Tag: Geoff Lott

The Task of A Thousand Steps Begins Just After This Coffee Break

This post is the first of 30, wherein I will be dropping 30 posts in the month of November as part of NaBloPoMo, or “National Blog Post(ing) Month,” or Nablo Pomo, former left-handed reliever for the class-AA Donxberg Burros.  Long strider, wicked curve ball, but like a lot of young men in his era, he got caught up with the Wicked White Witch and never came off the ride.  Talkin’ about sugar, friends.  The diabetes got ‘im.

OK, OK… I’m slagging off some things in life because they don’t seem to capture my attention.  I realized in the past 48hours I had started a few small things, made calls I needed to, and got things in order for the changes in my life from Affordable Care Act-fallout.  But then, for some of these things and calls, I didn’t get a response right away.  So now they slip off the radar.  The ADD brain doesn’t appreciate that.  In fact, one returned call was a voicemail that made almost no correlation to what I had originally called in about, further confusing the scenario, and causing another step for me.  Again, added clutter to the brain space of an ADD mind.  Not good, bro.

And I realize that procrastinating isn’t unique the ADD’ers, it’s just more prevalent.  I have a “do now” gear and a “do another time” backlog.  It’s not prioritized, although I have a long list of things I need to get done in the next few weeks to makes we’re all on the same page with life and society.  If you looked at it, or a police officer was searching my car and found the list, well I’d have to probably walk through it to show you I mean no harm and YES, I’m fine, so let’s all just chill out for a bit.  The BrainBath list is so good for me to do.  It’s a constant reference point of things that seemed important at one point, and keeps my brain free of debris and detritus.  The trick is going back to it.

I can imagine how frustrating I must be to live with.  I have always been a guy who, when given a task and tools and time, will get to work and get something done if left alone to do it.  But that work style and parenting don’t exist in the same housing development, let alone cul de sac.  I often tell my wife “It takes a long time to be me.”  What I mean is that, in order to get in order and stay in order, I need time TONIGHT to prep for TOMORROW, or tomorrow will just be a bust and nothing’s going to get done.  Clothes packed for work after the gym, laptop bag packed for work, lunch ready to go, coffee set to auto-brew come the morn, etc.  And it’s usually only stuff I can do for me, which makes my time “in my space” seem like avoidance of the family, and it’s not at all. 

This is all retro-perspective now of my ADD brain as an adolescent; when given a task I wanted to do, I’d nail it. But add layers of unnecessary complexity to my Summer job of mowing neighborhood lawns (other people, bad tools, sunbathing step-daughters asking if I like Mötley Crüe) and my ability to get the work done slips. Now we have unfocused people with no ability to steer an edger, and they’re too hot to work and now I hate my friend.  Then I would have to be more of a leader and say “Guys, we gotta get this done so we can get to the next lawn  and get paid and see if Brendan’s brother can score us some wine coolers.”  And then somebody would bitch about me being a dickhead and I’d give ’em $10 and send ’em along. 

So I am learning that the best way for me to avoid procrastination is do one thing NOW.  It’s proven that multitasking is bunk, your brain can only focus on “a” task at a time.  You don’t want a surgeon taking calls when they’re 2 knuckles deep in any part of your body.  So if you have an ADD’er in your life, and you notice half-done work, odds are they were on their way to Finishberg and got pulled away, not “sidetracked.”  If you have the money to shop for your groceries, but no time… or the time, but no money, what good is any of it?  Give me enough time, and space, and things get done.  Give me however much time you THINK it should take and stand around asking rhetorical questions about toilet replacement codes in remodeled bathrooms, while not handing me a pitch-dark porter, and you may as well be winging full diapers at my head asking me to sing “Girls, Girls, Girls” without warming up.  I’m gonna be hoarse and there’s gonna be a lot of crap laying around. 

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Cold and F-You Season

Just a friendly reminder from your co-worker…

  1. Just because you’re coughing up “less” blood doesn’t mean you’re “on the mend.” Stay at home.
  2. You missing 2 days of work = 2 days of work missed.  You getting 4 people sick = 4-6 days of work missed.  Stay at home.
  3. Your kid’s sickness doesn’t mean that kid should be socialized with other kids so that other kids’ immune systems can be exposed to your kid’s sickness and everybody takes a step forward in the “strong immune system” line.  You are not allowed to compromise anybody else’s health based on short-sighted, negligent, selfish parenting.  We’ll get through the 3 year-old’s party without you, your annoying fashion choices, and your overuse of the word “amazing.”  Stay at home.
  4. If I can hear you coughing and blowing your nose from 3 rows away, that’s too close. Stay at home.
  5. Stay at home.  Until March, if necessary.
  6. Wash your hands.  Wash ’em again.  Soap and water’s fine.  No more superbugs.
  7. Stay at home.
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The Political Party Parent

In my 4 years of parenting I’ve noticed quite a few things that are likely my own internal judgments come to light…

I am a somewhat hyper-vigilant observer, which is a great help for cultivating material for the stage and this blog, but a terrible trait for, you know, enjoying life.  It often makes me, as my wife calls it, “annoyingly uptight.”  My uptightness, however, is also the same trait that causes me to hover around my kids in unfamiliar situations until we all know the lay of the playland, keeps them from thunking their head off the ground because I was socializing or phone-gazing or not being at all involved in their play time.  That level of involvement/concern/uptightness doesn’t make me “better” parent, but it sure as hell keeps my kids out of harm’s way, aggressive dog’s way, and “over-tall sharply-elbowed aggressive shit-head kid with phone-gazing parent’s” way. 

One parent type I’ve run into is who I call “the Political Partier.”  I’m not sure they even realize what they’re doing, but this is the parent who shows up at a kid’s party… WHICH ARE ALWAYS A GREAT WAY TO SPEND A FOOTBALL WEEKEND DAY INSTEAD OF WATCHING FOOTBALL ON ONE OF 35 DAYS OF THE YEAR… and doesn’t really “count.”  Example?  SURE, here ya go….

Couple with 1 kid.  Mom and kid come to the party.  Dad comes, too.  Didn’t have that counted on their RSVP, but hell, we can swing another few inches of the party-sub and a juicebox, dig in!  BUT… he’s almost a ghost.  Sits in the corner, looks at his phone the whole time, doesn’t mingle, doesn’t really make it known his kid and wife are there, nor how he’s related to any of this.  Here’s the Political Issue…

His mere presence now forces the host of the party’s significant other to assess any of that couples’ future parties as “go-worthy.” 

What’s the problem?  Well, now I would… just using myself as an example, not saying this has ever happened… I would have to ask “is HE going?” when they are hosting a party that I really don’t NEED to be part of.  And if he’s going then I have to go because I can’t look like the guy who’s not involved with his family, right? I mean, how many times does the daughter of a mom in your youngest kid’s toddler socialization group turn 2 and have the party at an indoor petting zoo for blind animals?  Once?  So yeah, big day all around, better tape up my face and go.  Paying for another gift and card and taking day off from football isn’t enough.  Gotta BE THERE, Dad.

OR, just not go.  Take the older kid off for the day while mom and youngest goes off to do their thing at the party.  Identify with your other kid in your own space for a while, and bond there.  Get your own slice of cake somewhere.  Don’t buckle. Get out. Do what you have to do and enjoy it.

Which is a great thing to do as long as you can let go of the other parents judging you. 

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To Have Died Young In One’s Prime

I started down a path that would have likely led to some disgruntled comments from people who would know of whom the original post was about.  And therefore I retracted that information.  But I will say this:

When people lament the loss of a life, “snuffed out too soon, gone before their time,” you have to really look at the circumstances around the death before we assign an appropriate check-out time.  When Brittany Murphy died a few years ago after a drug overdose, there were a LOT of people outside the Murphy camp but emotionally invested (for whatever reason) in her life, saying she had died too young.  Yes, she was young.  But you’re never too young to die from the illnesses you refuse to treat, such as drug addiction or flammable colon gas.  And how many people tried how many times in how many different ways to get Brittany healthy?  Ultimately it was a psychological drive to drugs, which then killed her, which had gone unrooted and untreated, and perhaps untreatable.  It’s sad.  And it’s even more sad when it happens to somebody who isn’t famous, who didn’t have any money to handle expenses, and leaves behind a family to pick up the pieces.  And by “family” I mean children, not a co-dependent  spouse or lecherous entourage lacking any discernible talent.

And at the same time, I noted the following in a moment on-stage a few years ago, while pondering the deaths of young people.

  1. Young men between the ages of 15 and 27 do dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb and stupid stuff more than anybody else, based solely on testosterone, lack of forethought, and a throbbing life-boner.  Driving drunk, driving fast, mohawks, energy drinks, fraternity drinking, borderline date rapes, parking lot fights, etc. Therefore they should all be defaulted into Organ Donor status.  Perfectly healthy crop of lungs and hearts and kidneys can be harvested for the poor folks waiting for one of these dipshits to roll his Jeep or mis-judge the cross-wind of a bridge jump.  I still can’t believe I’m alive considering the [OMITTED FOR LEGAL CONSIDERATION AND BECAUSE MY KIDS MAY READ THIS ONE DAY] for an entire month.
  2. The loss of realized potential is what is most crushing.  The time to share Life with that person ends, BAM, done.  Nothing more.  Grief sets in and confuses and crushes and drives people to sadness and despair and rear-window “In Memory Of” decals. When that life ends there’s nothing more that can be capitalized upon; no professions, no vacations, no kids or grandkids or victories on competitive cupcake bake-offs. 
  3. The person to which I thought of and referred to, originally, died before he hit 30 years old.  Model-like good looks, dashed in a tragic accident.  He’ll never get older than 28.  He’ll never wrinkle, or gray, or sag.  He’ll never wake to the cries of a screaming child 3 times a night and suffer a day of fatherhood and work and tiring of the Grind.  Because he drove too fast for the conditions, and an accident happened.  Really very sad, for the rest of us who are going through all of that.  Nobody will ever know what he looked like as a fat, balding, bitter desk jockey.  Lucky bastard.

So before we wail and groan when a life goes too soon, please look at the circumstances of it for a Reality Check.  At what age is somebody NOT “too young” to die?  I am hoping to die much like my great-grandfather, in his sleep at the age of 91, shot by a jealous lover.

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The Hairs Of My Chinny-Chin-Chin and neck and shoulders sometimes

Guys… seriously….

Dollar Shave Club.
I know, I reviewed razors before.  I did that before I knew of Dollar Shave Club.

I got signed up this year as part of my Father’s Day Gift Bag, which included some DSC’s “Dr. Carver’s Shave Butter“ (it’s not butter, it’s better, it’s boss), and some “One Wipe Charlies,” the Butt-wipe For Men (it’s a butt-wipe, it’s better than a hand towel).  I am set up for the cut-down of my face hair.  Hell, I’ll go  to the back of my neck and shoulder area, probably even my fundercarriage with this blade sitch.

THESE BLADES DON’T CARE WHERE THE HAIR STARTED, IT’S ABOUT TO BE DEPARTED (just came up with that COPYRIGHT TRADEMARK HASHTAGMAKINGMONEY)

Using “The Executive” blade (6 of ’em!) I’ve found shaving to be a somewhat sublime experience.  For $9 a month (compared to the $15 most Luxurious Blades go for at your drug’s store sans coupon) I get 4 blades.  Auto-sent and auto-billed, and YES, you can ratchet-back the frequency if you’re like me and don’t shave every day because you’re almost 40 and wanna show the world you’ve got Edge, man, you’ve got moxie!

And it’s smoooth.  The blades + butter confluence produces an easy-glide hair removal process so easy I’m almost convinced I’m doing it wrong.  But I’m NOT.
So, YES, get your facial hair under a slather of Dr. Carver’s Shave Butter, buy-load-and-go with the blade of your choice, and when you’re done horsing-out a stillborn food-baby, go dry-wipe, ONE WIPE CHARLIE, dry-wipe and get on with your day.

Also, give ’em your business because they have fantastically funny promotional videos.

Shit, Butt-shower, Shave;  DOLLAR SHAVE CLUB

(Dollar Shave Club has not and probably will not pay me for this critique, but I’m still using their products any way I see fit on my face, shoulders and fundle)

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More Room In The Locker Room

When trying to figure out if you have an untreated brain tumor, see if you choose the locker right next to the only other locked locker in a 30-locker bay. If so, YES, your brain is being eaten by a mushroom, you bun hole.

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The “Ray/Lee” Files IX; This Is Real

Sadly, another human smudge with the middle name of Lee has been implicated in a heinous crime.  The crime is sad, the middle name, however, stands as a harbinger of morbidity.

“A California Amber Alert was expanded to Oregon and Washington as authorities search for James Lee DiMaggio, 40, who is believed to have kidnapped 16-year-old Hannah Anderson. DiMaggio is believed to be driving a blue 2013 Nissan Versa with California plate 6WCU986.”

I hope it’s not all true, the death of a young boy and the abduction of the girl.  But folks, please keep track of this stuff.  If you meet somebody with the middle name of Lee or Ray

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I Will Maim Teenagers Drinking At Playgrounds

To The F*ckstain Who Smashed Beer Bottles at the Kid’s Playground:

You must be a teenager or somebody else with a very minimal view of the world. You cannot possibly be a good human being at this point in your life, but it will get better if you decide it will.  Until then, you are the reason there are cameras popping up at every street corner and playground.  Big Brother ain’t watching, YOUR BROTHER is watching.  And I’m pissed.

I did plenty of dumb stuff when I was young (as recently as last week in fact).  Fine.  Happy?  Good.  But the fact that you drained a couple Coors Lights, in BOTTLES I might add, which means you have no idea how to properly drain the Silver Bullets, is only the beginning of your idiocy. These are probably your step-dad’s garage beers, or something left behind from a July 4th BBQ your mom threw up after.  This isn’t an adult’s beer, a discerning man’s beer of choice.  Then, as if drinking the last of it, probably with a blossoming young lady who thinks you “bad” or “dangerous” because she doesn’t yet understand Life, as if the last sip was a 3-yard dive for a winning touchdown… you spike the bottle into the cement, shattering it.  Shards left behind in the high-traffic area of an elementary school playground. 

And you blue-ball it all the way home, smug and buzzed on watery beer and Axe bodyspray.  We’re watching.  We’re carrying stun-guns.
And dustpans. 
Decide right now which you’d rather have.

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