The Domino Effect - contains a poem about a night of drinking with me last Tuesday in his 12/29/04 posting. Sweet.

CNN.com - Naughty kids' Christmas gifts sold on eBay - Dec 27, 2004

I should be fucking working right now but I'm sort of hungover and my friend isn't so spry after a night of drinking and karaoke. Add this to my collection of hungover girls at my house... at least this one made it inside. GOOCH:well hung over.

GIRLFRIEND PASSED OUT

New York Daily News - Daily Dish & Gossip - Lloyd Grove's Lowdown: We'll never have Paris again

Good take on La Skanque. I'm not a fan; her best work so far has been an amateur sex video. That's hot... indeed. Otherwise, you take away the money and she's merely a slut for which my home of East County is known for its abundance. Word. Fuck'n A. gooch:OUT

I'm switching to the Fatkins diet. My excersize program was designed by Charles Fatlas.

Check this out: Click HERE for fake boob test.

Getting through the holiday season okay. Not committing to so many parties/events this year. Reconciliation with the ex is working out okay after all.

Shopping this Christmas has been fun. I waited until Wednesday night to do ANY Christmas shopping. The girl formerly known as "ex" and I went on a spree that covered three stores and five hours. Gift wrapping that night went until 2:30am. 'Tis the season to be sleepy.

Meanwhile, the parking lots are full and I never realized how many white SUVs there are in Gresham until I've looked for my car in a crowded parking lot.

I'm gonna get my responsible drink on tonight.

Merry Christmas, schmucks.

GOOCH:jolly indeed.

Getting fat and drunk at office parties this week; sorry for the lack of updates. I'm buzzed hard right now and it just turned 3pm. It's cool that people invite the contractor computer guy to their office parties. Anyways... I usually take time off during the holidays anyway. Marty:Salutations. Girlfriend:Acknowledged. Gooch:OUT.

I've got and office and a bar party to go to this weekend. That's it. I can say whatever I want right now... no matter how mundane it is... because I've got a picture of some chick's big ass leading off this blog. ABCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ. 1234567890. It doesn't matter. You're hypnotized. Nothing to say = gratuitous ass shots. Blah Blah Blah.

I've got the solution for teen pregnancy. Actually.. any pregnancy. Fedora hats and trenchcoats. Since before I was in high school, the fedora and trenchcoat have been erroneously associated with rebelliousness and independence. I've unerroneously associated them with geeks, nerds, Dungeons & Dragons, and never getting laid. I see you bastards downtown with your headphones on, presumably listening to The Cure and thinking about where you're going to buy your next 10-sided die. Think about where you're going to meet a chick. Plan now so you can get laid by 35.

Word. I just completed my first bootleg DVD using a program called DVD Shrink. Check it out, yo.

Three songs on the Windows Media Player: Flock of Seagulls: Space Age Love Song; Alphaville: Forever Young; When in Rome: The Promise. Eighties New Wave mode in effect.

I love the Sirius radio. Yesterday I received 100 shares of Sirius stock from my Father for Christmas. The stock is already worth $300 more than when he purchased it last month. There's a chance that prick Stern can help me retire before 35.

Meanwhile, another ex-boyfriend pounding on the door at the sight of the GOOCH-1 in the ex-girlfriend's driveway. Phone calls asking to answer the door rang from 2:00am to 4:30am. What am I supposed to do? answer the door? I needs my sleep. Yo.

GOOD SIGN THAT THE RELATIONSHIP IS OVER.

I'm not even acting like I got the upper hand on anyone. Shit, I can empathize better than anyone. I felt bad, but also threatened and wanting to go to sleep. He should relax...I've been the "other guy" off and on for about a year now. I've gotten more rebounds than Wilt Chamberlain. It's not so bad. Oh well.

Went to see Modest Mouse last night. Great show. McMenamins staff can be pretty condescending. I called them on it, though. Just because you look like you haven't showered for a week does not make you better than me. Fuckers. It's my friend Bonnie's birthday today. Marty and I are pretty sure that she had a birthday a month ago. I guess we'll celebrate again. Bonnie is the girl from the "fight breakup" pictorial. Cool. Off to exercise for a minute.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BONNIE

So I officiated the YMike/Jenna wedding on December 11. I got ordained on the internet and performed the ceremony. It was an absolute honor. Scary as hell, but once it was done I truly felt like I was part of something amazing. I thought that planning a bachelor party was the pinnacle of marriage ceremony bliss; this tops it for sure. I'm happy for Mike and Jenna and their families and, again, honored to have been a part of this event.

It's ironic that the wedding occured on the anniversary of my divorced parents' marriage and that I myself can't sustain a relationship to save my life... despite the fact that I just brought two people into a state of matrimony. Oh well... I'll figure this stuff out eventually. My latest reconciliation is looking like a crash-and-burn. At least I was given the opportunity to work through issues I had and maybe allow myself to have a healthy relationship someday. I've spent a lot of time being "the other guy" for several different girls. It's an okay scenario when you just want to get laid, otherwise it's painful. It's fitting for me but shallowness was only meant to be temporary.

Everyone that told me that my latest relationship endeavor was a bad idea should know that I appreciate their concern, but I had to figure stuff out on my own... and this is the best way to do it. No matter the outcome, I'm happier. Notice the self control that I've displayed for almost two weeks. No benders. I feel like I have a super-power; like I'm Moderation Man! I'm tired.

Moderation Man:OUT

Ymike's (The groom) Xanga Site

The Love Column: 7/23/2003

I'll never write anything as good as that again. Okay... someday I will. I've stayed sober for over a week... I drank, but I've not done the crazed liver assault that would have typically happened by mid-week. Clarity is a motherfucker, but making an ass of yourself and trying to remember what you did the next day is no way to go through life. I think that I've suffered for nearly eight months from heartache. I never dealt with it other than with drinking. I've tried to move on by dating good looking girls, but I always ended it because I was too hurt over my ex - or they ended it because they sensed the same thing. Also, this is a small town and when you date enough girls they end up hanging out with each other, which drives me fucking nuts; talking about me the same way old ladies talk about laundry detergent or carpet cleaner... I'm not an appliance. I'm also not a role model. Read the "Breakup Column" linked above and know that It's the rantings of a bitter man who'd just come to the conclusion that the world is screwed up and your worst fears will always be realized. If you think your girlfriend or someone you're dating stood you up to fuck a guy... just act like you know it happened. They won't deny it, likely. If you think it happened, it probably did. Don't kid yourself... don't become your own worst enemy. Follow your heart? Your heart is a fucking idiot. Your friends know best. Better yet, follow your dick and put a ball gag on your heart and throw it in a box... like the Gimp in Pulp Fiction. Only pull your heart out for special occassions, like a kid's birthday or something. Sobriety sucks... but it's necessary. Moderation is the key. I no longer have to drink myself passed out in order to get through the night or even simply be social. Whatever happened and is happening this week is a series of events that has knocked me from a depressed funk to being, well, angry. My best friend in the fucking world just said to me: "It's easier to be angry than sad. Maybe not easier, but it looks cooler."

I... I think I'm back. I became ordained online and am honored to be performing a wedding ceremony for YMike and his fiancee Jenna. They're getting married on my parents' wedding anniversary. My parents marriage... another reason I'm screwed up. Maybe last weekend and this weekend are so absurdly surreal that they were meant to give me a message to shut the fuck up and move on. I feel like jogging, just running as fast as I can for as long as I can. That would last about 20 seconds. I've got to get the day started. I'm pumped. I'm energized. I'm moderately sober.
I'm Gooch, dammit.

YOU MAKE THE CALL:

It's 2am... I've got a drunk girl in her car in the parking lot in front of my condo. she won't get out of the car. She just moans and holds her position. She's completely fucked up. I don't want to leave her out there, but there's no moving her. I've stalled, fighting with my ex for a while. I don't know what to do. Do you? I've even said "the bears will get you," which is what I used to say to my ex-girlfriend's son (you laugh... but it almost worked). By the time anyone reads this, she'll have puked in her car. Shit... i'm tired and want to go to bed. This designated driver stuff is bullshit. I picked the wrong time to stop binge drinking.

Fuck it, I'm going to bed. i've locked her in her car and unlocked the front door to the condo.

Fucking bizarre weekend. The words "I love you" mean nothing to me anymore (unless it's to my Mom). I'm not having a pity party... I've never been happier. I'm glowing.

Yawn... indeed.

Metrosexual -a definition: A straight, usually heterosexual urban man, with a keen interest in fashion, shopping and elaborate grooming, who is really passionate about clothing and body hair, sometimes wears make up and nail polish, a man with refined aesthetic sense, not afraid to exhibit his feminine sides.

Monday Night: A friend called to have me meet her at Skyland for drinks. Before I knew it, I'd consumed six Red Bulls and Vodkas, a personal record. I was cut off not because of the drinking (although they'd have been well within their rights) but because they were afraid my heart would explode. I woke up hungover at 7:30 Tuesday morning on my friend's couch(pretty standard, really). I started consuming water and I ate a bit of omellete in preparation for the day's activities.

I'd volunteered to participate in a "Wet Lab" put on by local police and liquor control officials. What I did was drink from 9:30am to 2pm in an effort to get drunk so that bartenders in the area would get a chance to observe and identify drunks in a controlled environment. I was already hurting from the night before and actually passed on breathing into a breathalyzer before drinking, should the previous night's binge result in a positive responde from the breathalyzer. I consumed nearly a fifth of Jack Daniels, almost unheard of for these events. I blacked out around mid-day. I do know that I wouldn't quit engaging the Troutdale Chief of Police in conversation. I also was drunk enough to ask out the City Attorney for Troutdale... she was drunk enough to agree to it. I believe all commitments are null and void when your blood alcohol level is above .20. I'll have to check the rule book.

After that, the next thing I remember is waking up... again... on my friend's couch. I was wingmanning for him on his date that evening. A date which involved... drinking. I ran into the one girl I've actually really liked since the end of my last serious relationship. I quit dating her because I "couldn't get into dating" but I would have liked to have seen her sometime other than the tail end of what would be a 32 hour drinking binge.

I did take some of that Hangover Stopper supplements you can get everywhere. They seemed to work. I think they're just charcoal tablets, which you can buy anywhere and have been available forever. No hangover, though. I believe I am suffering from some chemical inbalance which has resulted in a severe depression. This sucks. I want to crawl in bed and cry but I've got goddamned work to do. I'm sure the whiskey liver-bath is to blame.


CHEERS. (WHAT'S UP MICHELLE M?)

I'm thankful for the flowers that were sent to me while I was working at the Pub last night. Nothing more intimidating than a tearful bouncer holding flowers.

Anyone in to skateboarding in the eighties knows who Mark "Gator" Rogowski is. I just watched a documentary on his life - a life that saw the heights of financial and popular glory and the lows that led to a 31 year prison sentence. Interesting stuff. Here's some links:

Village Voice article 12-8-92

Stoked: Movie website

My friend Kyle, founder of Jam Magazine, showed up at my bar job last night with this autographed picture. It looks like Jill Ann Spaulding, Playboy model, was on valium when she signed it. She did spell "Gooch" right, however. Thanks Kyle... you're the best!

What I'm Thankful For
By: John Gallucci, age: 30
Date: 11/26/04

I'm thankful for Viagra enhanced sex...
...but not for the Viagra enhanced hangover.

I'm thankful for my part time bouncing gig at the local pub...
...and for girls who dig bouncers (for some reason).

I'm thankful for my Sirius satellite radio system...
...and for not having to listen to the shitty fucking DJs the Portland market yakked up.

I'm thankful for Lindsay Lohan...

...and hand lotion.

I'm thankful for Jack Daniels...
...and Diet Coke.

I'm thankful for my friend's hot tub room...
...and for girls without bathing suits.

I'm thankful for the battery backup that saved this blog from getting lost.

I'm thankful for all of my ex-girlfriends who have somehow managed to still hang out with me.

I'm thankful for my Nextel phone...
...and the friends to whom it connects me.

I'm thankful for all of my clients at my job...
...and the fact that they don't know this site exists.

I'm thankful for Chang's Mongolian Grill...
...only because I'm about to eat there in half-an-hour.

I'm thankful for bartenders that don't cut me off...
...but not for the goddamned hangovers.

I'm thankful for my futon...
...actually, I hate that fucking thing.

[to be continued]...

I'm thankful for ellipses...

13-Year Old Charged With Abducting Exotic Dancer

That's pretty diabolical for a thirteen-year-old. Get this kid a fucking Playstation 2.

Word. Working at Skyland Wednesday night, Thanksgiving Eve, and Friday and Saturday as well.

Huge shoutout to my friend Marty, who celebrates his xxth birthday today.

One Tough Bastard (1995)

Brian Bosworth and MC Hammer in one movie. It looks like the pilot for The Surreal Life.

An Excerpt from an email I sent last night while really, really hammered:

I love PSU, I remember the falls especially. Good times. Harvey’s can be done, let me know. My friend gets tickets all the time.

Gooch:too drunk to type… Really. You know I’ll hang out when and wherever.

I’m plowed…. I’m reading my email and not remembering most of it… I just wrote it. What “falls” am I talking about? Jesus…

Crap. I need rehab or something. Further proving the notion that people like me better when I'm drunk, a girl gave me her number last night and I don't remember getting it. I met her two weeks ago when I was stone sober and she said she had a boyfriend then. Basically, incoherent Gooch is more appealing than sober, polite Gooch.

Sober Gooch isn't into dating anyone at all and drunk Gooch is asking for phone numbers. Sober Gooch isn't calling them, though. I didn't drink and dial last night, thank God. I need a cell phone that requires a breathalyzer to dial out. I hate going through my dialed call list on my phone and seeing numbers that I don't remember dialing. I'm pissed that drunk Gooch ate junk food last night but pleased that he left a Rock Star energy drink in the fridge next to the bed.

GOOCH:Living La Vida Drunka!

I've gotta get out of East County.

I have an M.C.P. from Microsoft, I have survived solely on my income as a freelance tech support provider for the last year. I am never, ever sick at sea. So I ask you; when someone goes into that chapel and they fall on their knees and they pray to God that their database isn't corrupted or that their damaged hard drive can be ghosted or that their backup tapes will actually restore the lost files, who do you think they're praying to? Now, go ahead and read your Bible, and you go to your church, and, with any luck, you might win the annual raffle, but if you're looking for God, he was in the server closet on November 17, and he doesn't like to be second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God.

The movie Malice yielded the best line (soliloquy?) ever. At least, the best line delivered by a Baldwin and modified by me. Sweet.

GOOCH:delusional

I sort of went off the deep end yesterday. Sort of an anxiety ridden,shaking, talk to yourself, beating the steering wheel, change radio stations every two seconds and avoid other people mood. I started driving and before I knew it I was somewhere in Washington State with cash and no plans, sleeping in a 76 Station parking lot at 1:00 in the afternoon. My friend Nikki talked me into coming home. When I did drive home I was already 10 miles south of where I needed to exit before I even knew I was back in Oregon. Weird. I went to my friend's work and had some soda, then I bought the Family Guy season 1 box set and fell asleep watching that.

I decided to publish a column in the "Columns" section that I wrote a couple days ago. It's not edgy and even debatable if anyone besides myself would benefit from it. It's my website, my server, so I guess I have the right to throw stuff like that up periodically.

Its in the Columns section in the menu above, or just click here: 1111 The Bryce Column.

Congratulations to YMike and Jenna on their pregnancy.

The Jones Soda Co. Holiday Pack - Only Available from Jones!

YMike sent this to me suggesting I "just add [a fifth of vodka] and 'Presto!' instant holiday liquid meal!"

I might do that the day before Thanksgiving or something. Before I checked my email I went to the liquor store and bought... a fifth of vodka. I'm stocked. The way I stress out around the holidays, how I absolutely fucking hate the holidays... this might not be a bad course of action.

Oh, I really came off sounding like a pussy with last night's blog. I was tired, incoherent, out of my mind. I really was unable to interact with people on any level. I took a picture of my eyes because I was so tired that I wanted to see what they looked like. I did have a shitty weekend and I guess was so conscious of my tired, burning eyes that I thought I should capture the moment. I do like the new U2 album, but it occurred to me today during coffee that the story of the new U2 album master being "stolen" and suddenly released on filesharing networks two weeks before the release date of the actual album and U2 selling out all over Apple's iPod is all one manufactured marketing sceme. Hey Bono... sell your goofball conspiracy theories to the tourists. The bullshit-o-meter here in the GoochCave went off the second I downloaded your first illegally acquired track. What's up now? Hey, The Edge: Webster's called, they want their noun back.

Achtung, Baby... indeed! Gooch the fuck out.

New U2 Album Hits The Net

I'm writing this as I unwind from a blur of a weekend. Party, work, tragedy, romance, revelations, haircut... a microcosmic lifetime was lived by me over the last four days. The mellow, pleasantly simplistic subject matter of the latest pirated U2 album - currently a track titled "Sometimes You Can't Make it on Your Own" is playing gently through the speakers on my computer. I'm tired and anxious... hurrying up to wait for nothing to happen.

I like this new U2 album. I wish I was listening to it on a crisp night on the beach with a bottle of domestic beer in one hand and a cute girl's hand in the other. We'd be wrapped in a blanket in front of a small fire with five or six friends. That would be so perfect.

Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith (2005)

eBay item 5135174066 (Ends Nov-09-04 09:08:35 PST) - 1919 Original Babe Ruth Sale Contract

The good thing about drinking WAY too fucking much in an evening is that you wake up the next morning still drunk. This helps when your buddy tells you the next morning about your antics the evening prior. I ran into friends that I never, ever see in Troutdale. Normally when friends you rarely see all show up at the same place it's either a surprise party or (likely to be my case) an intervention. I drank way too much... delusions of grandeur to a magnitude unlike anything seen from a straight man... I scored a date with a girl that I really like and was turned down by a girl that I really had no interest in. Excuse me... a girl in whom I had no interest. With whom? I certainly had interest in whom. Fuck it. I'm still drunk. I had another girl that I really liked tell me that I'm much more fun when I'm drunk. I had another person tell me that the night before. Way to reinforce a bad habit. Sober Gooch is nowhere near the social status that drunk Gooch has accomplished in the Metropolis of Gresham/Troutdale/East County. I'd accidentally typoed and corrected Easy County, but that's probably more appropriate than the nom de real. Instead of waking up next to an ugly chick, I again woke up next to a bunch of Jack in the Box taco wrappers. I can't tell which is worse. I've started walking/jogging for an hour every other day and then I drink four hours worth of exercise away. I think Tarzan said it best when he said "Um-gawa." I think we're going to barbecue today. Sweet. Went to the Maxim party and brought sand to the beach in the form of three hot chicks. They got in an argument and before you knew it our whirlwind evening ended with me and my friend on his couch watching Insomniac with Dave Attel wondering "what the fuck just happened." At the Maxim Party I did run into a girl that went psycho on me a few nights earlier. She sat there looking sorta hot but with that same psycho look on her face saying "are you mad at me... you probably don't want to see me again..." I do, but only in that dress. If I had a rabbit, she'd probably boil it. I'm going to throw up now... I'm ending every sentence with ellipses... Can you imagine the old days when people had to blog on typewriters? I still can't feel my face. I'm going to lie back down. GOOCH:stupid.

nuHsymgoisegIiam

CLASSIC MOMENTS IN TIME: ME AND MY SHOP COMPUTER.

Not that I'm complaining... it's not like I work eight-hour days. It's just that I don't think I've had a full day off in the last month. It's cool, though, because work = money = unhindered bender. I'm not drinking tonight. I think I'm gonna watch the news as I fall into a Xanax induced coma. Got an agenda tomorrow. An itinerary. Tanning, workout, and a haircut.

I'M ABOUT TO GET SODOMIZED BY TWO HILLIBILLIES IN THE BASEMENT OF A PAWN SHOP. I DO HAVE GOOD NEWS THOUGH... I JUST SAVED A TON OF MONEY ON CAR INSURANCE BY SWITCHING TO GEICO.

Don't read anything into my "lost condom" scenario illustrated in the last blog... I just sometimes think of things in screenwriter form and thought it would be a funny thing to play out as a scene in a movie. I remember a story of a friend of mine growing up. He was so paranoid of getting an STD yet he found himself screwing one of the nastiest chicks in the neighborhood. The condom broke during the act and he absolutely freaked out. By the time the story got to me he had started rubbing comet on his dick in an effort to clean the herpes or whatever away. In my head... all this would play out with humor on screen, to you it might me a bland anecdote.

JERRY SEINFELD'S BIT PART IN PULP FICTION.

It broke my heart to update this site from anywhere than my flagship workstation here in the [Insert Company Name Here], Inc. compound. I finally fixed my own computer. Now I can go fix others'. Meanwhile, I spent my weekend working at the pub checking IDs. Saw some cool costumes. So... do the costume stores not stock regular maid, regular nurse, regular angel costumes? Everything's naughty, slutty, whatever.

Is there any worse of a feeling than putting a condom on, screwing a girl, um... finishing, pulling out, reaching down to remove the condom only to discover that it's not there?

Maxim party this week. I'm going. Where's my camera? Go to the "PICS" section in the menu above to check out last year's fun.

Wow... I've not really done a lot of updates, yet I've nothing to say. I'll try to seek out adventure this week and write about it.

Network diagnosis: bad network card. Jesus... my webpage loads slow. Need to remedy that. In other news... oh, fuck it.

Shit. My access to the internet was significantly crippled over the last few days. I finally said "fuck it" and grabbed every networking component I had lying around and replaced everything until it worked again. So... now you get a blog other than my self-congratulatory bouncing moment caught on tape.

Ashlee Simpson? I'd have thought nothing of it until she blamed the band, which makes her a total, graceless, no talent bitch. I actually dig the "Pieces of Me" song, secretly singing along with my windows rolled up as I drive down the street. Don't tell anyone... that's just between you and me. With all of the stories being generated by her publicity camp this late after the event, I'd have to assume that it's all bullshit. Ashlee: redeem yourself and pose for Playboy. It's the next logical career move. I've got one word for you: Tiffany. Give me a call, Ashlee. My number is in all 4318 fan letters I've sent you, including the ones where I enclosed a pair of my boxers.

Okay, Gooch, now you're just being a sick fuck.

Sweet.

gooch:OUT

How to pick up chicks in a bar...

MY GOOCH SENSES DETECT TROUBLE!


MUST STOP THE FIGHT!


MY HERO!

WHAT'S UP?

Okay, I didn't pick up that girl, I met her there and she's a friend of mine. It could have worked, though. This is what you can do when you have too much free time... pulling security cam pics of yourself. Gooch:OUT

Saw Van Halen in concert last night. I remember using my Commodore 64's "paintbrush" program to replicate the "VH" logo. I remember the Sammy vs. Dave debates. I remember getting the Diver Down tape for my 10th birthday. And now... I'll remember my friend Marty backstage with the band last night holding his Nextel up to Eddie Van Halen's face and having him say "Hi Gooch."

After the show I gave Michael Anthony a run for his Jack Daniels drinking money. Sober Gooch eats low carb, drinks in moderation, goes for walks everyday or even swims. Drunk Gooch goes to 7-11 at 3am, uses Sober Gooch's credit card to buy Twinkies and hot dogs, and leaves a fucking mess for Sober Gooch to clean up.

And also props to Mike P. and to myself for replacing the USB hub, allowing the cam to work again and for incorporating "Gooch out" into my drunken vernacular.

GOOCH:out

Best porn title to date: Weapons of Ass Destruction

Going to see Van Halen tonight. Should only be the coolest night ever. The only thing cooler than seeing the show would be to hang out with the band in a Rose Garden luxury suite prior to the show, which my friend Marty is doing. Sweet.

Ran into my friend Jenn, a fixture in my life about nine years-ago. She walked into Skyland last night as I was going to leave, probably around 9pm. We left at closing time. I think. I had five Red Bull and vodkas last night. I woke up at 6:30am with my heart fucking pounding! It's why I'm up right now.

I'm freezing my fucking balls off. Shout out to Mike Henry, Greg Moore, Lee, Marty, JKAZ, JNAU, the people who make Red Bull, anyone who manufactured the defibrillator that will undoubtedly be used on me sometime today, the people who made the Xanax that kept me from crying like a schoolgirl with a skinned knee yesterday, your Mom, and the people of Canada.

It was June of 1959 that George Reeves, "Superman" of the 1950s television show shot himself in the head. "Faster than a speeding bullet?" Nope.

MSNBC: In the end, Dangerfield really did get respect

Rodney Dangerfield died Tuesday, October 5th at age 82. Rest in Peace Rodney.

Christopher Reeve died today.

***

"I'll give you $20 to kick him in the head."

The "him" in the offer was me and the offer was made to a stripper wearing enormous platform boots. We weren't isitting at the rack of the classiest of strip clubs by any means. I'm sure that for a fifty, this girl would have cut my heart out with a pizza slicer. Drunk enough that my eyes weren't fully tracking, I turned to my friend as he sipped his gin and tonic to laughingly tell him to go fuck himself. It was at that moment a patent-leather heel kissed the top of my head. I would have said something but the inebriation and the possible concussion stunned me momentarily, taking away the chance to say something. I looked at the smiling stripper and my friend merely looked at me, also smiling as he slipped her a Jackson.

My friend's eccentricity was acceptable as he was going through some personal turbulence. No serious issues... just the kind that seeing a stripper kick your friend in the head would alleviate. If slamming my head into a wall would make him feel better, I'd probably do it because I'm a good friend... and a fucking moron. We were on day three of a semi-bender, resolving personal and professional issues not through discussion or personal reflection, but through alcohol and drug abuse. Strip clubs merely peppered our journey around the city. "You guys are back again" one stripper said to us." I replied "what do you mean?"

"You were here last night."

I didn't believe her. I turned to my friend and asked him if we were there
the night before. He nodded yes. Fuck... I gotta lay off the sauce.

Next day: I groggily approach the day... fumbling for the remote which is somewhere
under the covers next to the home phone, the cell phone, and my glasses that
I accidentally left on as I fell asleep. Depending on how late I slept in, I
either watch the news or a movie on American Movie Classics. The excellence
of the AMC movie or the boredom inspiring mediocrity of the television news
inspires me out of bed. I grab a sugar-free Red Bull from my bedside beverage
cooler (word). From there I commute to the office twenty-feet away and plop
down into my sweet hand-me-down leather office chair. I turn on my computer
monitor and wait with anticipation as my applications load up. The computer
is like a portal into my immediate future. Emails requesting work, due bills,
fresh music and/or porn from BearShare.

Next night... who knows what happened. Woke up on a couch.

Next day's hangover kicked in as I rolled over in my bed and turned on the
wall mounted TV above my bed. A big, fat, depressed guy in a blue sweatshirt
appeared on the screen. Fuck, it's me. My new commercial came out hella early.
I hope I've dropped some pounds since I filmed that. A unique and depressing
way to start the day. My friend calls me up and says that he bought a lottery
ticket. If he wins the $157 million he promises that he'll buy livers and have
them cryogenically frozen for when we wear ours out. An occurence that could
easily occur within the next three weeks or so, at the rate we're going. I smile
at the possibility of two American tourists waking up in Brazil or some godforsaken
place naked in a tub full of ice with a note and a phone. The note reads "call
a hospital, your liver has been removed." When I get my new liver I'll
have it soaked in Glenfiddich prior to insertion to ease the pain and give me
a head start to the day.

Did I really write "hella?"

I gotta go: GOOCH:out

My Way News: Christopher Reeve Dies at 52

Check it out... I've installed a camera that you can control:

Gooch Super Cam

User name: gooch
Password: gooch

Give it a shot and let me know how it works (I'm testing it for my day job).

Happy birthday (belated) to YMike.

It's been three days in a row without a binge drinking episode. Coherence and lucidity isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'm sleeping better, though.

They should have a term for a blind date where you've actually met the person in person at least once. I think I've got one lined up for this afternoon that I've met twice. In two different bars. I gave her my number twice. I don't remember any of it. My last relationship started this way. Holy Crap.

WVLT VOLUNTEER TV Knoxville, TN: Watered Down Whiskey Prompting Outrage Among Jack Daniels Fans

This is outrageous. Knocking the proof of the traditional black label Jack from 86 proof to 80 proof. Read the story... there's a quote from the editor of Modern Drunkard Magazine. Sweet.

I drink Jack Daniels black label. It's the staple of my alcoholic diet. "Jack and diet" is pretty much all I order when I go out. It's the one constant in my turbulent life. Why fuck with it? Jack Daniels whiskey has been 86 proof since Tibetan Monks started producing it in the early 1600s. Four-hundred-years later the distillery in Tennessee is messing with the traditional recipe? Why subtract six-proof when that six-proof may be the only thing between me and a toaster in the bathtub?

Links:
Jack Daniels Official Website
Modern Drunkard Magazine.

CLICK ABOVE FOR STORY (WITH FACTS AND STUFF) AND FOR A LINK TO A PETITION.

Word. I forgot to celebrate John Holmes birthday this year. It was August 4th, but you already knew that I'm sure.

3:11am. I'm sitting back admiring the development of my kickass office. It still needs some work... sort of like the Death Star in Return of the Jedi. Like... you know it's going to kick ass eventually. Star Wars references, won't get you laid. Trust me. I maxed out the blogger system at 699 blogs. I drank at JNAU's place of employment tonight, went home, passed out at 8:30pm, woke up at 12;30am (four fucking hours later - standard length of sleepy time for me as of late) then met a friend for more whiskey. I'm sitting in my crib, listening to Blink 182, shirtless wearing a Hawaiian shell necklace. I'm plotting where to place a box of envelopes, how to redo an invoice, and watching my left hand shake involuntarily. What the fuck is that? I also get muscle spasms in my eye, which is a common malady apparently.

Confidential message: Okay... I'll quit drinking for two weeks if you do.

Now what? I should start reading something. I've got the Reno 911 box set to watch. I wake up to nightmares and sweat dripping off my face. It's 3:30am. It's 4:05am. Crap. This "Hawaiian" shell necklace was made in the Philippines. I'm yawning too much. My webcam doesn't work... i should call a computer guy to fix it for me. These computer things are complicated. I'm afraid to even touch the keyboard for fear that I'll break the computer. I miss my Commodore 64. I'm gonna fall asleep in my leather office chair. It leans back. 4:12am. sleepy. sleepy. lawn gnomes.

g:o

I love this picture. Thanks JNAU for forwarding it to me. I've finally dug up all of the office supply stuff that I stole from my former employer and have set up the beginnings of a cool office. My old rubber band ball and Silly-Putty are put into my new set of drawers. Between setting up the office, watching Star Wars and the Reno 911 First season CDs, I don't know how I make any money. Shit... I spent two-and-one half hours this morning at my friend's house watching Buck Rogers reruns on a big screen. Wilma's still fucking hot. Yo. I haven't pleasured myself to Erin Gray in fifteen years. God... that brought back memories.

GOOCH:out

I had a moment of peace the other night. I'd gone on a date, dropped her off, then met up with two friends at a strip club. Two friends, a beer, a dollar, a brass pole, and a big assed blonde stripper. Suddenly, for a brief moment, nothing was wrong in the world. My life was like a domestic beer commercial. In a time when I loathe relationships, people want to randomly kick my ass, and I recently made a drunken ass of myself days earlier, the peaceful nature of being was a welcome change of mood. It's gotten to the point where I do sweat the small stuff, but when there's a whole fucking lot of small stuff to sweat, I find humor in how fucked up the situation has gotten. If I was a Jew being marched into a death oven, I'd probably be in line saying something like "I hear it's the humidity that kills you." No matter how bad you think things are in the world, no matter how far in your mouth you're holding the gun barrel, just remember that time takes care of most problems. Time, porn, and alcohol. Although, alcohol tends to lead to more problems than it solves. I do contend that alcohol solves problems. At least, it postpones them for a while.

I'm going to read this shit in twenty years and wonder what the fuck I was thinking when I wrote it.

I always liked the opening credits sequence of the Simpsons, particularly when Bart Simpson is writing something funny on the chalkboard. I can relate, since I spent most of my sixth grade after school writing things like "I will always turn my homework in on time," or "I will not talk during class," or "I will not mix cleaning agents and aluminum foil in an effort to make a bomb."

As of late, I've become a little predictable in my behavior. I drink too much, eat too much, work too little, party like there's no tomorrow (and when tomorrow does come... I wish it hadn't). Am I complaining? Nope. One day I'll grow up and miss these days. However, I have developed quite a few bad habits that perhaps an afternoon at a chalkboard might help me break. All I need is a box of chalk, a chalk board, and this list:

I will not befriend my ex-girlfriends.
I will quit buying Viagra over the internet.
I will not date or have sex with married women.
Jack Daniels should not be drunk directly out of the bottle.
I will not get drunk and hit on girls in front of their boyfriends.
I will not make out with strange girls in public.I will not binge on alcohol and cocaine again until I'm famous.
I will not make out with any girls in public.
I will not be a cliche.
It's okay to stop drinking.
I will not post fake news stories about my death on the internet.I will not rely on xanax for mental well being.I am not too stupid to have low self esteem.

Students Punished for Dorm Stripper Pole

Thanks to Marty for forwarding this story to me... and for a glimpse into the future. Old School, baby.

My Way News: "The State Patrol officer arrested the faster rider, 20-year-old Stillwater resident Samuel Armstrong Tilley, for reckless driving, driving without a motorcycle license - and driving 140 miles per hour over the posted speed limit of 65 mph."

Bouncing was cool last night. Live music was played for the first time since I have worked there and it was really good. I think I spent more money than I made last night. Red Bulls, tipping the band, sending flowers to a girl at another bar. Oh well. I got to see live music and then go to an after party at my friend's house. I did have to deal with a real, live stalker last night. Every time I or the other security guard walked out, the guy would take off. After four hours of this psycho staring inside the bar on and off, I confronted him. Long story short, he was married to and watching a specific person in the bar and didn't think there should be a problem with him standing outside the bar looking in a window all night.

Wrong.

Naturally, my friendly inquisition of his intentions pissed this personification of a COPS episode (jeans, jean jacket, white tennis shoes, scraggly hair, cigarette, fucked up eyes... he looked like he was just pulled out of the back of a police car) off enough that he wanted to fight me. I may be on a diet of Jack Daniels and bar food, but he looked like he was on a diet of heroine and methamphetamines. Jack trumps meth, right? Whatever. Some people that knew the guy went out to diffuse the situation and I went inside and bummed three cigarettes, which I chain smoked.

Could have got laid last night. Opted to be held. I'm a fag.

Living la vida Gooch.

Fuck.

So, I'm secretly digging the new Nelly/Christina Aguilera track "Til't cha head back" but the Curtis Mayfield song that they're singing over (Superfly)is much cooler to listen to than this new endeavor. Beastie Boys "Egg Man" from Paul's Boutique also heavily samples Mayfield's Blaxploitation theme song from 1972. It's cool, though... just not so much from Nelly/Christina.

Good morning. I added to the earlier blog, an addendum if you will. If you won't, then go fuck yourself. I woke up at 4am and can't seem to sleep any more. it's 8:34 now. I've resorted to eating leftover barbecue ribs from the Prime Rib here in Portland in an effort to get the "itis," or whatever the hell Chapelle was talking about in that skit. Four hours sleep. What the hell is happening to me? I've got to try to sleep a little while, then wake up to an alarm at 11am so I can make a business lunch in Tigard.

I lead a tortured existence. I'd go to AA, but even the group leader would probably take me out for drinks afterwards. The main problem is that I don't have any real problems, so I have nothing to complain about but I'm still bitter about shit, but I can't say anything because people will say "you don't have any real problems" and then I'll go absolutely fucking nuts, then I'll take a xanax, then I'll sleep for four hours, then I'll bitch about only sleeping for four hours and then some asshole will inevitably say "I only slept three hours last night" and I'll say 'good for fucking you.'

Working at Skyland tonight. Live music there this evening. It'll be fun.

I think my heart is a political candidate and my dick is the campaign adviser.
CNN.com - Coroner: 9 drugs found in Rick James' system - Sep 16, 2004

Thanks, YMike. Originally, Rick James' family stated that the singer died from "natural" causes. RJ had nine drugs in his system... naturally.

Note: My comments regarding making out with girls or anything of that nature are not meant in any way to disrespect any girlfriends, past, present, or future. I've never expected anyone I've dated to check on this website, so I haven't posted with that in mind. I love my ex and her son and only think the best of her.

It's 4am... I'm nightmarish right now. I can't find my favorite blanky to help me sleep.. I can't even find my favorite porny, also to help me sleep. "They Live" is on American Movie Classics. Fucking... sweet.

There's more than one way to skin a cat. I've tried four or five already. - G

Ah... it's 3am. I was working at the home office when I decided to take a nap at 7pm. I woke up at 12:30am. I'm like Rip Van Winkle. If I was a corny white rapper, you could say I was like Robert Van Winkle. I finished the computer work I had started and then went shopping at WinnCo.

Winnco, the 24-hour discount grocery store. It's 24 hours, but from midnight to 8am is when the store crew works at restocking the shelves and cleaning up. This means that helping you, saying hi, or acknowledging you when you want to do something so bothersome as to pay for your groceries seems out of the question at 2am. I'm not complaining, Diet Rockstar energy drinks, the staple of my alcoholic (and non-alcoholic morning) diet sells for $1.58 whereas I've been paying $2.25 elsewhere. Diet Rockstar's white 18oz. can looks like a beer and whenever I go to an early-morning job (10am or so) people have stopped me because they thought I was drinking beer. They only think that because the can looks like beer and I'm probably buzzed from the night before.

Holy crap, I need to sleep. Star Wars Trilogy DVDs come out later this month. Someone said on the TV that it was the first "digital release" of the films. Tell that to my Laserdisc collection, bitches. I'm out of it... really tired. Hopefully I'll look coherent tomorrow. It's 3:18. Out:gooch

I've upgraded from making out with mediocre girls on the dance floor to good looking ones as of this last weekend. Feels... good. Worked all weekend during the days. Working right now, as a matter of fact.

On your best day you're not as smart as me on my worst day.- Judge Judy

Funny thing at a bar, mention a porn website around a group of guys and watch ears and eyebrows perk up. Some guy said "milfhunter" and three guys (including me) turned, acknowledged, then looked away. Funny.

I got nothing... I'll think of something and get back to you. Gooch:ouT

Gooch: Update again... The unknown visitor to Skyland while I was working was my friend Cheryl. Mystery: solved.

I just got done swimming. While at the pool I went to use the bathroom and there was a sign on the door stating: "This bathroom is closed because someone left an unsanitary condition in the toilet."

Most everyone I know does that on a semi-regular basis. But we usually flush afterwards. "What the fuck happened in there?" I pondered outside the door. I didn't want to find out and decided to use the women's restroom. Was there a human head in the men's toilet? what could have possibly happened? The suspense is killing me but trust me, you won't get an update on this topic. Word.

Blog Blast from the Past Post from 2002

This one was from nine days after a girlfriend with whom I lived for two years (together for four) broke up with me. I love going throught the old blogs. I haven't changed a bit.

GOOCH:update!
The FedEx package was marketing material for a new product I'm going to start selling at work. Nothing exciting at all.

Yep... I'm ill. Been up since 4:30 because my phone rang again (not the ex). So I stayed up watching Capricorn One on AMC. Good movie... sort of like Apollo 13 meets Wag the Dog meets my fucking insomnia. I had popped War Games into the DVD player, but saw the end of The Professional as I fell asleep.

In other news: Man accused of stalking ex-girlfriend with GPS

Sweet! It's good to know that cellular phone technology is being used to bring couples... closer together. Whatever happened to stealing a girl's cell phone bill and seeing who she's been calling? Remember when just going to a girl's work three times a day for months was enough to peg the creepy meter on 'high.' I long for the days when putting a semen deposit on a someone's pillow or shooting one through a slightly opened window in her parked car onto the driver's seat was enough to say "I love you" without really saying it. He should read my Breaking Up column in the "columns" section of this site (see menu above).

You can email these posts now, I guess. There should be a link below this post.

60oCh:0Ut

I left work at Skyland early tonight due to illness. I've taken some Theraflu but read the label first because I couldn't tell if it would wake me up or put me to sleep. The warnings include the following statements:

May cause drowsiness (a good thing).

May cause excitablility (a bad thing).

What kind of drugs are we doling out that can cause such a wide range of side effects? Is it just "wait and see?" I'm perplexed. I'm also feeling a bit drowsy. Who knows. Who cares.

I left the Pub early last night as well and apparently someone showed up to see me right after I left. They called my cell phone (which was out of range at the time, so no caller ID) and left a message stating "I came all this way and you're not here!" I have no idea who it was. I've asked a few people and no one I can think of showed up. If you know who it was, email me. And if it was you: I'm sorry.

Sort of...

GOOCH:license to [be] ill.

I could make a career out of removing browser hijacks, spyware, etc. In fact, I almost have. I've got one computer in the shop that I cannot seem to rid of its affliction. I've ran four different utilities and it keeps coming back. I've manually deleted... oh crap I've just spent too much time on this. Fuck. This is post 691 since I started using Blogger (speaking of spending too much time).

Oh, I was drinking in my friend's garage last night and we started talking about shows going crappy. I referred him to Jump the Shark. Check it out, yo.

Just had a strong craving for red wine... weird.

Loving my new executive big leather office chair. It leans back in order to give me that pompous executive, condescension effect.

gOOCH:oUT.

Look at those pictures... Portraits of a Hangover? Working at Skyland tonight. Not a lot going on this weekend. I guess I'll seek out adventure. I just wish I could write about half the shit I do. Too many people come across this site "accidentally."

I slept in what seemed to be two-hour shifts last night. Damn. It's 7:18. I've got to wait around for that FedEx box. I am, by the way, sitting on a sweet black leather office chair that my friend and favorite client gave me. It's so choice. It's used but it feels good to sit in when I update this website, send invoices, or download smut.

It's 3:29am. Eight shots of Jack Daniels and a gallon of Diet Pepsi to put me down last night. A little drink-and-dialing (Whatup Angela... Jnau... Kay...), a little drink-and-buy junk fooding, and now I'm putting together the pieces of the evening. Did have the busiest work week ever since self employed. Tomorrow's going to be busy, including working at Skyland where I'll be cutting anyone off who gets as drunk as I did last night. The cool thing is that I've got that fridge full of bottled water next to the bed, so I've been able to pound the fluids and not have to get out of bed to do so.

Gooch:out.

Oh, my yahoo instant messenger ID is: goochthecolumn, since people have asked me about IM.

Back to bed. I have a strange FedEx package that's been attempted to be delivered twice to my house. I'm not sure what it is. Almost nervous. Anthrax a couple of years too late? A human head, like in Seven? I've already ordered my Viagra for the year. What could it be?

I'll keep you posted, I'm sure the suspense is torturing you as much as it is me.

Gooch:out again.

The MTV Video Music Awards:

Not an impressive event. The presenters' scripts have historically been too scripted and awkward. This year's was no different. Dave Chappelle, the funniest man alive, came off as unfunny... as though he didn't have a script and just ad-libbed during the time alotted. The final song performed by Outkast's Andre 3000, "Hey Ya" was almost sung in protest with the singer's hand in his pocket and prefacing the song with "for the millionth time..." Anyway, MTV sucks. They killed the radio star, they've killed the video star, and they've killed awards shows. MTV is like a cancer. Fuck them. MTV2 is airing shows now instead of videos during parts of the day. Soon we're going to have to wait for MTV3 to see videos again.

At 8pm last night I was driving to Winnco, contemplating shopping with the last of my cash and going to sleep early. Suddenly, my Nextel beeped and before I knew it I was on my way to the Budweiser bar owner appreciation party with my friends Marty and Rob.

To Barracuda's we went. Once inside, I soaked up the atmosphere and a whole lot of complimentary low-carb Bacardi coolers (wild cherry flavor). I acheived that euphoric moment where I'm walking by myself, drink in hand, and everything is is slow motion. I've got a shit-eating grin on my face and nothing is wrong in the world. It's an experience that can likely only be attributed to a raging alcohol problem, but fuck it.

Swimming time. Gooch:OUT

The cool thing about my Zippo lighter is that now when someone asks "is that a Zippo lighter in your pocket" I can say "yes" instead of "no, it's my unusually small, square penis."

I watched the MTV VMAs last night. I've got comments developing...

A Radiant Russian Bride International Introductions

Ymike, in his infinite wisdom, has solved all of my dating problems. SWEET!

Oh...

Gooch's dating tip #42: If you bring a girl to a club, don't make out with another girl on the dance floor.

I got a free Zippo lighter from a promotions girl at a bar last week. I'm so much of a fucking nerd that I had to look on the internet to see how to fill it. I don't even smoke. The ladies love it, though, when they pull out a cigarette and you put a flaming gold-toned Zippo in their face.

Gimme a light. No... I meant Bud Light.

I brought a date to Duke's (the country bar where my friends and I meet a lot of chicks).

"Hi... Beach, this is Sand. Sand... have you met Beach?"

A predictable disaster. Meanwhile, a female friend called me from an Ultimate Fighting competition where she was on a date. She needed to be rescued as the excitement of men beating the fuck out of each other couldn't compete with the sheer horror she experienced during conversation time. "I'm in hell," she reported to me over the phone. A bad night for dates overall.

Also, I nicked my goatee with a razor while shaving, so I had to amputate the whole thing. Now people can see my face, which doesn't help me on the dating scene.

Fuck. My mood is very "Empire Strikes Back" right now. Dark and complex with only a hint of optimism.

What the fuck am I talking about? How does a person sit in front of a computer and type incessantly about nothing of any real consequence. I could do this all day. Nothing but carpal tunnel would stop me.

GOOCH:stupid

"If we're twins, Barbara... how come I'm so much hotter?"

I was driving home from working when a truck pulled up next to me. The driver started shaking his finger at me screaming "shame on you... shame on you!" He then pulled forward, turned his hazard lights on, and pointed at the ground next to him as if he wanted me to pull next to him.

Fuck that.

Oddly enough, the truck had a "Sun Glow Heating and Air Conditioning" sign on the back. Sun Glow was my first employer out of high school. I called the owner, they remembered me. I told them to find out what the guy's problem was and I'd call back tomorrow to find out why he was yelling at me. Maybe I did something wrong, I have no idea.

"Shame on you?" I'm Catholic and, well... I'm me. I've got enough guilt without having random people pointing at me and yelling that I should be ashamed. I am ashamed, dammit! Leave me alone random psycho motorists!

ABCNEWS.com: Is It OK to "Hot Sauce" Kids?

Why don't we just mace the fuck out of the little bastards while we're at it? Maybe Blair should have "hot sauced" Natalie every time she opened a quart of Haggen Daz? Maybe I'm the biggest fucking asshole on the planet? Maybe I didn't fucking sleep last night? Maybe the latte I had three hours ago is making my gut feel like it was the guest of honor at a boot party?

Where are the Bush twins when I need them?

"Jenna... did you see that picture of Gooch with Jenna Jameson? I'm so Jealous!

I need to pop a xanax (like Noelle Bush, my other favorite) and fucking crash. I'm living la vida stupid.

You... you're kidding me.

It's 5am. At 4:15am, my ex girlfriend called me. "Is everything alright?" I asked. "Everything's fine," she replied, "I just wanted to know if you had my email password. I used it on the laptop next to your bed [four months ago]and thought it might still be on there. Were you sleeping?"

It's wasn't on there. And I was sleeping.

Of course, now I can't get back to sleep.

My other ex girlfriend, Cheryl, and I went to dinner last night. After I left dinner, I called another girl that I used to date. What the fuck is wrong with me? I think I date girls in the hopes that we'll break up and become the best of friends. Who does that? I might have a date lined up for later this week that I'm nervous about, so there's hope for me to end my run of making out with mediocre girls on the well-lit dance floor of a country bar.

Word.

Fuckin' A.

GOOCH:tired

Word. Need to throttle back a bit. A little too much on the party tip. I think I'm more attractive when I'm shit faced, though. I've been told (by a bartender who cut me off recently) that I'm much cooler when I'm "plowed," that I'm "too much of a gentleman" when I'm sober. I live in a society that encourages my alcoholism.

Sweet.

Debuted the coolest T-shirt last night: a Trans-Am shirt from Zumies. My Uncle had the raddest Trans-Am when I was a kid. It had a $2500 stereo system (a lot in 1982) with analog VU meters.

MY TRANS AM SHIRT, DEBUTED LAST NIGHT.

Going to see Napoleon Dynamite tonight. Should be awesome.

Al Gore gets speeding ticket in Oregon

Meanwhile, I got a speeding ticket last week, also on Highway 26. Fuck.

GOOCH:out

MSN Entertainment: Goodfellas cast reunites to promote new DVD.

I'm getting a little annoyed at buying a DVD only to have a "special edition" version released a year later. I'm going to have two copies of every cool movie out there... and sometimes the difference between the original and the "special deluxe directors platinum" edition is negligible. However, if you think I'm not going to run out and buy the new Goodfellas DVD, you're fucking crazy. I'll bitch about it, but I'll do it.

8:37am August 18, 2004: Gooch downloads his first country song on Bearshare, a peer-to-peer filesharing network. Also on this day: Cats start chasing dogs and an altar boy rapes a priest (The joke is that the "dog and cat" thing and the "priest" thing are as unlikely to happen as me downloading a country song, because I've historically despised country music).

Word. Stick it to Comcast. If you live in an apartment or some sort of multi-family dwelling, spend $20-$50 on wireless connectivity equipment and try to latch on to someone's open wireless access point. I brought my laptop to two random apartments Monday night and both times I was able to access the internet at 11mbps (the same speed as in my own home, on my own access point). Contact me and I'll do it for shots of Jack Daniels if you're not able to figure the setup yourself.

Put in a good work day today. Legitimate stuff. Slept for nine hours last night, so of course I can't sleep now. Fuck. I've slept in my own house for three night in a row (counting tonight). I think it's a record since I've lived in Troutdale.

My commercial shoot on Monday went really well. I had to dress like it was cold outside, despite the fact that it was close to 90 degrees on the overpass where I was standing. They had to mop the sweat off my face during the close-ups. Ultimately, I played a great depressed guy. I brought a bottle of Jack Daniels with me that morning. The director said "we don't need any props for this shoot." I said "what props."

Just kidding.

I wish this blog bored me as much as it bores you; I'd be asleep right now.

GOOCH:tired.

It's Kay Day!

The following post was written by a friend of mine, without my knowledge, who found my laptop on with the Blogger editing page logged in and open. My friend Kay wrote that. Well played, Kay... well played. It's the first time in the five years this website has existed that another person has written a (b)log entry. Last night was also the first time I let a girl ride in my car with her feet on the dashboard - also Kay (I've never met a girl who could just ride in a car with her feet on the floorboard). Kay's fortuitousness was added to when we replaced her $45/month cable service with a USB wireless ethernet adapter and successfully sucked internet service from someone else's wireless access point. This only usually works in apartment/condo complexes and if you're lucky enough to have someone close by with an open wireless access point. Buy a lottery ticket, Kay... you're on a roll!

Written by Kay in the style of Gooch: Hanging out with two of my girlfriends tonight. I was told that I speak much differently when I'm trying to get a piece of ass. Met a few new women lately but all are just "friends," what can I say? Women cant resist my metro-sexual style. Gooch OUT- got to get some dinner now!!

Working at Skyland tonight.

Went out last night and closed down Duke's in Gresham, OR. There's an outdoor area cordoned off in the front of the bar. Despite the fact that it's well lit in that area, girls seem to talk to me a lot there. One invited me to an "after hours" party at her house with her and her friends. I started to say "sure, let's go!" and then the "game over" light in my big drunken head came on. Some instinctual self preservation mode that sent me right to a sober person's vehicle to get me to the nearest couch, on which I'd sleep. No after hours party. No hook-ups. Just sleep, baby.

And then, the hangover.

Fuck.

I miss writing for print publications. I mean, I'm sure I reach more people with this website than a lot of the smaller publications that otherwise would publish me. I miss seeing my name misspelled by a copy-editor, seeing my column face-up in a men's room stall. I dunno...

I have a wardrobe consultant, the mythological, diabolical, breakaballical, Nikki. She has gone clothes shopping with me, and picked out my existing clothes to wear before we hit the club. I've met a lot of people at bars and clubs lately (thanks to someone else dressing me for a change), but I'm learning that many shallow relationships do not add up to a meaningful one. It's fun trying, though.

I'm scheduled for another commercial shoot. The same people that filmed my original one over a year ago. It'll be for a clinical trial study like my first one. Should be fun.

GOOCH:out

I miss writing for print publications. I mean, I'm sure I reach more people with this website than a lot of the smaller publications that otherwise would publish me. I miss seeing my name misspelled by a copy-editor, seeing my column face-up in a men's room stall. I dunno...

I have a wardrobe consultant, the mythological, diabolical, breakaballical, Nikki. She has gone clothes shopping with me, and picked out my existing clothes to wear before we hit the club. I've met a lot of people at bars and clubs lately (thanks to someone else dressing me for a change), but I'm learning that many shallow relationships do not add up to a meaningful one. It's fun trying, though.

I'm scheduled for another commercial shoot. The same people that filmed my original one over a year ago. It'll be for a clinical trial study like my first one. Should be fun.

GOOCH:out

Web MD: Young Men Lead Surge in Viagra Use
(Click the title for the full story)

Blue Steel in effect, motherfuckers. The number one cure for liquor dick per clinical trials I've personally conducted in my home office. I'm getting Cialis next. The Cialis commercials state in their warnings that "erections lasting longer than three days may require immediate medical attention." Dr. Gooch suggests that erections lasting longer than three days may require more girls and time off work.

I'm Dead... bitch!

Rick James, dead at 56.

From the MSN story:

In 1993 he was convicted in two separate cases of assaulting women. The first case occurred in 1991, when prosecutors said James and his girlfriend tied a woman to a chair, burned her with a hot crack pipe and forced her to perform sex acts during a cocaine binge at his West Hollywood home.

Cocaine's a hell of a drug... indeed.

Also in the story, it states that he likely died of natural causes. Um... he's Rick James and he's dead at 56. There's nothing natural about either one of those facts.

I'm Gooch, bitch.

Frequent Tanning May Signify Mental Disorder

Dedicated to Nikki (my best friend), Meggan (my ex-girlfriend) and me (my own worst enemy). Click HERE for the story.

My post regarding the Nokia auction was post number 666, according to blogger. This does not bode well.

I was a good boy this afternoon. I met with friends, played pool, went to bed early. At 12:23, according to the Moto, I started getting prank calls on my cell phone. At first it was a chick's voice mimicking my "hellos" and "who's theres." Then followed a series of calls and hangups. I'm too old for this shit. I'm tired, yo.

My trusty Nokia phone has hit Ebay. Actually, I had Nokia refurb it. Sweet! Own history... own my old phone.

eBay item 5713321170 (Ends Aug-06-04 07:38:47 PDT) - Nokia 6800 (AT&T Wireless) With Accessories

Wow, I was three beers into the night when I wrote that last blog. "Ghosts of vagina past?" I think I modified some Chris Rock there. I got serious positive vibes while wearing my new gay shirt at a club Friday night. The girl that stamps your hand at the main entrance told me I was cute and asked how often I work out. I said "thank you" and avoided eye contact, because god-for-fucking-bid an attractive girl might be attracted to me (I've always written off the last few girlfriends as a fluke).

And parenthetically speaking of ex-girlfriends, Two exes and one girl I dated for a bit were all in attendance at the bar. I had intended to go on a binge. A bender. However, I have a history of being a drunken asshole and owed it to those three to show moderation.

Moderation - The scourge of my thirties.

Seventy dollars in beer interspersed with diet cokes and 20 bathroom breaks laid the foundation for a funky evening. Two girls said they'd show their breasts if this guy and I kissed on the lips. I discreetly informed one of the girls that I'd seen both of them naked at some point and sure as fuck didn't need to kiss a guy while wearing a gay looking shirt in a country bar. No sooner did I say that than the other guy wrapped his hand around the back of my head and pulled me in for a closed mouth kiss. He got what he wanted as one girl's shirt came up and - in a surprise move - another girl's pants went down.

We've got bush. - Dudley "Booger" Dawson in "Revenge of the Nerds"

The night progressed. "You were in fine form last night" is how a witness put it when I ran into him the next night. Two girls approached me with a camera phone and asked to have their picture taken with me. I obliged and then they askeed if I wanted to go to Shari's for breakfast. In the "Choose Your Own Adventure" book of life, here's where I decide to A: Go home with my friends and pass out on a couch or B: Go home with two girls and more than likely pass out on a couch. I chose B.

To Shari's we went. There was a group there that these girls were meeting. among the group were four hot 22-to-24-year-olds who apparently thought I was "cute" (according to one of the original girls from the club). One of the girls looked at me and mouthed "hi," which pissed off the guy next to her. I smiled smugly as this shit never, ever, fucking happens to me. I was in a zone, baby.

We cashed out of the Shari's and I hopped in the car with the original two girls. They ditched the twenty-somethings because they were "annoying." Fuck. We went back to an apartment where I figure maybe i'll get laid.

ME AT SOME APARTMENT, LOSING THE BATTLE AGAINST FATIGUE... BUT NOT THE WAR.

Wrong.

The apartment housed two Army guys who thought they were going to hook up with these chicks. It was a nightmare. I'm on the couch with the two girls and these two guys are in the less advantageous position. They had rooms with beds to go to. I was sitting on a couch. I was a guest of their guests. One of the guys pulled the "I need a shoulder rub" move on one of the girls and ultimately moved his head into her lap. "I'm so tired" he said, to which I responded "go to bed." The other guy just sat there in silent tension. I was in awe at his lack of game. I mean, fucking say something. Invite one of the girls into your room to show her your comic book collection. Anything. Instead, all he and his friend accomplished was a two-man-double-up-cock block. By separating me from the twenty-somethings the original two girls had also thrown a c-block. Everyone blocked everyone throughout the evening. John Madden with his digiboard couldn't have diagrammed the elaborate web of blocks that occured that Friday night/Saturday morning. I realized the stalemate I was in when 6am had approached and these two guys were just sitting there. One even asked if I had fallen asleep yet. Fuck you. I didn't ask to be brought there and if you think you're getting the better of me then kiss my ass. I may have low self-esteem, but I do have dignity, motherfucker.

Nothing happened the girls fell asleep, the guys went to their rooms (where they fucking should have been three hours earlier) and I fell asleep on the couch.

That morning's walk of shame took the form of a ride to my car. I got dropped off and went home, only to have to leave for a wedding in three hours. More on the wedding next post...

ONE OF THE ORIGINAL GIRLS, ME, AND SOME GUY WHO JUMPED INTO THE PICTURE

My friend sells shoes at Nordstrom's. I ordered some shoes from him and I'm wearing them for the first time. They're heaven. It feels like underage Vietnamese prostitutes are massaging my feet. This is so awesome. I'm three beers into the evening. I'm wearing my gayest shirt yet. I'm sure it will get me laid, though. I'm hanging out with, like, three or four ex-girlfriends tonight. Instead of "A Christmas Tale" it's "A Gooch's Tale" featuring the ghosts of vagina past. I've been warned by a few to not get drunk and "be a dick" tonight; I think I'll refrain. How can I be a dick in a shirt this gay?

GOOCH:out on his best behavior.

I taught a girl how to burn her own CDs last night. There's nothing hotter than watching a girl rip and burn her own discs. Could media piracy be the ultimate aphrodisiac? If you answer to the name "Gooch," then probably yes.

Mystery News Story from Jenna, click HERE

Mystery DVD release from Mary-Suzanne, click HERE

I would never publicly state that I hate the orange cat that lives next door yet constantly enters my house. Hair balls and items pushed out of place, plus waking from a nap to see the little fucker staring at me (scaring the shit out of both of us). I'm not saying I hate it, but if anyone needs to dispose of antifreeze I've placed a large bowl near the front of my condo.

Quote of the day: "I'm not used to seeing a Gallucci walk through that door before 10am" - My Dad's receptionist regarding my 8am service call. I've actually done more before 11am than I usually do all day.

I'm probably going to the zoo with my friend and his son today. All I have to do is get a Michigan office set up on email and I'm free for the day. Sweet.

My newest addition to the office: an "Atari Games" blue-flourescent lit glass sign. Fucking sweet, yo.

Parties I missed yesterday due to work and an overactive sleeping gland: Bako's; April J (happy birthday), Kyle Mangino's bachelor party, and Jess Gillies, at whose house my Jello snorting took place.

As I write this, I'm not wearing pants.

Working from home tomorrow; might go to the zoo with some friends. Should have gone to the beach today, but my house had sunk to dirty levels beneath even my threshold. GOOCH:out

YMike sent me this Smoking Gun link: Click Here

I was requested by a reader to insert her name ramdomly into the site: Amber.

There, that's done.

Chicago's Daily Herald: Elburn man accused of having sex with dog 
 
 

Linda Ronstadt Fired from the Aladdin in Las Vegas.

It was in the Aladdin where I stated to my friend (while playing video poker and buzzed as hell): "I'm going on a bender of chicks and fucking booze this summer. I'm gonna need to borrow your hot tub." I was also approached by a prostitute in the Aladdin. She would have "taken care of me" for $300. At that point taking care of me would have been getting me some Taco Bell and a glass of water, and calling me a cab.

And maybe a hand job.

I'm kidding.

Look who didn't drink himself to sleep last night and woke up in his own house... I was up until 12:30am watching season 2 of "Curb Your Enthusiasm." I cooked up two pounds of frozen shrimp, melted a stick of butter, and laughed myself to sleep while butter ran down my chin.

Robin, Eric, and Gooch at a barbecue last weekend. Good times.

Jorja Fox has gone from Crime Scene Investigations to Unemployment Scene Investigations. I never liked her character... always with that arrogant, smug look. Sounds like the producers opened up a fresh can of Bitchbegone and got rid of her and another guy who thought he deserved more money per episode.

GRATUITOUS PICTURE OF LINDSAY LOHAN

Judge Judy is on... gotta run. Seasons one and two of "Curb Your Enthusiasm" arrived at my Dad's office. There's a total of 10 hours of Larry David magic in those discs. Sweet!

Nap time.

My Friday night was so profoundly fucked up that it was hilarious. Actually the whole day: from the minute I woke up until I passed out on my friends' couch. I sweat the small stuff, it's part of my personality. I worry about every miniscule mal-occurrence that comes my way. It's my nature. However, when one big thing or so many little things can be so fucked up... I smile. I laugh.

Ha fucking ha... indeed.I didn't even feel like drinking once I got home. I did, anyway, but you know what I mean.  Alcoholics are only loveable in movies.  Where's Dudley Moore when you need him? Oh yeah, he's fucking dead.

I got a decent work week scheduled. My heart keeps doing its stuttering thing. It's fucking annoying. Normally it's, well, normal. Sometimes it starts beating really fast for no reason... skips... or beats really slow. The lack of rhythm proves that my heart is, in fact, white.

Where's my ABBA CD... I need to get the fuck out of here. GOOCH:working

I drink because I'm in my twenties. You can drink all that you want while you're in your twenties. You can pass out in your car, on someone's front lawn, or in detox, and no one cares--they chalk it up to youthful indiscretion. Pass out on someone's lawn when you're 30 or older, and your so-called "friends" will all show up at your house for an intervention. - John "Gooch" Gallucci 08.11.2000 From The Drinking Column.

My thermostat controlled fan just kicked on. It's at that stage where it turns on and off every two seconds because the actual temperature is hovering around the one set on the fan. It's absofuckinglutely driving me nuts. Almost as nuts as the fact that the fan's remote control needs new batteries, so I have to get up now.

I'm downloading some SNL "TV Funhouse" cartoons, because they're fucking funny. I'm looking for the Mr. T one in particular - I've never seen it.

I worked for five hours on a computer Tuesday for a computer repair place downtown. I couldn't fix it, and neither could the seasoned techs. The only thing more satisfying than a job done well is failing a job and having other people fail at it as well.

I'm going to try making a grilled cheese sandwich on the barbecue.

GOOCH:out

Email from Adam Hubka, formerly of Dualesc:dude it's me the notorious h.u.b! what up man? dude i think you have it all wrong, the greatest rocky opponent was fuckin dolph lundren - ivan drago man!!! mr t didn't kill apollo, drago did! plus drago was like a million times more bad ass, he had that fight won against rocky, plus he took steroids and everyone knows that makes you a better athlete (ask bonds, giambi and those track people). hahaha

hey keep in touch g money, i got myself a little 'blog' too over at http://www.livejournal.com/users/saltbaste

later mang

Response from Gooch:Good take on Drago. Did you really think a fat WOP like me wouldn’t have taken that into consideration? I mean, I thought about that shit, as well as Tommy Gunn who assaulted my senses more than he did Balboa in that awful conclusion to V (Tommy Morrison, who played Tommy Gunn, has AIDS, by the way, so don’t fuck him). I just got a little creeped out by the cold war propaganda that IV pushed on the viewers. Quite frankly, I don’t think steroids were bad in 1985. I think steroids were an ingredient in fucking Wheaties in 1985. No one gave a shit then. Drago didn’t have any really good lines… put Clubber Lang and Ivan Drago side by side, line for line, and tell me which one was more fun to watch? Put Ivan Drago’s monotone “If he dies… he dies” to Clubber Lang inviting Rocky’s wife back to his apartment in front of the city of Philadelphia and “My prediction… Pain.” Drago did kill Apollo, but Lang did shove Mick, which ultimately set in motion his death. That and the lack of response by medical support (Rodney King would have gotten quicker medical attention).

Good to hear from you, HUB. I noticed you quoted the “Wear Sunscreen” song in your blog. It’s sweet and touching, but I did one in 2000 for my final column at Portland State. Check it out, yo:

The Xanax Speech

Lightning, or more specifically, thunder woke and kept me up this morning at 3am. At 4am I had a smoked salmon salad and a diet Coke. I flipped the channels and came across Rocky III. Coming across a Rocky film on TV and turning the channel is akin to sitting down in the middle of the National Anthem. You pay your respects. Mickey, Rocky's trainer, dies in III. It's always been amazing to me that an old man showing signs of heart problems 10 minutes before a national heavyweight championship can lay on a table for two rounds of boxing without an ambulance whisking him away. All he gets is some doctor with a blood pressure cuff? He's got chest pains for chrissakes. Like there's no paramedics or ambulances at a packed coliseum for a heavyweight fight.

Mr T. played Clubber Lang, the greatest opponent Rocky ever faced. Mr T. found his acting niche in the 80s as an angry black man ready to kick ass. Don't dismiss his acting abilities. Mr T. delivers his lines in R3 like no one else can... on paper the lines don't look great. When he says them in the film, they kick ass.

Interviewer: Do you hate Rocky?
Clubber Lang: No, I don't hate Balboa. I pity the fool.

Interviewer: What's your prediction for the fight?
Clubber Lang: My prediction? Pain.

Clubber Lang: : I reject the challenge, 'cause Balboa is no challenge, but I'll be happy to beat up on him some more.

Not so great in print, but gold on the screen!

The Rocky and Godfather box sets belong in every film buff's library. Both have two things in common: Talia Shire is in all the films, and the last film in both series sucks ass. Rocky V? Godfather III? If the Roman's saw those movies, they'd take their numerals back.

Shit, now I'm tired. I only got IV hours sleep last night. I've got work to do today. I was going to segue into a diatribinal apology about how much of an asshole I've been lately and how I promise to clean up my act and how I used to use this website to exxagerate my real life partying antics and now I use it to play them down (no, really) but at this moment I'm as apologetic about that as I am about this run-on sentence. It'll take more than a seven minute Rocky styled training montage to get me in line, but I have been without a drink for over 30 hours now. Gotta start somewhere, right? I love my friends.

Fuck, I'm out of Mr. T. cereal again!

GOOCH: Pitying the fool since 1991!

I have an M.D. from Harvard, I am board certified in cardio-thoracic medicine and trauma surgery, I have been awarded citations from seven different medical boards in New England, and I am never, ever sick at sea. So I ask you; when someone goes into that chapel and they fall on their knees and they pray to God that their wife doesn't miscarry or that their daughter doesn't bleed to death or that their mother doesn't suffer acute neural trama from postoperative shock, who do you think they're praying to? Now, go ahead and read your Bible, Dennis, and you go to your church, and, with any luck, you might win the annual raffle, but if you're looking for God, he was in operating room number two on November 17, and he doesn't like to be second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God. Alec Baldwin as Dr. Jed Hill in Malice, 1993

Return of Tanman.

I spent a couple of hours laying out by the condo pool. My face is now soaked in aloe vera like some sort of green, soothing money-shot has coated my face. I look up the UV index on Weather.com, as though I know what the fuck a UV index is and how it may pertain to my tanning experience. By the way, it's 80 degrees right now in Troutdale with a UV index of 2.

Scoping Star Wars Episode III on imdb.com and while Jar-Jar Binks is back in the film (hopefully to meet a tortured, painful death), James Earl Jones appears to have been tapped to voice Darth Vader again. Fucking sweet... fresh Vader in 2005. One more reason to go on living.

Alcohol is like aspirin for the heart.

Just when I thought I'd have nothing to do today...

Diaz Steamed and Steamy: Cameron peeved over sexy Internet video.

I've kickstarted the old download machine... we'll see what comes up. The Paris Hilton video actually has 30 minutes of color footage, much better than the night-vision looking excerpt that I thought made up the full flick. She was 19 when the video was made, Cameron was 19 when her video was made. When I was 19, I didn't get laid very much, but I knew to NEVER film myself having sex.

Jenna Bush + Gooch = Love 4ever (giggle giggle)

Jenna, we have so much in common. Our lives filled with lack of responsibility has given way to self destructive behavior. We go through life care free, knowing that any indiscretion we commit will be covered up by parents and/or friends. We've turned to the bottle, you and I. The bitterness of liquor on our lips gives way to a sweet euphoria that only raging alcoholics like you and I can completely understand. Inhibitions, worries, and clothes seem to disappear as the night and blood alcohol level goes on. We will find each other the way I've found most of my girlfriends. Shit faced drunk, in bed, in my condo. You have the Presidential seal on your condoms... that's hot. We'll make sweet love while my digital camcorder secretly rolls on and pass out in each other's arms. We awaken together, you'll look into my eyes and say those three words that I'd been longing to hear all night:

"What's your name?"

Your secret service attendants will hold your hair back as we both vomit in unison into my toilet. I'll sign the confidentiality agreement, you'll be whisked away in a black Cadillac, and I'll only have my love and a 37 minute digital video with which to remember you.

My friend Mike Henry in Florida made me a compilation CD. He used his new printer to print some of our life highlights directly to the CD. The picture of me and another guy (Nathan Spear) in the upper right hand side of the disk holding the yellow drinks was taken at Bar 71 in Portland. That was the first time we had Rockstar energy drinks and vodka (It wasn't at all the last time for me). The lower left hand picture is Mike and me at a club in Florida. Upper left is me, drunk, standing where Gianni Versace was stabbed to death. Thanks, Hank.

"Tom Haggen... get me a burger, large fry, one of
those apple pastry things, an orange, a chocolate milkshake,
and a diet Coke. They've made me a Big Mac I can't refuse.

Marlon Brando, dead at 80.

Initial news reports as I write this state that the cause of death is "unknown." Um... He was 80 years-old and weighed about 10 pounds for every year he aged. What... are they gonna do an autopsy? Do they suspect foul play? Maybe it was AIDS? Or a cocaine overdose? I'd love to be in the medical examiner's room when they truck Brando in.

Police Officer: "Doctor, we need to know what killed this acting legend."

Medical Examiner (opening a can of PBR and eating an orange): Fuckin' look at him." (belches)

If more people went to Reno and were familiar with the "Awful Awful" burger at the Nugget in Reno, I could have captioned Brando with "They've made me an Awful I can't refuse." Oh, geez, with Brando's death, maybe the play on "Offer you can't refuse" jokes will die. I don't see an end in sight for the end of "Got Milk" variations.

Biography for Marlon Brando (IMDB.COM)

Fox News: Actor Marlon Brando Dead at 80

We here at Goochonline.com honor, respect, and admire our fallen heroes who eat and drink too much and display little or no self control. If there's a happy hour in heaven, we'll see you there, Mr. Brando. Rest in peace.

More shaming from a fresh deposit into the Goochonline.comarchives:

These photos were taken after I arrived back at the hotel, after my infamous "walk of shame" detailed in recent blogs past. Can you believe I was on the phone bawling like a school girl merely an hour before? Don't drink and drive, and certainly don't drink and dial.