriminated against when getting their asses kicked by the Bride-to-Be who is ALSO trying to book the Atrium for the second Saturday in June. God be with you.

Legalizing Marijuana - Great idea. But you have to have a license to sell it, pay taxes on it, must be purchased from a licensed grower for re-sale, records kept of purchase and retail, and subject to the same scrutiny as all other vegitation that makes you happy. BUT... no retail outlets. Nope, the drug dealers already have this on lock-down, let 'em work. If it's shady, it's shady. Half the value in getting high is the feeling that you're gonna die during the transaction. And, like cigarettes, it cannot be smoked in public without heavy judgment/envy.

Prostitution - How is THIS illegal? Every other Westernized nation in the world has some sort of legalized hooking. Legalize, make the women... or men... register for a license. Prior to which, they must prove to be 18, have a GED, and (not "OR") submit to a drug test and blood test for STDs. Every 6 months, tested again. Run it outta yer single-wide like that day care that never got off the ground, lousy probation! Inspections by health inspectors! See, now you're generating JOBS AND REVENUE. Legalizing it won't drive people into hooking or looking any more than it already does. If a person wants to pay somebody to have sex with them, without hiding it as dinner and a few drinks, they should have the right to. And why subject women to the blathering of a crotch-hungry dude? Split the diff for $150, get under the bed like a good pig, and be on your way. SO UPTIGHT.
This also brings down the crime rates against women working in this line of work. They're doing it anyway. It's still a choice they have to make to go do it. Shouldn't be promoted as a viable one, mind you, but it sure as hell isn't stopping folks who need their urges fulfilled. It happens DAILY in various forms.

Seat Belt Laws - While these traffic stops do yield results in getting some thugs and felons on warrants, for the most part, it's a chicken-shit way for the cops to harrass unsafe people. It's a form of profiling, too. A GOOD ONE. You really want to make cars safe? NO SEATBELTS. Now who just slowed down 20MPH? Everybody, right. Now we're all driving around in loaded guns, makes you think before reaching for that text message, du'n't it?

Red Light Cameras - A camera? Chicken's PLOPS. You can't have ONE officer standing there pulling people off the road? MAKE IT NOW, IMMEDIATE, SPOT FOUL... you pay the fine or you get your car towed. OR, even better, do away with the camera, and put a gun turret in the camera box. Firing blanks, 99.8% of the time, but that sends a message at 240 rounds per second. To think it could have been avoided if only you hadn't hit that snooze alarm! Sorry for the .50 shell grazing your manifold.

Tax Increases On Douchenozzles, Asspleats, and Seatsniffers - Why are we taxing the wealthy when we should be taxing people who spend money poorly? $100, screen-printed t-shirt? 8.9% sales tax, and 4.1% Dunce Tax. Nice Ed Hardy tee, Yvgeny. Way to plan for retirement!
Axe Body Spray on the shopping list? How about upping the cost to about $100 a bottle? Sorry, now only for people who can afford it. And if you can afford Axe at that point, you aren't the kind of person who would wear it. I can't wear Axe BodySpritz, as I have a severe allergy to marketing. Axe, now in "Aggro Fingering" and " 'NO' Means 'Buy Her a Shot!' " scents.
Pooka Shell Necklaces should cost $500.
Male pinky rings? At 32? Just hitting the market at $2,000!
Perhaps it's a ploy of mine to drive the individuality out of people. More than likely, it's to see America with the best-dressed Foreclosed-Upon immigrants and turdwrinkles this side of ROSS.

Adopting Kids From "Developing Nations" - Adopting children from every continent, instead of, you know, getting a mug at the giftshop, is the ultimate in Celebrity Accessoriality. Mmmm. Good intentions are drawn on the back of Hermes recei-pits. I wonder how much more good would come when the village received water and food and updated facilities and schooling. Taking one child out of the village, and into a world of first-class travel, macrobiotic wet-nursing, and paparazzi, yes, MUCH better life. Using the water supply to adminster saltpeter and birth control to the population, OH NO, that's unethical. But the sex-trafficking of young girls, the rapes, the spread of AIDS, all in Nature's Plan. I cannot wait to be rich enough to care about others!

Gun Control - Everyone gets one. And 12 bullets that are made of rock salt. They'll pierece your skin, and hurt a lot, and then you'll know why you should use blinkers on the freeway. There, everyone happy now?

SUVs - Everyone in smaller cars should breathe easier. If you drive a small car, you use much less fuel. And that's GOOD, so the fire will be quick and small when you're crushed under the SUV. SUVs can only be driven by men over the age of 45. Until that time, your testosterone's too high to be trusted with this thing. And odds are you're not blaring rap's music out the windows. Nobody cares you be tippin' on fo'-fo's, mung. Nice wheelz! And how's your retirement account?

Dangerous Dog Breeds - Again, something ruined by idiots. Sorry, we can't trust the idiots, so we have to keep the breeds away from everyone. If you want to walk around with something dangerous on a leash, make friends with an Oakland Raiders fan.

Mobile Phones - You get as many minutes as equal to your credit score, PER YEAR. Text messages would be $5 a pop. Phones wouldn't work indoors unless you paid the establishment a $10 deposit, and had to talk while wearing a plastic bag over your head. You can yammer away as long as the oxygen allows.

Drinking Age - If you can vote at 18, and drink at 21, it's only right that the drinking age be changed, to 39. Your brain isn't fully developed until 25 or so, why float it on Natty Ice until you start a decent 401(k)? You shouldn't be drinking until you have to get up early for something the next morning. Drinking is for adults, not you.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Well CRAP, I Guess I'm a Nice Guy

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

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

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

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

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

JEEEEEEZUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUS!

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

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

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

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

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

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

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Call Me. I dare you...

I'm pissed. And when I'm pissed, I'm motivated. So shut the fuck up and read a second.

Mobile phones are now the lifeline of people with somewhat of a life. A leash, a tether to things you MIGHT need to know, but probably don't. There's nothing I have yet to hear shouted into a cell-phone that needed to be said at that moment. NOTHING.

That means nobody important is talking on the thing.
Not the President.
Not the Commander of the Bomb Squad.
Not the guy who makes love to the girl who makes your latte.
And no... not even you. Sorry, you're not important, either. At least not important enough to be stammering directions to a shabbily-attended party down... down by... go... go 2 blocks ARE YOU THERE... go 2 blocks...

No, not an exact science. It's a large system of invisible rays of sound and radio and gamma, boncing on our ears and brains. And yet I cannot stop phutzing with my phone on a reg'lar. I look at thinking that something may have happened, as if a message from (IMPORTANT PERSON) will have finally come in, and I can finally rest in the knowledge that my ship has come in. That means I can turn around to the lady behind me yelling into her phone and take it out of her hand and throw it against the wall.
These phones are proof of evolution, that we have evolved... just not that far.

I set the ringer to something that I know I will hear in case somebody calls me. And then... EVERYTHING sounds like a horse whinny.

I set it to vibrate, then my pants always feel more lively. And right now there just ain't THAT MUCH going on that I need to know what's going on. If something was going on, I would be in the middle of it. But nothing's goin' on, and I'd bet your behymen that it WON'T be going on while I'm hearing a one-sided barrage of whatever that Armenian dude was blarrrrriddidiaiddian into what's left of my ear drum. Close the borders.

If you really want to put your phone or earpiece to good use, take photos of people sneering at you while you yammer on about, what? Can... go ahead... yeah, so... I knooooow... The par.... The party? Fuck you and your phone.

Cell phones should only have minutes equal to your credit score... PER YEAR.
After that, $2 a minute. If you really wanted to talk to somebody, they would be RIGHT THERE WITH YOU on the other massage table, getting yelled at in Austrian. Something about a hot griddle and a naughty spietzle.

Otherwise, it, the F, can wait.

Mom, sorry about the F words.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Customary Disservice A-GAIN

Just had the new home phone in LA turned on the other day.
310 area code, via Time-Warner Cable.

As of today, I've had no calls from those who know my number, and 2 calls from telemarketers.

www.DoNotCall.gov

Some may say "Hey, that's taking jobs away from people who need those jobs!"

I say, "Hey, aim higher than trying to sell me a set of knives over the phone."

And "Eat me with your eyes open."

Then end.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Gassed Prices

How much cheaper would gas be, were it not for NASCAR?

Do we need 500 miles at Daytona? What can't be solved in 250, or just 125?

When one begins to break down the amount of fuel used to transport the professional athletes around the country, it makes you realize that you may be some sort of homosexual, boy, and ya best start looking at nekkid wuman.

Just sayin'.

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

No, Not In My MySpace Space

Ty Willingham is a ridiculous tiny coach and should be fired.

Well, they finally did it to themselves.

More Money and Power make people more of who they really are. If you're a little paranoid about a little power and money, a lot will drive you further behind the fortress of cereal boxes you built at breakfast. You'd be alone, mind you, as paranoia's accusatory onslaught carries all the charm of a mosquito buzzing in your ear while your grandmother screams "HUH? HUH?" and you repeat your answer until she asks ANOTHER question, and all you can think of is how you can't wait to fake-Gay-Out yourself into banishment and away from this lovely - but stone deaf - woman's underbaked hams. You suffer because, dag-nabbit, they DESERVE your attention. And cards played right, you're getting the LP collection upon her passing, now 19 years overdue.

MySpace, a FOX/Murdoch-owned entity, has created a way to simultaneously look Safe AND Paranoid. If you have a Space account and tried to log in this morning you may have been greeted with a Verification window. It's an application that generates random numbers and letters in varied order and linear formation so that you have to take a typing test in order to log in and see who called you Gay. Or Republican.

You know that first time you did a mountain of cocaine and then over the next few months you were Super Positive that the monkey in the rhododendron was, in fact, a CIA operative? And then, to make sure she couldn't get in when you were gone, you stopped leaving the house? And THEN, to make sure she couldn't get in when you were home, you duct-taped the doors shut? Well that's what MySpace did.

Instead of investing in security WITHIN the network, they threw up a giant snorfling gate and said "TRY TO CROSS." And no matter what combo you entered, whether is was Correct, Right, or Perfect, you and your desire to be looked-at wasn't getting in. And I thought to myself:

"Well, they finally did it. They went ahead and hit critical mass of management, and locked us all out. Awesome." I was happy about it. It wasn't like having a withdrawal, no shakes or bugs. Just a feeling of relief that they'd put themselves out of our misery. MySpace, for all it's influence and ability to connect people, is really now aimed at people younger than myself, hornier than myself, and drunker than myself. FINE, that's why I'm getting more into FaceBook, anyway.

So, soon I'll dump the MySpace Account, as soon as I figure out the FaceBook a bit more. And when I do, you will all follow me to FaceBook.
Why?
What are you looking for? What do I have that you need?
Before you say another word, you'll need to know my secret phrase.

Which is?

"GET UNDER THE COFFEE TABLE, THE GRIDDLE IS HOT"

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

For UW Fans Only

Ty Willingham is the current head football coach at the University of Washington. The legacy of UW football is one of tough linemen, stout defense, and class, not to mention winning. Willingham, at this moment, has a record of 11-31. 11 Wins. 31 Losses. If you finished 11 of 42 assignments on time at your job, you would have been fired at the 20-miss mark.

And yet Ty won't step down, and the Athletic Director won't fire him, because of some type of "commitment." This is a business. If you are this bad, your position needs to be handled by somebody else. The Dawgs are being embarrassed on a weekly basis, not by the other teams who trounce them, but by the coach and the staff that fails them. Jake Locker could have gone ANYWHERE in the nation to play QB. He chose the UW. And he's come up short because these coaches cannot properly implement the plan around the main cog. So where does that leave us?

Well, Ty Willingham is nothing if not staunch. He's stubborn. He's stone-faced and tries to remain positive about all of this, making excuses for how this one got away. Every friggin' week. SCREW THAT. I want a coach that screams about how his defensive coordinator isn't coaching downward to make sure that LBs and Safeties aren't taking bad angles on ball carriers breaking into the secondary... AGAIN. And a line coach that demands we get at least 2 guys over 290lbs with suspect police involvement in their past. And yet Ty sits there and challenges everyone outside the program to figure out what's wrong. He has no answers. It's NOT WORKING OUT, TYRONE.

He needs to step down. This is not "quitting," mind you. If it was 3 games into a season and they'd lost 3 in a row, that's quitting. But he's lost 8 in a row, and is facing the meat of the Pac-10 schedule here. And he has the fates and attitudes of 100 UW football players on his desk every day. And he has cut a lot of ties to Husky greats because he doesn't rally the past into the present. That's affecting the future, also, because great potential recruits are dropping visits to the UW in favor of rival schools in the Pac-10, and elsewhere.

So if the UW is concerned about the future and present of UW Football, they need to fire Ty. Ty's not going to quit. He's only going to drive further the plow through the minds of these players about what it takes to win a game, and the deeper and longer that rut, the harder it will be to fill it back in. FIRE TY WILLINGHAM. Yesterday.



Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

Register, THEN Vote

Remember, you have to be registered as a local citizen in order to vote in the upcoming elections.

This is not a concert where you show up, flash an ID and get a stamp to Vote however you like on Nov. 4th.

Just a reminder, friendly-style.



Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

John, John, John...

I'm not sure if I love him for this, or just feel like sighing.


While my vote is still for sale... er... undecided... er... not yet cast...
I would like to point out that I've heard far more rhetoric leveled against Barack Obama in the vein of his Race, and not his Record. Neither of these candidates has wowed me, though the composure Obama has shown is a nice change to flustered mutterings and catch-phrases.

This "Joe The Plumber" guy that was so popular last night, btw, was investigated a bit to find out who he is, what he does, and where he buys his leg snares.
Turns out... hmm... Guy has never cast a vote in his home state. Interesting. And I assume he's at least 23 years old, from the pictures, so that means he's missed one Presidential "election" already. So, hey, please... get out and vote.

If for no other reason, than to vote opposite of the neighbor you dislike most. Don't let that 4-car havin', 1-car workin', stray dog-apoptin', good ol' gal with more kids than teeth decide which part of her health plan is paid for by your tax dollar in the next four years.

BIRTH CONTROL IN FOOD SOLD AT WAL*MART IN 2009!

I'm Geoff Lott, and I don't approve this message. I ADORE IT.


Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad

When In Doubt

Move.
I suppose that's the best advice I have heard all morning. I think I hit some kind of lull in the past 18 hours or so. I did a lot of work yesterday, writing, job-applying, networking, comedy-traveling around Hollywood, etc. And right now I think my brain is a bit fried.

But the antsiness of my bodular system is overriding the drained brain-pan, so I should get out for a run or something.

Also, this place needs seriously more interior lighting. Seriously. More.

And if anybody knows where the screws to the bistro table are, please tell me. It would be nice to have that back in commission.

More boredom later.

Check out http://CulverCityChowdown.blogspot.com and CLICK ON THE AD-LINKS to the Upper RIGHT!!!!!!! It's my wife's blog about our chowing around the new homebase here, and ad-clicks = $!

Take Me Home

My Blog About My Dad