Why Do People Keep Calling To Ask If I'm Okay?

If it's because of the news story about the guy chugging a liter of vodka at the airport, I may be very upset.

Also, since people keep asking, I want to mention this about "the move:"

Please just pray, wish, snap, nose-wiggle, or faery-dust us in a positive manner.
Alicia and I are of the same thought that everything has a finite amount of energy, and talk-talk-talking about it over and over saps energy, from anything, really. So we'd really rather not talk about it too much.

Most of you have been verrrry positive, and that's really great of you, THANK YOU!

But for those naysayers and poo-poo'ers out there, hey, it's not your life. You do what you like. I'd rather try and try and try and try in a big world than eat misery every morning in a small one. Next time, skip the cereal and choose a good, stiff drink. Or a bullet.
Make YOUR decisions the good ones.

Have a GREAT Friday!

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Confessions

1) I love frosting.

Oh sweet, creamy lord. I feel so free. I can't tell if these are tears of joy or tears of missing frosting. Like cake frosting. Not "icing." Not sweetened whipped cream and a little vanilla extract.

Butter. Powdered sugar.
Maybe some cream cheese, or "albino fudge" as I ask for it at the store.
A bit of vanilla?
Cocoa powder.
A little cream, maybe some milk.

Graham crackers. And a spoon. Maybe neither.

I love it. I don't go crazy on it anymore, but only because I have mirrors and a family history of grand delusions. It's not healthy.

But this time of year, I cry. I cry for the abuse, the misuse of frosting.
The recent cupcake boom of the past 2 years has helped bring frosting back to the forefront. The frosting, I eat it last.

And some heartless people who yell at animals are using frosting as an apology for their shoddy work underneath, this time of year. The generalized letter of boring family recap that nobody cares for, under frosting. Fuck your stale cakes, Accounts Payable. Just leave the frosting bucket with the lid off and some spoons next to it and let us do as we like.

Stop mis-using frosting. The world's in bad enough shape as it is. Carson Daly has a career. Enough said.

Stop it you guys. Seriously.

I love frosting.
There. YOU deal with it.
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2) Got a cat last week. It adores me.

I'm not a cat-person. I'm more of a "guy." But this cat, about 2.5 months old, loves G-Unit here. Will fall asleep in my lap within a minute. Purrs only when I pet her. Will go into her litter box and "show off" with a display that can only be described as "1/8th her bodyweight." She has no traction on the Pergo, and no recollection of her lack of grip while negotiating a turn into the office.

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3) I thoroughly enjoyed myself at the Chop Suey- LaffHole show last night. That was a great crowd, and the interactive-ness of the standing bar patrons just adds to the rock show vibe. KUDOS to Kevin, Emmett, Scott, Dan, and all the others involved in that movement. They love comedy, they created an environment for comedy (Not just stand-up), and it's flourishing. Sweet-ass.

Andy Peters, I say... HUZZAH, sir, for calling that poseur emo-hipster buttcrease on his tattoo shenanigans. He's set up to do nothing but play Guitar Hero and power-wallow at Bauhaus. Next time, we'll kick his ass.

Also, here's how I envision a rehearsal of the band "That'll Do Robot, That'll Do" would go:
Dude's on the couch, face to the cushions, arms overhead. Wearing a maroon and blue-striped sweater, a size too-small, a.k.a. a "hipster Large."
-- Another dude enters. He sees couch-sleeper and another guy in a papasan chair holding a copy of "Figurine Monthly" in his hands, moving his lips while he reads.

FIRST GUY
(to guy on couch)
Hey. Dude. Wake up. (kick)
Come on, we have to practice for the
show tonight. Wake up, man. (nudge)

(to guy in chair)
No, it's cool, leave the gorilla mask on.
Okay, you shotgun this bottle of Vick's 44 and then
swan-dive onto the credenza while holding this ukelele.

I'm going to plug this keyboard into the wall,
stand in this pool of my collected urine, and
launch myself down the stairs.

(to guy on couch)
You. Hit the record button when my ballet slipper
comes off. Do NOT screw this up, guys. I did not
have my parents put me through art school to sound
like I know what I'm doing.

Okay, on the 2 & the 4, here we go...

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No News Is Great News

The past 10 days in Washington has shown some bad Winter weather, from the wind and rain, to the flooding and snow, to cold. Very, very cold. The driving around here got worse, if you had to drive, which most folks didn't, but wanted to see how fast they could ditch their foreign sedan anyway.

Tonight on KING-5 News was a recap of the major flooding in the Puget Sound area. Mostly just pictures and stories of the people most-affected by the flooding, living in some of the more-rural areas of the state, often in low-income demographics and zip codes.

I did not watch the entirety of it. I was out doing something I love for a Toys For Tots benefit show. I caught the last 10 minutes of the "news feature" to see what was affecting my neighbors. And I was pretty much laughing the entire time.

Not at the terror or sadness of losing their home and much of their lives in a flood.
Not at the lost money and work time and possessions washed away.

But at the "seriousness" of the story being played up like the newcasters actually cared, and like showing an hour-long program was going to actually help the situations and people in need.

What they need is 10 minutes, tops, to show the devastation.
Then they should show a website and a phone number of an organization that can actually help those folks, instead of the canary face of one local newscastress, or the mustachioed, vestigial weathermen we are inundated with.

The overdevelopment of our land in Washington, which is NOT "organic," nor "green," nor "progressive" as many folks would like to think they/we/this are/is/be... that clearcutting to build condos and zero-lot-line homes all over the place is great for the economy, bad for the housing market, and devastating for the environment. Way to go guys. Way to think with your common sense.

The news folks don't tell about that much. Not when 7 housing companies are buying commercial time. Turn it off. Turn it all off.

Then you can send some money or goods to those folks, to show the support you can't do with sandbags, backhoes, shovels, space-heaters, or spare bedrooms. And then pop in your favorite funny movie and get back to your Life.

Or you can, you know, like GO THERE and help them out somehow. Either way, you can just go. The news doesn't want you to do anything but stay glued to the news. Unglue. Change the channel.

TURN IT OFF.
Get on with Life.

Bring me some cookies!

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It's "Just Us" in Justice

I truly wish we could live in a world where we do not need a police service.

But we do.

Because we do not have enough people like Mr. Horn, represented in the article linked here.

Mr. Horn, his mental capacity up for some debate (and the fact that he called Sept. 11 "September the 1st"), took into his own hands the matter of stopping two burglars. They had broken into the neighbor's house next door, and Mr. Horn, calmly and rationally, while on the phone with 9-1-1 (not 9-1) decided to take his shotgun out to make sure somebody paid for the crime.

Now, I'm not saying you should go get a shotgun and sit and wait and watch your neighbor's property when they're gone. Maybe a decent .22 would do the trick for you. Or, EEEESH, get some of those shells that are full of rocksalt, OUCH, right?

But what I'm saying is that in many instances, it is far better to Do and Then Apologize, than to ask for permission when you know you'll be denied. Mr. Horn put himself in a dangerous position. I don't think of him as a hero, nor do I think of him as a criminal. I think of him as the kind of guy who I would like guarding my property if I'm on a 9-day outbounder. And in turn, I will help him bury one large bag per year, no questions asked.

Make up your own mind, decide what you like, but I swear that I would uncork some damage artillery if I awoke to find somebody snipping from my wife's rosemary, UNINVITED.

Shit would get handled, FOR REALS.

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Snow Driving: It's How You Use It

The first lowland/suburban snowfall has come to us here in the greater Puget Sound area, covering the hills and side streets with nearly 1/6th of an inch of slushy snow and the screams of adults, freaking out because they have to get from Costco to their 2nd home... in a fully-loaded, full-sized Sport Utility Vehicle... AND THE KIDS ARE KIND OF HUNGRY!!!

ssNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOw!

So yeah, first things first. How to drive in the snow.
1) Leave the liquor store, bags in hand.
2) Make sure you have some mixers and microwave meals at home, you don't want to make too many trips out once you're in and boozin'.
3)
(SSSRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE RECORD-STOPPING NOISE)

Okay, here's the deal...

Last night I had a private party to perform at in a sub-suburban area north of Seattle.

On the way to the gig I passed a number of spun-out, ditched, sideways cars (mostly very expensive sedans and a couple of street-racers). The real beauty of snow-driving, besides whipping monster-ass brodies in the playfield at Darryl Blattfeld Middle School, is that it sets everyone back to ZERO on the Good Driver scale. Those folks who zipped in & out of traffic on a daily basis, tailed others, sped, ignored the use of and ignored using blinkers, and those of us who CAN drive? We all get the reset when the snow's a-fallin'.

With snow, SKILL comes into play. You have to know about momentum, physics, continuity, tracking, and brake-tapping. If you ain't got it, you're gonna end up outside your Acura making that "OH COME OOOONN!!" motion you make when you realize, HA, you're gonna have another baby!

So again, I passed a lot of people who thought they had "skillz" to snow-drive. Nuh-uh. Sorry froots, I have a gig and my empathy for humanity takes a Greyhound seat to craptown when I have to venture among the untrained masses for a gig and a phat payout. I kept repeating to the people ahead of me "Don't look over there, not a concern. Forward, just keep going, NO NO NO BRAKES, NO NEED TO BRAKE, just keep going, you have a FORD... EX-PLO-RER, you need to GOOOOO."

Long story shortened... There were three snowy ways via hills to the venue I was supposed to perform at. All 3 were blocked by large vehicles driven by people who decided to stop and "renegotiate" the attempt on the hill, WHILE STILL ON THE HILL.

Snow Driving comes down to this:
You stop, you stick, you're done.
You speed, you spin-out, you're done.
You slow, you slide, you're done.

Keep your foot in it, pump your brakes, and keep it moving.
I could not get to my gig, nor my check, because of roads blocked by idiots.
ADULT idiots.
LICENSED adult idiots.

I drive a sedan. 4 doors, front-wheel-drive, 1999 SEDAN. There and back, one minor slip, no gig, no paycheck, and the Huskies lost. I hope those cars are still in those ditches, paint-jobs scratched by brambles and barbs and barriers. Idiots.

Oh, and another thing...
Bank of America can kiss my ass.
And when you ask for a number to reach me at, and I give it to you, and you call and leave a message on another number and leave me in the lurch for contacts that don't stick to my eye-lid inners? Yeah, Dr. Golitz's office lady, you're to blame for my not ordering through you anymore. I'll get my hash elsewhere.


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SICC and Tired

This is the last I can speak of this for a while.
First because I'll be interrupted in a moment for a very sweet reason, by my very understanding wife.
Second because I've talked at length about it already to many folks. I just can't keep rehashing the same old roads just yet.

I've been pleasantly marked by the experience of the Seattle International Comedy Competition (SICC) 2007. I feel it is a fresh memory, a bit painful, a group of muscles that have been broken down so often that they need time to heal. To be replenished (with Gatorade? or with Water?), stretched, massaged, and flexed back into a pliable and useful accumulation of strength and shape.

The past month of my life has been emotionally, physically, and mentally consumed by the SICC. I had not planned on doing it this year. My last trip through was abysmal, taking nearly last in my preliminary week. Oddly enough, there's a tip of the finger to impressions in that blog linked there, something I must have had issue with at the time.

This trip through I told myself if I was gonna do it, I was going to be even-keeled. That helped. The entire time I had one score that I thought was such utter bullcrap I wanted to backhand the judges, and not in a good way. But every other night I just went out and did the best I could and didn't worry about the numbers.

When you stop fretting over numbers, you start being able to enjoy the moments. The SemiFinal week was a lot of fun for me. Starting in Walla Walla on a Tuesday night wasn't so keen for the sleep skej, but we got it done for a bunch of college kids. The week progressed and my scores did as well. The shows got better, bigger, weirder. And I stayed consistent. The material may have moved around a bit, but the pace, the energy, the emotions I carried with me? All baselined. I wanted to just keep going forward.

Sorry, this isn't very funny yet. I'm not sure if it's going to be. I used to write funny stuff all the time. Let me turn this around.

Making the Finals was like getting a really hot friend of yours to go drinking with you. Everyone else sees you with a hottie. It feels good. You're likely to get SOME kind of love out of it. Even if you go home alone, maybe they brush by you and you stop thinking - just for a moment - about how they were born a man.

And I made it there somehow. Talent, luck, other people screaming into the walls instead of brake-tapping. I was coached up, ready, and raring to go.

Every room was a big room. Every crowd was hot. This was a ton of fun. I have no regrets. Wait... nope, none.

5th place.
That's what I take with me. 5th place out of 32. I am no longer emotionally attached to a best-guess numerical value assigned to my Presence, Material, Performance, Rapport, Technique, Flakiness of Crust, Wine Pairing, and Blood A'cohol Level. The muscle has been torn down. And is building back up. I cannot wait to get back on a stage without the mentally-amplified pressure of strangers holding a clipboard, hoping they'll like me more than another guy... why would I want to be compared to another guy? What about just being me? Why can't...

See how that goes? See why that muscle needs a rest?

Pretty soon, I'm gonna have to flex it again.
If I can't get some mutual respect now, I can always get mutual disdain.
But I prefer the former.

My thanks to my Wife, Family, Friends, Ron Reid, Peter Greyy, Pavel Simsa, Alyson Smith, Tony Boswell, Marcus, Key Lewis, Leif Skyving, Andy Peters, Rosalie Gale, Andy Haynes, Ruben, and all the venues that hosted us.

Biggest thanks goes to God for every single moment of my life that created the person that does the comedy I do. It's all becoming more clear.

The next time I want to be judged by drunk strangers in weird rooms I'll go see my family.

Thanks a lot ever'bodday, I'm Geoff Lott!
Good night.

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SICC Again; the Comics You Know

I am a finalist in the Seattle International Comedy Competition.
It hit me last Sunday in a deluge of emails, texts, phone calls, but not a SINGLE chunky muffin basket. Nor a tastefully-shot half-nude of Geoff Brousseau. Thank you very little.

I cannot take all the credit for getting to where I am. I have had the help, support, and well wishes of my wife, my family, my friends, and many of my friends who are comics. I have felt only minor tinges of pain throughout all of this. Sometimes just gas. Sometimes emotional. Oft-times the result of seeing Integrity take a rake to the back. You can't control what everyone else does. The best you can do is control your own moments, your own performance, and dumb it down so very deeply that even the most qualified of comedy judges isn't challenged by what you're doing.

But I progress. DI-gress.

Going into this final show tonight at the Comedy Underground Marcus, an impressionist with energy to burn, is in 1st. He is a stage monster. He is a one-man, live-band karaJoke jam, audiences cannot get enough of him, and he's played everywhere you can play in this state.

Close behind is Tony Boswell, an incredible writer and comedian who reminds me of a very good whiskey, a sweet and smoky warmth that doesn't quite burn. But could. It's like watching a Miles Davis solo in comedy form, laughing when the notes trail to something you thought would go one way, and just give you the chills instead. I wish I would have written a lot of the stuff Tony is doing.

Leif Skyving has impressed me nightly since the beginning with great joke-writing, great performances, and fully embracing the entirety of his life for material. He shies from nothing, and makes it all Funny. I would love to work some gigs with Leif, but that's an awful lot of Northern European man-funny for an audience to unzip for.

Key Lewis has taken rooms over with energy, and has commanded stages with coolness. This guy's got so many talents that there's no way to tell what he can do yet. But it's big. To FINAL your first time through this thing is a Feat. And he's married. With 3 kids. And a full time job that one day had him on the road to Portland at 5am, and BACK to the Vashon show on time. Impressive stuff all the way around.

I'm in the mix as well. Placings don't matter right now. Doing the best possible set I can for the last night of the competition is all that matters.

I will summarize my own feelings throughout the entire run of 18 shows over three weeks of the waning month of November 2007. As autumn has turned earnest, my thoughts of comedy, my own and in general, have been injected with respect, drive, and a focus on Doing The Comedy I Want To Be Remembered For.

I can always write more jokes. Better jokes. Better comedy. Bigger Funny.
And I will.

Oh wait, here's that Brousseau picture!


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SICC 2 Nights!

We have 2 shows left.

The ever-ready, kind of rowdy Bremerton rock-a-thon!

And the FINAL night in Seattle at the Comedy Underground!

I am in 4th place heading into the show tonight. I'm punching away for money at this point. And pride. And hoping beyond hope, perhaps, that at least two judges can see the truth of comedy and figure out that one joke told 5 different ways is still one joke.

But hey, it's putting butts in seats. Tony got robbed.
Again.

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Sea SICC

Alright, back to the blog here for ya before I hit the rack for some pre-Thanksgiving Day sleepage. Back from Vashon Island tonight from the show. Didn't do so well. Entirely my fault.

My wife is on the homestretch of a cooking marathon. Sides are all done, just gotta get the bird in the hotbox when we wake up and hope we have enough pizza for everyone.

I'm too tired to go over it all, but I'll give ya this much...

I sucked hind teat on Vashon tonight. F'ed my setlist. F'ed myself a little. This is about not shooting myself in the foot as much as it is about delivery and jokes and originality and presence and rapport. I would go further at this time, but judges of comedy don't read my blog. The judges are a microcosm of an audience we perform for. If you don't know what "microcosm" means, odds are you could be a judge at a comedy competition.

Here's the order for the night's scoring:
5) Geoff Lott (only because there isn't a 6th)
4) Key Lewis
3) Leif Skyving (went first and killed)
2) Tony Boswell (went last and killed)
1) Marcus

Thanksgiving Night we have off.
Friday night at the Kirkland Performance Center.
Saturday night in Bremerton at the Admiral Theatre.
Sunday, the final Finals night, at the Comedy Underground in Seattle.

I want, need, must see you soon.

Count your blessings, be grateful, sleep tight.
Gloves are off.

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SICC Finals #1: WAC'ed Out

We all got through night 1 of the Seattle International Comedy Competition (SICC) last night at the Washington Athletic Club (WAC), in front of 117 white people (WASP), 10 Asian people (AP), and some of the help (MEX).

We are the last 5 of 32 who began this whole thing on Halloween Night in Kirkland.
The points are all that matter this week. As always, placing is about ego. Just gotta go out and do the set and have FUN. Some guys struggle at this time. I was totally in my element. I felt like I was in a club, able to get a pace and rhythm going.

So here were the scores for the first night:
5th = Leif (The Striking Viking) Skyving
T-3 = Tony (The Boss) Boswell & Geoff (Gas) Lott
2 = Marcus (Monster)
1 = Key (Lockdown) Lewis

We were all less than .25 apart, with .02 btwn 2nd & 3rd, and .11 btwn 1st and 3rd.
The response from the audience didn't reflect in all scores, which is my snarky way of saying I felt I had a better set than one judge scored me (quite low compared to other judges).


So that's that, we're underway. Afterwards, in the limo on the way to the W, the event coordinator's twin sisters told us all the story of when they got matching bikini-line tattoos. It was pretty fun. The W also charged me $9.50 for a Jameson on the rocks, so that won't happen again. BUT, much Love to Tad at the bar for his charcuterie. You got good meat, Tad. I almost didn't make it home last night, but eventually I got out of that hot tub, said good night to Barack, Salma, Reese, Mel B., J-Tims, and Tony, and had our driver get me home.

This morning I had Raisin Bran. Tonight we head to Vashon Island, and I'm excited to perform there. Also, I left my bike there last year and I need to go get it.

Tomorrow, for Thanksgiving, there's a special show at Laughs Comedy Spot, which has hosted 2 nights of the SICC. Tomorrow night's show will feature at least a few of the guys from the Finals, and the ever-hilarious Brad Upton.

Time to dance. Peace.



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But Where Does The Hate Go?

Just now I got a call from something at 206-683-49##. If you really want it, or they harrass me, I'll post the whole thing here and we'll have a field day.

Not recognizing the #, I answered with "Good evening, this is Geoff."
And I was greeted with...

"Hu-luh?"

I think that was a slack-jawed attempt at a "hello" or possibly a "hola." Maybe a "Helen?"

Then I said, again, "Hello, this is Geoff."

And was greeted with a "Uh blamba da miamo fublabama Mike?" No friggin' clue what else it was there.

So that was likely...

1. A person of foreign nationality with little to no grasp of the English language.
2. A person of undetermined nationality with little to no grasp of the fact that they are having a massive stroke.
3. Doug.
4. A kid making the lamest prank phone call in the world.
5. All of the above.
6. Somebody experiencing severe intoxication from inhaling their own flatulence all day.

Regardless, having had a long and illustrious career of prank phone calls, including the infamous "Hey, uh, I'm pretty sure I left my condoms under your bed. Oh wait, is this Karen's mom?!!?!?", the prank call has been demolished by Caller-ID, Call Tracing, and rising handgun ownership.

Parents? Kids? Education system? Crank Yankers? Somebody must be hated at for this idiocy. I really don't have time for it, either.

I have hate backed up to like March at this point. Maybe I'll just call 'em back and F with 'em from work. Sweet.

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SICC 'em

Last night was the final show of the SemiFinals in Rochester.
Huge room. About 750 people. Flat, like a room you could have bingo, squaredancing, and/or tractor auctions in.

I'm just gonna get to the meat and give details later...

I AM IN THE FINALS OF THE SEATTLE INTERNATIONAL COMEDY COMPETITION, 2007!

That's Marcus, Key Lewis, Leif Skyving, our MC this week - John McClellan, Tony Boswell, and Geoffrey Lott.

I had a couple of great sets, but mostly just steady and consistent and knocking it out from venue to venue. I stayed true to my form, my jokes, and myself. Got rattled once in the 2 weeks, and had way more fun this time around.

I gotta get outta here, because we're going to the Seahawks game and we wanna tailgate.
I'll write more for ya later. Details, dirt, snark, critiques, fashion reports.



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SICC'th Sense

Just a quick note for y'all...

I'm hammering my way through the Seattle International Comedy Competition. It's a big deal in the comedy world, in that the last few winners all have been on TV, gone on tour with big acts, and are generally well-respected and $5,000 richer at the end of it all.

First round I just plowed through, I stayed consistent and made the judges wake up and come to me, having good and great sets each time.

This week I've had issues, and I'm trying to put 'em behind me. It's all my own "Stuff" because I won't concern myself with a numerical value placed on my ability and material for stand-up comedy by somebody who just got off a double at the Swifty Lube. It's all blustery and fun and these comics are awesome, and I've learned a lot.

Right now my key point is to chill out. I have to just do my comedy, not worry about all kinds of things I need to run around doing, and get that little niggling voice out of my head. The one that says "If you make it to the Finals, that's another week of driving, work hours missed, time with Alicia just GONE, gas money... and you probably won't win the whole thing."

You know that one? That's the one that is really saying "it's better to just say "good enough" right here and let the others move on."

But it ain't good enough anymore. Not for me. I love this too much. I have too much fun up there to just step off and let somebody else hack their way to a lead. I'm going to go do the stuff I'm known for and let it happen how it's supposed to happen. And play as many mindgames as I can to make the Finals!

More to come as news warrants...
LIVE FUNNY

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The Gaul Of Some People

Dealing the past 3 days with some of the client relationship folks in our France office. I say "France" instead of "French" because an office itself cannot be French, unless it's smoking and snooty and blaming others for its misshapen shoulders.

The France office Frenchpeoples, or "Fraunch," were telling a number of their clients to use "product x." Turns out, they were telling them the wrong thing altogether, and wondering why our customers weren't able to use Product X!

They should have told them to "use the code associated with Product X," like using the Key to start the car, instead of the name of the car.
The response back from the contact there in France?
"I wish somebody would have told me earlier.(sad face icon)"

In checking my email, I saw that I told them to use the codes I sent, not the product name. Then I thought to myself, "Golly-jee! Our folks in France sure have a funny way of saying they screwed up and f'ed a bunch of work up and caused a lot of panic for other people because they don't read their messages!"

So all I can really do is shake my handsome head, shrug my brawny shoulders, accept that not everyone has a full catalog of business ettiquette, and turn the other way the next time a marauding gang marches over the border into Alsace.

Foie gras dans vous yeux! Or whatever. Thanks for the onion soup. Grow a manner.

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That SICC'ening Feeling

I was in 5th place going into the last night's show, not 4th place. Some math problems in Bellingham made that possible. I didn't care. It honestly did not affect me. Everyone else came up to me saying "DUDE, you're not in 4th! What now? Aren't you pissed off?"
But heck, I knew what I could do in the homebase of the Comedy Underground.

So I went up 3rd, calm and commanding in my head, loving the moment of being there to entertain make people laugh, and I, ahem...
Kicked ass.

Came in 2nd for the night (Andy "Dream Crush" Haynes went undeniably into 1st with a great set), and secured the 3rd of 5 spots for the week. I'll move onto the semifinals next week!

For more in-depth editorializing and somewhat overdramatization of the emotions of the entire contest, go see www.SeattleComedy.net, written by Wisconsin-to-Seattle's very own Peter Greyy.

And see some recent less-fat pics of me there, also. I have to go help my sister move now. I'll write more about other stuff another time.

On to Walla Walla and Whitman College on Tuesday, 11/13!
11/16, I wanna see your hotclogs in Kirkland, at Laughs Comedy Spot, Precious.

Seriously though, love you guys.
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You Gotta Be SICC To Do This

I'm back in the saddle for the Seattle International Comedy Competition, or SICC, the month-long comedy contest that is judged by nearly nobody who knows anything about comedy whatsoever. In other words, judged by your average comedy-goer.

Comedy is whatever's funny. Funny is subjective. Judging is fun! I'll fill in details later, but here's how it's going so far...

1st Night, 10-31-07: I had a great set but F'ed up my closing bit, took 6th place.
Turns out, the scoring for that night kind of f'ed a lot of people. Here's why.
One of the judges scored everyone pretty low until the 5. 4 of those 5 got perfect scores, which is reeeeeeeeeally rare. Those 4 also placed in the top 5 for the night, places 1-4. So their scores were already pretty good, but that one judge's "oh well" attitude screwed the other 12 comedian's scores. Those comics had good sets, very funny stuff, but not THAT MUCH better than everyone else. Just my o-pining, of course.

But that's how it goes in these things. You never know who will be judging or how they'll score it or what they'll think is appropriate for the crowd. A room full of 400 people could love you. 3 of 4 judges could love you. 1 person could tank you. And your score drops, and you're out of the running. That's what the comics put ourselves through for this competition.

But at the end of the week, it's about consistently-good performances, being likeable and accessible, and above all, being Funny.

2nd Night, 11-01-07: I took 4th place. Haven't had a really tight set yet, that 5min35sec amazer that causes the other comics to either decide they're going to up their game or watch me run away. But I had a decent set. Not fantastic. Good. I'd say it was an 89 of 100. I scored the previous night's set about a 91, and had I hit my closer, that would have been 100. But there's another set tonight.

3rd Night, 11-02-07: I go FIRST tonight, a spot that most comics DREAD. I would, too, if I weren't funny. If I stunk. If I hadn't opened the show at the Paramount a year ago and killed. So tonight is a perfect setting. Step up and deliver, Lott.

I'll post more later. Details. Gory and weird. Conversations. For real, yo.

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An Anthem For The Nations

Watching the NFL game from London yesterday... the game was, I wasn't watching it from London... they sang the anthems-national of both America and England.

The English National Anthem, or whatever they call it in their language, is "God Save The Queen." This is a great reason to have seceded from all things British, in that they are demanding that God step in to save the Queen above all other people. And the tune it is sung to is the same tune AMERICANS use for "My Country 'tis Of Thee."

My country, ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died,
Land of the pilgrims’ pride,
From every mountainside,
Let freedom ring!

But our national anthem, "The Star Spangled Banner," is about our flag and what it stands for, namely the triumph over an oppressive nation, England. And all others that oppress America, like America, f'r'instance. What a sneaky little thing we did there, singing our big F-You about our ramparts in the white, soggy belly of the beast.

Good thing we beat those British, too.
Otherwise, heck, we'd all be speaking English.

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NEW BLOG SOON!

Hey gang...

like I wrote previously, Google's got their heads in their stockprice-rich asses so far they have completely renarded their technology...

therefore, since they can't figure it out over there to get my accounts matched up so I can advertise FOR THEM on this page, I'm going to another blog tool soon.

I'll leave a note here when the other's ready to go.
In the meantime, go take a Tylenol PM and have a glass of pinot noir and enjoy the ride down the slide of relaxation.

By the way earlier tonight I took a cocktail of 2 Lipitor, 1 Xanax, and 1/2 of a Cialis, or as it's called on the streets, "The Hefner." I feel like I'm in the Lost & Found at Victoria's Secret modeling school.

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Communication Degree, part 1

TV was on, so I came in and MUTED it for a second.
It had been on most of the day, as I went room to room with laundry or what-not, and the NFL provided a nice soundtrack. I was busy all day. All day.
All F'ing day.

Wife, in the kitchen, had returned from a quick trip East for wine re-con, returned with 3 botts I can't wait to go belly-first into. DE-LISH.

So I MUTE the teev, and say "aaah, quiet, that's nice."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean the quiet, it's nice, it's a nice break to have a little quiet."

"So, what, I'm making all the noise?"

"No, it's just nice to have the quiet. Which now we don't have, ironically."

"I wasn't making all the noise, I was watching a TV show."

"I know (head spinning at the ridiculousness of this)... "

Long story short, I love PERSPECTIVE. It is the litmus, the acid-test of a moment. Feel good and recognize it? Because you've felt bad before, that's why, so enjoy it.

Sun warming your back? Because you've been cooled by the shadows, is why.

Brain and body feel calmer with the peace and quiet? Because the constant noise of the TV and the commercials was vibrating in you at an unpleasant frequency, that's why.

And I couldn't even have that. I wasn't allowed to. I had to explain myself.
I had to explain why I liked the quiet. I had to talk, outloud, about my feelings about the QUIET.
I had to zombie-stomp what I needed in order to explain why I needed it, justifying my need for it while it resounded in the ears of the person who couldn't underF'ingstand why I would need it, and why, for the love of Manilow... I WOULD DARE EXPRESS MY FEELINGS ABOUT IT.

Next time I need to say something, I'm gonna do the right thing, and keep my mouth shut.


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For The Ladies

A few weeks back, almost two now, I was in a house full of nearly all the women of my family tree. We were at the home of a friend for my sister's wedding rehearsal dinner, all in town for the big day. Gathered up for the din-din were Ellen (bro-in-law's mom), My Grandma Sunny, Aunt Judy (dad's sister from Georgia), my Mom, Aunt Sandy, Aunt Sue, Carol (brother-in-law's sister), cousin Julie (also from Georgia), Katie (hermana), cousin Sonya, my amazing wife Alicia, cousin Jenny, Journey (Julie's daughter), and Dakota (Sonya's daughter). Also there were the ladies of the graciously-hosting family, including Gay, Tammi, Kim, and Grace.

Four generations of women 'round the Lott/Rider/Hennessey tree. Three 'round the Fout's. A little bit after dinner, I looked around the room and got choked up, like the big baby I can be when I realize a Life moment. The room was full of, literally, hundreds of years of life and lessons and stories and love. Kids. Kid's kids. Mother's mothers. It may never happen again in my life so I took stock of it.

In that room were the strongest women I've ever met. The most Faithful, Intelligent, Loving, Gracious, Funny women I have spent time around. Dynamic and yet normal. Realized and Optimistic.

Wives. Ex-wives. Wives-to-be.
Mothers. Grandmothers. Great Grandmothers. And those "to-be."
Caregivers of ailing husbands. Caregivers of ailing children.
Teachers. Students.
Survivors of addiction.
Survivors of divorce.
Survivors of breast cancer.
Survivors of the weight of Life.

And they have each come through the stories of their lives with tales to tell. We all sat and smild and laughed and moved around the room to send more time with each other. I didn't get to make the toast that I had wanted to make, the timing of the weekend all seemed a bit accelerated.

So I'll make it now:

Your strength is a cornerstone, your love the mortar, and your wisdom the roof. It is our blessing as men that you grace our lives, and that we may work to provide and protect you in our words and deeds. We become better men because of the amazing women you are. Thank you for your presence, your gifts, and your grace.


Thank you all for all you are. This blog can't do justice to all you've been through in your lives, and how strong you all are to this day. I am blessed to share love, family, blood, and stories with you. I would totally give you a kidney. Maybe even mine.

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