How the Gooch Stole Christmas...

Just finished watching "Funny People" with Adam Sandler and Seth Rogen. I liked it so much more than I thought I would. I'm not into stand up comedians as actual people so much. I've noticed that semi-famous people (local comedians, newscasters, radio DJs) have a twisted desire... no - need, to draw attention to themselves at all times. Being loud and obnoxious in an effort to get as many tables to stare at you at a decent restaurant makes you an incredible asshole.

I'm guilty of some of this behavior, but it's usually only because I'm insecure in any social situation and often stay quiet until someone says something that I have a funny retort, and by that I mean one that I'm 99% sure people will laugh at, then I say it without making eye contact with anyone. That's my move. That's how I stay relevant to a social situation without monopolizing it.

That, and copious amounts of booze.

I've also had people say that I should be a stand up comedian, which clinched the decision never to try it. Everyone knows that the Asshole Mantra is (usually after someone laughs at his joke, and I mean 'his' because this only gets said to men) "a lot of people tell me I should be a stand up comedian." I can't be lumped in with that group. I can't be lumped in with a group of people that rehash a shitty Leno bit at the water cooler and think that they should hit an open mic. I have enough going against me, I can't throw that shit show into the mix.

So, I survived a Christmas while being single. I've always at least had someone that I was dating, this time not so much. It's cool; I saved some cash on presents this year. They say that being single during the holidays is hard for a lot of people. Yeah, I survived Christmas only to have Valentine's day to look forward to. New Years' is cool, because despite my inability to get laid throughout the year, I usually find a decent looking drunk chick to make out with at whatever bar I'm slumming in at the strike of 12.

Podcast coming soon... I can feel it. I'm looking at my notes now on the other monitor.

Back to the gym. I've developed some bad eating/not working out habits over the last week. I'd swear I woke up drunk on a couch while in mid bite of a slice of pizza. I bet Weight Watchers does not address that sort of situation in their meetings.

JG

Where'd this come from?

I had a bit of a bender weekend and I think I updated my Facebook while inebriated. I found this in my "favorite quote:"

Whatever doesn't kill you didn't try hard enough.

I... I think that's funny. I mean, not hilarious; but a fun play on my favorite quote. Heh.

Off to work early.

goochout.

The Princess and the Gooch

From Twitter:

Oh, 2009... Your thirst for celebrity blood has proven unquenchable

From Facebook:

Brittany Murphy was "sick and vomiting" right before her death, so it's safe to assume she'd recently watched "Just Married." Her husband requested that an autopsy NOT be done on his 32 year old, otherwise healthy wife. If he needs to borrow the "Ways to Not Act Suspicious" handbook, I'm sure I have a few copies laying around.

I really need to just make it through the week. Been a little depressed and maybe acting out with the booze a little. And by "a little" I mean "holy fucking shit what the fuck was last Saturday about?" I'm like a tragic cartoon: Fun to watch, but still depressing. I'm sure that if I had some Tylenol PMs and a bottle and a garage and a running car with a full tank of gas, I wouldn't be around to almost kill myself like on NYE last year. Should just do it on my own terms... be a lot safer. Nah... I have too many people left to piss off before I meet some unexpected untimely demise.

I have a podcast brewing, should be up before the end of the year. I hate that you can buy two identical items of clothing from Old Navy in the same size and have them fit entirely different. Need I try on every piece of clothing I purchase? Damn. Last weekend was also a food bender as well. Have to try to shore that up this week as well. I'm getting sick of measuring what I eat. It's a necessary evil, I guess, in order to look like this.

Out

Gooch's Notes: Twilight Saga

Here's a summary of the Twilight Saga to date. I've watched both films so you don't have to:

It's about this teenage girl who moves to a small Oregon/Washington composite town. Her biggest turn-on happens to be guys that might accidentally kill her. She starts dating a vampire and then he takes off, so she starts dating a werewolf. The vampire appears to her as an apparition - like a dead Obi-Wan Kenobi to her Luke Skywalker - warning her of stuff, and watching himself get cockblocked by the werewolf. Oh yeah, the werewolf's only weakness, apparently, is shirts. And there's this girl named Jessica with a terrific rack, and a token wisecracking Asian. They are not integral to the plot.

******

It's simply a complicated love story that can only truly be appreciated by teenagers. The female lead is 17-18 in the movies and she's worried about being with this Edward guy... forever. Only a seventeen-year-old viewer could appreciate that. I'm thinking (as most people that have been in long term relationships) that forever seems like a long fucking time, considering that most couples break up after four years. I'm not unromantic, just practical.

goochout.

New Gooch on Monday

Watched Twilight (the first one) last night. This movie was made solely for teenage chicks. I was annoyed because the Edward Cullen character, the composite of a perfect object of desire, was the complete antithesis of me. Aside from dark clothes, this bloodsucker was skinny, pasty, and quiet. I am none of those things.

Whoever made Twilight took the mythical vampire and made him super cool and threw away any of the bad qualities from traditional vampiredom. Traditional vampires burn when hit by direct sunlight. That's not sexy enough for the Twilight demographic. In the world of Twilight, vampires sparkle... like diamonds. What happens when he's exposed to garlic? Does he start singing in the voice of Miley Cyrus? Fuck, he's dreamy.

I'm guessing, based on my one viewing of the first movie and seeing the posters for the second, that the Indian kid cock blocks the pasty kid. Hijinks ensue, I'm sure.

I'm going to see the second one tonight. Don't tell anyone.

JG

A Mouth's a Mouth...

Brooke Hogan looks like she might have the same voice as Herman Munster. Like she'd be stamping her foot down and screaming "I'M A GIRL... I'M A GIRL... I'M A GIRL... BWAAAAAAH!" They should give her that same test they gave that Ugandan runner.

Out

Tweet/Facebook update that didn't make it::

I'm not going to pine for you while you pine for someone else, so I'm afraid you're going to have to ride the pine.

Fuck, I hate being fat. I have a calorie counter on my Palm Pre. I'm eating Egg Beaters and vegetarian sausages for breakfast. Low carb ketchup? I fucked it. Elliptical trainer, personal trainer... all so that I can remove "morbidly" from my obesity status.

It's a misguided effort. I mean, I think the heavier I was, the hotter chicks I got. I'm going over the records, the charts, solving for ex... yep: fatter equaled hotter.

John Gallucci and girlfriend: 2030

I am shying away from my Microsoft loyalty to recommend that everyone use Firefox. If you blog, fileshare, look at porn... Firefox is so much less likely to allow you to get infected with spyware/viruses. I've taken the Pepsi challenge. If you go to PirateBay.Org and start searching through pages, you will get infected. Firefox? You might get an annoying page redirect but the computer will not suffer permanent damage.

Does anyone read this site anymore, or is it just the stupid Facebook/Twitter phenomenon. Has my lust for a short term attention span audience sent readers elsewhere? (I haven't read the hit counter for this site lately, so I have no idea).

Off to work. Salaam, bitches.

gooch:out

Tiger's Wood

From my Facebook posts:

Has any girl in the history of girldom ever purchased a Playgirl magazine? I always thought that Playgirl was aimed at gay dudes who found themselves lonely at a 7-11 at 2am. That's probably the real demographic. Playgirl should call themselves Playboy* and put a Big Bite coupon on the cover.

Playgirl Bosses looking into 'Tiger Woods' Photos

Twilight: New Gooch

I decided to abstain from going out this week. Last week, hitting the bars equaled late night adventures. I mean... every night last week was fun, interesting, exciting, shameful, and expensive. At least two of those nights I would not take back.

So this week, I'm staying home. I've accomplished some things: applied for a passport, done November's invoicing, paid a few bills.

I'm home... watching The Biggest Loser because god forfucking bid I watch another South Park or Family Guy for all the money I spend on television. I should say home every night and watch three hours of television to get my money's worth.

The Biggest Loser. Exploiting fat people for ratings. I can dig it... the stories are inspirational even if a lot of the emotion is contrived. The hostess, Alison Sweeney, has all of the genuine feel and personality of my flaccid cock. I mean, she's sort of hot in an approachable way. If she was in a bar, I'd drink until she found me attractive. Then I'd have sex with her.

And holy fuck... If that Jillian chick yelled at me while working out the way she yells at the fat fucks struggling on treadmills, I'd have a fully erect four-inch-boner during the 10 minutes I'd last while jogging. She'd ask "are you finished?" and I'd reply "on the treadmill or in my shorts?" She's hot and mean. I like a girl that treats me like shit.

Obviously.

I'm on glass #2 of a $3.00 bottle of wine. It tastes just like a $4.00 bottle of wine. Bargain.

I've never dug the super skinny chicks. I know it's cliche, and it's something that a lot of guys say to fuck fat chicks, but it's true. I just saw Keira Knightley in a Chanel commercial and I'm pretty sure I could see her back ribs. Not sexy. If she turned me on, I could probably jerk off to a 1984 issue of National Geographic featuring Ethiopia.

I hurt my neck Thursday. I haven't lifted or worked out too much since then. Really, really bumming me out. I'm going to wash a Tylenol PM down with this last sip of vino and call it a night.

Gooch:Out

The Goochberries Taste Like Goochberries!

Tiger Woods fucked a girl that still uses MySpace? Nasty.

I DJed again last night. This time I figured out that the "automix" that Virtual DJ's software uses makes less mistakes than I do. So, I plugged in my new disco ball, set up the music, pushed 'play' and drank my own weight in wine. I'm more of a computer guy than a DJ, I've decided.

If it seems like I ignore the site, don't forget about the "tweets" on the right. It's a shame that the fact that almost all of my tweets use exactly 140 characters goes unnoticed. That's almost like haiku precision. Also, they're seldom about me personally. I try to keep everything I write more about pop culture or any shit unrelated to me. The secret to any successful blog is to remember that no one really gives a shit about you or what you're doing or what you've been up to.

That won't stop this post from being written. I've been on Facebook a lot. Facebook serves two purposes: to keep you posted on what your friends are up to, and to see how absolutely fucking illiterate your friends are. I mean there's "to," "too," and "two" - they're not interchangeable. People have no idea... I don't think they know there's more than one version. They just picked one "to" at the age of twelve and ran with it into adulthood.

I'm skipping around a bit; I apologize. I think I drank until my brain became smooth last night. The night before I stayed in and watched TV. I saw a Dane Cook comedy routine. He said something to the effect of "This girl was so nasty that her crabs had herpes." That's funny.

Going to try not to drink this week. Lay low, get shit done. I always say that and then some "special" event materializes. It seems the criteria for "special" events are pretty lax. I need to work on that a bit.

I've Entered the Twilight Zone

I really like to think of myself as culturally relevant. I keep up on popular music enough to know that it's awful. I pirate enough movies to make sure that I can discuss the latest theatrical releases - even if it means I watched that blockbuster on my computer and the copy was something that a Russian dude filmed through his camcorder. What the fuck ever. I've seen it and I can discuss it.

Girls that I've dated or even wanted to date recently have been into fantasy films like Harry Potter and the Twilight films. I guess if you're a chick and you're dating me, theatrical escapism is probably an important part of your life.

I watched all of the Harry Potter movies with my last girlfriend. It's like Dungeons and Dragons except it's all wizards and one token hot chick that is too young to really think about. She's British, so she has yet to grow into her adult yellow-crooked-teeth - a rite of passage into adulthood for the British. I think the red headed kid (you see how I give such little of a shit that I won't even look up the names) did not transition from cute kid to handsome adult like the producers, I'm sure, hoped. You cannot gamble on a red headed kid growing into a handsome adult (see: Danny Bonaduce). Insert Gingervitis joke here. Harry Potter looks as if he's not sure he wants to ride that Quiddich pole thing or shove it in his ass. And they're all a little too old to be in that school. If they come out with a "Harry Potter: The Next Generation" or some other contrived sequel, I will blow up a theater.

And now... Twilight? What the fuck is this shit? I had drinks with a friend last night and had to claim complete ignorance to the Twilight movies. She said things like "team Edward and team Jacob (I think)? It's gotten to the point now where I can't talk to a girl, a teenager (well, that's court ordered), or watch a Burger King commercial without having a pop culture blank stare. When did I slide off the road of the "everyone knows about it" freeway?

As I write this, I'm downloading bootlegged movies filled with half naked pasty white barely legal teenage boys in an effort to have more fluid conversations with girls. I remember when paying for things, opening car doors, cracking a decent joke, and lying your ass off was enough to impress the ladies. I'm getting too old for this shit.


goochout.

Then and Now...

Here's a picture of me and an ex-girlfriend from 2001 (edited for "The Love column"):



Here's a picture of us now:



I've clearly aged, but she still looks great after all these years.


gooch:out

10 Years of This Website

A boy and his keyboard. 11/20/2009

Mr. Gorbachev: Tear down this wall!

We have nothing to fear but fear itself!

I have a dream !



I AM SO HUNG OVER!


There it was. The first six syllables of the first post on my website - 11/20/1999. I had originally started the site in an effort to post, in a public forum, writing that I’d done for publications that didn’t make it to print (but I thought should have). At the time, I was writing for the Portland State University Vanguard, JAM Magazine (a local music magazine), Oregon Cycling (a local bicycling newspaper), and casually sending pieces elsewhere.

I’ve always been writing. I’ve written so much more than I’ve ever read. My writing style is best described as embracing brevity over verbosity. The short form column, the short story, the arrogant (and subsequent drop in grade) submission of a term paper with fewer pages than was required. My columns for the high school and college newspapers were often two distinct, unrelated articles placed in one space meant for, one distinct article. Aiming my writing at people with the same attention span as myself proved to be a savvy move. In hindsight, I should have written for publications aimed at people with clinically diagnosed attention spans. Like Ritalin publications. Or short stories for attention-deficit kids, which would be single sheets of paper with big type set:

THE DOG RAN AFTER THE BALL. THE END

“Read it again, Mommy… look at that shiny thing over there!”

In 1999, I hated computers, other than to get what I absolutely had to from them in order to make my life easier. Computers were, in a sense, like fat chicks to me. When a writing instructor insisted that everyone in the class get an email address, I protested like a chair at a Weight Watchers meeting. In order to pass the class and ultimately graduate after my eight year at PSU, I conceded and went down to the computer lab to get assigned my email address. You see, this is before Yahoo and Gmail were opening the doors to free email addresses and allowing child sex predators into the hearts and homes of America’s youth (or to a decoy served ala Chris Hansen with Dateline NBC). I hated the computer lab and particularly the nerds that worked there. Arrogant, condescending douche-hydrants who couldn’t get laid and therefore took comfort in making people that god forbid didn’t know what a TCP/IP setting was feel like shit.

“I need an email account.”

“Okay, your email address is: psu17190@odin.cc.pdx.edu"

“You’re fucking kidding me. Can you put the word ‘John’ or ‘Gallucci’ anywhere in there?”

“Afraid not.” The smirking asshole replied.

This was a crucial moment in the site’s history because now I (bedrudgingly) had a link to the outside world via the internet. A technology I knew absolutely nothing about. I grew frustrated with the fact that everyone was into ‘zines and the internet and websites and I had shunned this phenomenon simply because I didn’t understand it. I asked questions, read books, and bugged friends for help and knowledge. Getting content onto the internet was just not as easy as it is now. However, a year later I would have a web/email server in my own apartment. My email address would change to gooch@goochonline.com from that mess that PSU doled out to me.

Through my efforts in setting up the website and its hosting, I accidentally learned a lot about computers, servers, and the internet. This piqued an interest in the field as an occupation and now have my own little computer consulting business. I also work part time for a company that gets Portland State Students referred to when the PSU computer lab is unable to fix a computer. I get a little bit of a charge when I fix a machine that they couldn’t. I probably even have an arrogant smirk when I do.

So the website was born. I started copying and pasting old articles/columns and pasting them into html pages. Even though I’d been posting my articles and columns on the site, I had daily thoughts that I felt like posting on the front page. I moved the columns to a “columns menu” and put my daily logs, known as “Gooch: The Logs” on the front page. This was before the term “blogger” was invented. This was way back, when "blogging" was called “writing shit on a website every few days.” I didn’t have the automation of going to a website and adding a post on any computer that I happened to be near. Rather, I had to use file transfer protocol (FTP) to download the html file, edit it with notepad, and upload it back to the site. That’s right, technology and the way I managed the blog back then had all of the sexiness of a head wound. But hell, it worked.

When I started the site, having a website was actually something that was a conversation starter. I mean, I’d be at a party and someone would mention that I had a website and you’d actually get a genuine “no shit?” response. Around the turn of the millennium, a domain name cost $72.00 a year (as opposed to around $5 today) and the social networking sites that allow people to, in a much cleaner fashion, have a web presence similar to my site didn’t exist yet. Now, Facebook, Myspace, Blogger, and other sites have taken the narcissistic endeavor of creating one’s own website and made it the rule, not the exception.

The state of the site now? I don’t update it as often as I used to, focusing some efforts on Twitter which ultimately updates my Facebook status and then a sidebar on goochonline.com itself - klling multiple birds with one machete. Rather than write under the impression that the world gives a shit that I’m driving to work or that "I love my life," I often focus on writing a 140 character joke. Remember what I was saying about brevity earlier? I love the challenge of writing something and then carving it down to fit into the 140 character maximum length. A lot of my Twitter posts are exactly 140 characters (the maximum the site allows).

I think reality television has given, I don’t know, the entire fucking world the misconception that the minutia of their daily lives is wicked fucking interesting. It’s not. “I’m eating an apple” is not compelling enough to write as your Twitter/Facebook status. Seriously? I’m not the first person to say this, but you shouldn’t post a Facebook update that you wouldn’t make a special phone call to tell a friend. “I’m getting ready to mow the lawn” is not worth writing. Maybe I’m completely missing the point of Facebook. Maybe people want to read that a friend is getting ready to brush their teeth. I try to be more interesting.

So while I have sold out a bit and used the popular social networking sites, I’ve incorporated them into goochonline.com. I use blogger.com and, again, the sidebar has all of my “tweets,” so if I haven’t updated with a full blog, readers can look to the right and see my 140 character spurts of, you know, brilliance. I also have started podcasting, with recordings getting posted to the site on the day they’re recorded. You can also subscribe to the podcasts on iTunes, not that I record very often.

What does the future of Goochonline.com hold? Like a stripper on Father’s day, I have no plans. I have no desire to write for any publication. I never did really. Writing is a personal thing. I can’t imagine doing it for money. I wouldn’t want to give someone the right to tell me I suck at writing. It would be like pulling my soul out of my chest and yelling at it for a while, then shoving it back in. I can’t imagine doing any artistic endeavor for money, but have incredible envy for those that do.

Truth is, I like to make people laugh. When you grow up as a fat kid, you learn to be funny and self deprecating in an effort to distract people from making fun of you. I went to Catholic schools and we were taught to love one another. Well, fat kids didn’t seem to count on the Catholic school playground. I simply diffused the situation and made fun of myself… you know, beat them to the punch. I mean, one of the good things about being a fat kid is that your skinny friends are so much more likely to get molested than you. Otherwise, you spend your childhood trying to avoid being picked on. Come to think of it, I was being picked on by the kids that were likely pounded in the ass by a priest only hours earlier. Fuck them. How dare you take an old man’s cock in the ass and then give me shit? You can call me fat and beat me up all you want. I still won't be 10-years-old and having to sit on a rubber doughnut at church. You motherfuckers…

…I digress. A lot of people are like me. You know the guy at the bar that masks his nervousness by cracking shitty jokes? I am that guy. Today, me, as I write this… that guy. The difference is that I was given an ability to be funny. If I’m at a bar and people around me are laughing and I look like I’m having the time of my life, I’m likely having a social-anxiety-related panic attack (and therefore the worst time of my life) at the moment. It’s the hand that I was dealt: I wasn’t given chiseled features, six pack abs, or a ten inch cock. I either pass out in a fit of panic, or I crack a joke. Laughter is like xanax to me. When people are laughing, they can't criticize or give me shit. It gives me a calming (albeit misguided) sense of peace.

So, I’ll always have goochonline.com. It’s an extension of my being. I use it to channel energy (creative or just nervous) in the form of jokes, rants, thoughts of the day. I try to make it interesting in the hopes that the literate public gets some semi-daily joy at what I write. I'm not going to cure cancer, AIDS, or do anything that truly benefits the world. This site is it for me. Maybe I'll make someone laugh and they change their mind about shooting up an office building or a post office. I may have already saved countless lives.

Or not. Either way, the site will be here as long as I am. I hope you have and will continue to enjoy it.

gooch:out

Here's a link to the first page ever posted, with my "logs."
http://www.igooch.net/oldoldlogs/default.htm

Here's my favorite piece of writing that I ever produced:
http://www.igooch.net/columns/lovecolumn.htm

Here's a review I wrote about the Star Wars: The Phantom Menace
http://www.igooch.net/columns/phantommenace.htm

Here's a fake Oregonian story of my death:
http://www.pctechnw.com/goochonline/oregonianhoax.htm

Still the voice of xanax-popping underachievers. Since 1999.

Close Encounters of the Gooch Kind.

I meet people and they inevitably add me to their Facebook. I write stupid shit on my Facebook as it pops into my concussion-rattled head. I just hope to God that anyone that I've met recently doesn't read this stuff without really knowing me and think that I'm a jaded, bitter asshole.

I mean find out that I'm a jaded, bitter asshole.

If I go without a post for any significant amount of time, just check the twitters to the right for my jokes of the 140-character-or-less variety.

This month celebrates (ahem) ten years of this website being in existence. It's original incarnation was:

http://www.teleport.com/~gooch

Then:

http://www.gooch-1.com

And now it is what it is. In so many ways.

Back to working with Greg today. Peace.

goochout.

Facebook Update that Didn't Make it

Major Nidal Malik Hasan, the shooter at the Fort Hood massacre was seen the morning of the shooting smiling as he purchased his usual morning coffee. Maybe they accidentally sold him decaf that day.

Oh, too soon?

Salaam... indeed.

gooch:out

Best Of...

From August 7, 2002:

I think that it would be cool to date a homeless chick. You'd have no problem getting her to your place... where else is she going to go? I could even use the pick up line: "My place... or mine." The last thing she ate would probably be something like dog food from a can, so it's not like she'd expect a fancy dinner. I'd probably splurge for Burger King... or Sizzler. When the date's over, I could drop her off anywhere. It'd be dating with an emphasis on economy and convenience.

Best Of...

From December 6, 2002:

Ah... the list format column. My favorite kind. I can just see myself living in my apartment with my freshly ex-girlfriend drinking a Coors Light and thinking this shit up.

You Might Be the Gooch If...

You've ever bought a large pizza for dinner on Friday and planned to have the leftovers for next day's breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

If the above mentioned pizza didn't make it through midnight.

If you've ever pleasured yourself to workout videos.

If you've ever filed an insurance claim to get beer stains out of your car's upholstery.

If you've ever taken Trojan Enz condoms, zip ties, duct tape, and Gatorade through a checkout
line to impress a hot cashier.

If you've ever had a restraining order against you from a hot cashier.

If you go through three cellular phones a year.

If you have your old fake ID framed and hanging on your wall.

If you've ever been out of breath after walking from your car to the front door of the gym.

If you've ever rewarded yourself for a good workout by ordering five cheese burgers at McDonalds.

If you've ever studied for a Rorschach test.

If you've ever failed a Rorschach test.

If you've ever taken a breathalyzer test in an attempt to get a high score.

If you've ever used a Listerine breath strip in lieu of brushing your teeth.

If you still brag about your high score on Frogger.

If you've ever embarrassed your friends and family by appearing cable access three times.

If you've ever turned down an apartment because the location didn't have DSL service.

If you've ever driven a car with flames painted on the front.

If you've ever pissed away an exhorbitant amount of time on your personal website.

Best Of...

From May 1st, 2001:

I got reviewed by the now defunct Netsurf.com. I also was trying to be a public relations person at the time, should the references to my promoting anything confuse you.

The Gooch

John "Gooch" Gallucci is a journalist/columnist. He uses his Web site as a forum for his daily rants and to archive almost all his published work. His discussion is lively, with some gossip and shamelessslurring and the odd pitching of ideas such as his gayversion of "Survivor" called "The Real Gay World". Youcan even hire him to get your band/event up and pumping. All things considered, the site isconsiderably more entertaining than you'd expect fromsomeone who willingly uses the nickname "Gooch".

Document the Irony.

Penny Flame, from "Sex Rehab"

Last night, "Sex Rehab with Dr. Drew" debuted on VH-1. It documents the rehabilitation efforts of semi celebrities who compulsively and uncontrollably masturbate and have sex, hindering their ability to have successful, loving relationships. I must have jerked off six or seven times during the course of the show. I felt like such a degenerate. You can't put that many hot chicks into a dorm talking about how much they like to fuck and/or jerk off without some negative consequence to the home viewer. And by negative consequence, I mean a sore forearm.

It's not the first time that a reality show has had a contagious effect on me. I've already said that I was going to buy and store a thousand copies of the show "Hoarders" when if they release it on DVD for the sake of being ironic.

While watching DJ AM's show "Gone Too Far" where the recently overdosed and deceased DJ helps people with their drug issues by coordinating interventions, I once washed down a Xanax with a bottle of wine as I held a Valentine card given to me by one of my ex-girlfriends.

The only thing left for me to do is somehow rob a convenience store while watching COPS.

gooch:out.

Best Of...

September 18th, 2001:

Not to sound incredibly shallow during this time of American tragedy and crisis... But has anyone else gained like fiftyfuckingpounds from sitting on their asses, eating, and watching the news for the last seven days? Jesus. Someone get me a goddamned mumu. Every morning while my girlfriend is on her way to work, my Mom is in NY working 14 hours a day for the Red Cross, and a nation mourns... I'm in bed with an ice cream sandwich or a bunch of frozen cheese-cake treats waiting for a war to start.

Schadenfreude

UPDATE: The forklift driver was allegedly drunk and that was about $150,000 worth of booze destroyed because the driver had to go back and to the left. Like JFK's head.

Schadenfreude: Pleasure derived from the misfortune of others.

The following scene takes place at a vodka distributorship (taken from geekologie site):


EMBED-Bringing Down The Warehouse - Watch more free videos

Best of...

From November 16, 2001:

Pretty Good Joke (as retold by Gooch):

Ethel and Jed lived in the same nursing home for a number of years and had recently become "intimate." Unfortunately, Jed couldn't move too well, so Ethel would give him sexual gratification through the means of a "hand job."

This romance went on for a while until one day when Ethel walked in on Jed and Velma together - Velma was servicing Jed with her hand much in the same way that Ethel normally would.

Ethel yelled at Jed and Velma for ten minutes and finally turned to Jed and asked: "What does Velma have that I don't?!?!?"

Jed looked up, smiled a bit and said "Parkinson's."

Best Of... Excerpt.

During the Hiatus, I felt compelled to go through the steps taken should I ever just shut this site down. Don't worry, whenever a significant bout of depression sets in this always enters my mind. I actually archived this entire site to my hard drive. Six point four-seven megabytes of text. That's eight years of my life distilled into a .txt file.

Fuck.

Here's an excerpt from a column where I discuss how much I hate flying. Or something like that. It's one of my Father's favorite excerpts. I had posted it on the web before I'd submitted it to a magazine I was writing for at the time and it became an email-forwarding bit before it was recognized as something I'd written. Co workers at the magazine thought I'd lifted a piece verbatim off of the internet. Plagiarism accusations flew but no one stopped to think that the thing that was emailed to them had the word "gooch" plugged into it. Dicks. Fuck them for accusing me of shit.

I'm talented, fuckers.

Here's the excerpt. Enjoy.

...Enjoy your flight. My disdain for air travel does not reside solely with the airlines and their employees. For example, passengers can aggravate me as well. Here’s an open letter to a little boy who sat behind me on my last flight:

Billy? Was that you’re name? You probably remember me. I was sitting in front of you and was one of the nice people that were trying to find your teddy bear, “Woofie.” Yes, we looked, and we looked, and no one could find your bear. You got off of the plane, crying, like a six-year-old often does when he or she loses a prized toy. Funny thing? Woofie was in my backpack the whole time. That’s right! You see, when I have to get up at 5am, I get grouchy… Like Oscar the Grouch from Sesame Street. In adult terms, it’s best not to fuck with me. So when you kicked the back of my seat eight or nine thousand times, I got really grouchy. In adult terms, fucking pissed. During your fourth mid-flight “potty break,” I took woofie from your seat, leaving only the blanket in which you covered him. Woofie got to ride home with me in my “Goochmobile.” Can you say “Goochmobile?” I knew you could! Can you say “cigarette lighter?“ I knew you could… you seemed like a smart kid. Do you know what a “car cigarette lighter is?” Ask your Mom… ‘cause that’s what I torched your fucking bear with, you little bastard.

Hiatus.

I could look at this picture for hours.

Unless some news shit breaks out over the course of the next week, I'm shutting down on writing for a bit. I'll keep a notepad around and maybe bukkake your literate faces with spewage of observations during the next seven days.








Confucious say: "Seven day honeymoon make one whole week."





Read it out loud, sorta funny.





Peace.





gooch:out.

One theory (okay, mine) as to what was happening on that NWA flight to Minneapolis.

The next time I tell someone that I like a girl and the person with whom I'm speaking says "Yeah, she's hot, but she has a kid." I'm going to say "Hey, kid doesn't plug a hole."



Ha! There's a glimpse into my wit, coming to a drunken bender conducted by yours truly at a bar/tavern/bath house near you.



I've come to the conclusion that I have all of the stress management skills of a chihuaha. I really had an exhausting, anxiety fueled week. Not sure why, but even when I was able to sleep my nightmares were cliched "stuck on a raft in the middle of the ocean in a storm" or the "workday from hell." Came to the conclusion that I need therapy something fierce. You know, I came to that conclusion about eight years after you assholes did.



Delving into another subject: Did you all get a schadenfreunde-ian boner over the NWA pilots inexplicably overshooting the runway (as of late, you could make a drinking game from the number of times I use the word "inexplicably") this week? Of course these douche-nozzles were from the Pacific Northwest where we can't seem to drive cars for shit anyhow, much less an Airbus. Over shot the airport by 500 miles before someone could get their attention? They weren't asleep,they weren't arguing (although that was the first excuse). Were they joining the even more exclusive gay mile high club? Were they pillow biting at 35,000 feet? What else is there? A wicked joint effort at a Sudoku puzzle? Were they fighting over a new PlayStation Portable? I can't wait to find out what shit went on up there.



You see it's like the "ring doesn't plug a hole" joke. But different.



goochout.

Almost a week... really?

Seriously, I should just start a site called "Meghan McCain's Rack" and give the people what they really want. Or, let's face it, what I want.

I love how the "Republican Rack" defends her posting of that picture, claiming is was a spontaneous posting and nothing that she actually thought about when she posted it:

"[When] I am alone in my apartment, I wear tank tops and sweatpants, I had no idea this makes me a ‘slut’, I can't even tell you how hurt I am."

Read more: http://www.nydailynews.com/news/politics/2009/10/15/2009-10-15_meghan_mccain_twitter_photo_backlash_leads_to_apology.html#ixzz0UaFEliSM

So they make super-push-up tank tops? She didn't notice those sweater puppies were starting to strangle her? Works for me. I have not kept it a secret that I love Meghan McCain despite her politics. I have the perfect date planned for me and her. We'd drink red wine, red meat, and watch the Zapruder film on a continuous loop as I lay her down on our dirty plates and leftover gristle/baked potato skins and made passionate like to each other on my coffee table while two secret service agents taped taped it with my HD camcorders that I will have purchased specifically for the evening.

Romance is certainly not dead in the Gooch Compound.

I have to go. Anxiety has replaced caffeine as my catalyst for energy.

goochout.

I Heart Meghan McCain

Cleavagy cravings for a Father's attention make me happy.

John McCain was a tortured POW for like a year or some shit. I would endear waterboarding for two years if I could just have one Viagra and booze fueled night with a somehow muted (I just got my ball-gag back from the shop) eldest daughter of the presidential loser, Meghan McCain.

You see, John McCain: you lost your chance at the presidency to a black guy and your daughter lost all respect for you. What's next, guest appearances at Scores? Book signings of your daughter's first book: "Daddy Let Me Down and Now I Suck Cock on Film for Money... a Memoir."

Back to work.

goochout

Don't forget...

My acerbic witticisms and perfect spelling can always be found on the twitters (to the right). It's filler between blog posts. Like when I drink while I'm driving from one bar to the next. You see... analogies rock!

tuohcoog

Blast from the past...

My hoax death. I got in trouble with my family for this. If you Google me, this shows up...

http://www.pctechnw.com/goochonline/oregonianhoax.htm

I should take it down. I'm such a dick.

out

You know what I like best about this picture?

Kendra's complete silence.

Home is where the Gooch is.

After an hour delay and a missed opportunity for sex, I've driven my beastie Ford home from PDX, pulled the luggage out, poured a glass of wine, played with the cat, deviruses my computer (again), and will now check to see what bounty the DVR hath brought me.

Not before I empty this bottle of something red.

Vacation has done me some good. Truth be told, my life is a bit of a vacation compared to other people. I should recognize this more and adjust my lifestyle accordingly. Ah... I've become a self loathing underacheiving slacker. With a cat.

Confirmed this weekend: I am more interesting when I'm drunk. I blame raging Generalized Anxiety Disorder that keeps me from striking up even the most mundane conversations with strangers. I would rather fix a stranger's cell phone rather than actually talk to him. That happened.

Off to wine. Then bed. Salaam, minions.

goochout.

The Biggest Little Gooch in the World...

I'm in Reno as I write this. I just finished a workout; my futile attempt to offset the massive caloric intake I've endeavored in the last couple of days.

I'm at the Eldorado sponsored "Great Italian Festival." I come out to this event every year. It's a fun trip. However, I am the only single person among the group of family and friends, which makes me feel pretty awkward sometimes. I know it's hard to understand a couple having the opportunity to hang out with me and yet wanting to spend alone time together. There are plenty of things for me to do in Reno by myself: Drink, ogle chubby cocktail waitresses, gamble, masturbate while thinking about chubby cocktail waitresses, gamble more, and take naps.

I did get sexted for the first time ever while I've been down here. Perhaps that person could tell by the sound of my voice that I had a significant lack of porn in my room (the room and all charges go onto my Dad's credit card, I don't need him seeing a charge for "Anal Acrobats 14" or whatever on the check out bill).

So it's off to the shower for me then some more guinea-fest 2009 activities. Then the flight home. I miss my friends. And my cat. Because I'm, apparently, a codependent homo. I guess.

Peace.

goochout.

Interesting Fun Fucking Fact #421

I never learned how to tie a tie. I'm 35 years old, I've performed five weddings. I own a business. I can't tie a tie.

Have I ever tried? Never. In grade/middle school I either rocked a clip on or had my Mom or Dad help me. At the second to last wedding I performed, the groom gave me a tie to wear. On the most important day of his life (if you buy into the whole marriage being the most important day of someone's life) this man had to break from his wedding in order to tie a tie for his fucking officiant.

Embarrassing.

I hate ties. I hate them primarily because you should have the top button of your shirt buttoned when you wear a tie. You know, so you don't look like a fucking slob. My neck is so disproportioned to the rest of my body that it's almost impossible for me to find a shirt that fits my neck while not draping over the rest of me.

However, I'm attending a charitable fundraiser and I've been instructed to wear a tie. Youtube, don't fail me now:



I've used this video, carefully slid the tie off of my fat head, and hope that the knot will be preserved for when I get dressed this evening.

This website is my last refuge in which I would divulge such an embarrassing situation. I feel incredibly douchey. Now, I have to go find one of those button extenders for the top button of my shirt. Gooch: Fat and Classless.

goochout.

Law Abiding Gooch.

Wow, I had a lot written that I quickly deleted because it was getting incredibly lame. I mean who wants to hear my observations on human nature? Or read them, as the case may be.

I haven't had much to write as of late. Too busy working and trying to lose my slacker image that the chicks past age 28 don't find as appealing as their younger counterparts.

My commitment issues have been brought to light again recently. Combine that with the public nature of ALL of our existences thanks to social networking, and it's becoming all too real that a lot of people read this site and I don't know who they are and quite frankly it's caused me to become super paranoid. I think that every word is being analyzed by everyone with an IP address and I started to get anxiety. Garnishing a glass of red wine with Xanax sprinkles may help, but I've got to get the anxiety under control.

Fuck, I think this is worse than what I'd written before. I should have kept that. At least it had some sort of structure.

I did have a science moment in my office today. I have one of those timed fragrance sprayers above my cat box in the office (every 36 minutes a plunger pushes down on the canister to let out some spray). I have a bunch of neon signs and a lava lamp on the light switch plugs (when I hit the switch, all of the neons and lava lamp turn on). Something with the lava lamp caused the spray plunger/servo to start plunging like a machine gun. It was insane as I walked through the fragrant fog (I believe the scent was Glade's "French Whore" fragrance) and pulled the device away from the lava lamp, which caused the air freshener bukkake to stop. Something about the mystical power of the lava lamp causes electronics to go nuts. Cool.

Eh, I got nothing. Finishing wine and Tylenol PM and it's good night gracie for me.

goochout.

Audio Moblog

powered by Hipcast.com

Temporarily Out of Service

I slacked on buying a new router for my home office and haven't been spending time at any office where I cared to sit down and write, you know, stuff.

The only venue of writing that has suffered has been this blog. Tweets and Facebook has not been affected.

Work as usual will resume tonight.

Gooch:Out

Animal-cruelty charges dropped against Burlington County cop

During a bizarre hearing there yesterday, a Superior Court judge dismissed
animal-cruelty charges against a Moorestown police officer accused of sticking
his penis into the mouths of five calves in rural Southampton in 2006, claiming
a grand jury couldn't infer whether the cows had been "tormented" or "puzzled"
by the situation or even irritated that they'd been duped out of a meal.

Full Story: HERE

Sometimes you need commentary, and sometimes the story stands alone. This is an example of the latter.

Cloudy With a Chance of Gooch

Ingrates:

I need a darker template. I feel like I'm writing copy for a detox brochure.

I hate it when software keeps on insisting that you "Register for added benefits!" Has anyone truly reaped the benefits registering their webcam? Besides spam?

I'm tired. I'm going to watch CNN. Or Fox. I wonder what Megyn Kelly is wearing. Fuck, that 'y' in "Megyn" is hot. I love alternate spellings. It's like "yeah... society tells me to spell it 'Megan' but I say to hell with them. I do what I want!"

I woke up laying sideways across the foot of the bed. I haven't slept well in a while. It's affecting something, I'm sure.

Eh... more later. I'm not into it at the moment.

Peace.

Facebook/Twitter Update that Didn't Make it:

I'm starting to associate being interested in someone with impending disaster.
My life is becoming a Cure song.

So the new site template... am I writing about my misadventures and hijinks, or am I trying to sign you up for an HMO plan?

I just downloaded a bunch of old video game sound effects. It's hilarious to hear that stuff again. Epyx Games had the best titles out there: Summer/Winter/California Games, Impossible Mission. All classics.

Got a trainer, he's kicking my ass with the lifting (which is a good thing) but if I was my own trainer, I would put me on a treadmill and leave the gym. I need aerobics dammit.

Gotta put my game face on. Big job today and big game tonight.

And I'm out.

And I'm Gooch.

Pub crawl this Saturday.

Facebook/Twitter Post That Didn't Make It:

"If someone's not sure whether or not they want to molest kids, would they be considered just pedo-curious?"

Scourges:

I woke up this morning at 4am to a minor wind storm. I got up to shut the windows and tried to go back to sleep. Then, around 4:45, I get morning wood. Some people get up early to see the sunrise and I get to witness first hand the natural wonder of my AM boner. I'm too tired to jerk off but when I roll over to lay on my stomach, I look like a bike with a kick stand. I come to terms with the erection situation and as I start to get to sleep the "low battery" alert starts on the smoke detector. One beep a minute; like electronic chinese water torture. So then I've got to wrestle that thing apart. I was having troubles popping the back of the detector off. I swear to God I looked at my Mag Lite next to the bed and seriously considered beating the smoke detector into submission. Cooler head prevailed.

I went to the circus yesterday. It was fun... a little more MTV than I remember the circus being. Sign of the times. The magic was impressive. Like... people and elephants kept disappearing and me, being the most cynical person alive, was left wondering "how the fuck did they do that?" Nice change of pace for me.

Back to bed. I'm so freaking tired.

Peace

Cracka... Please!

You see... I said "cracka" and not "cracker." As you may or may not know, "cracker" brings up a part of history that my people would like to forget. "Cracka" is okay if we call each other that. I use that word often in my rap music. Don't say "cracker." It's as offensive as saying "midget" to a little person.

Going to grab a drink. Low key is the name of the game as I look forward to a productive weekend. Well, I don't look forward to it... I just want to get shit done that needs to get done and it all piled the fuck up over the last two days.

I guess Tito Ortiz and Jenna Jameson are still together. I think it's great when a couple from the entertainment industry can maintain a relationship. They have twins together, in fact. Judging from watching her films, I'd say the kids weren't born so much as they drove a semi truck out of that high-mileage vag.

I was thinking about being Tito Ortiz and dating Jenna Jameson. I mean, if you're dating Jenna Jameson and you hang out with a group of her friends, would you even fucking dare ask one of her guy friends how they know her?

"Oh... Jenna and I worked together on "Please Cum Inside Me 15" and I accidentally didn't cum inside her. I actually decorated her face with my man goo. Long story short: she got pink eye. So how are the babies?"

That joke would have been funnier to me if she'd starred in something like "Analgeddon 15" or something like that. I forget that Jenna was a classy porn star. Whatever.




Shalom, fuckers.

gooch:out

Happy Birthday, James Gandolfini.

America... Fuck Yeah!

Degenerates:



Yesterday turned out alright, as in it did not follow its trend of shit happening to me. Today is a new day: The cat's batshit crazy, the computer has come back from the dead like Jesus and/or Bobby Ewing. I had my mind on my money and my money on a drying rack yesterday. I spent it before it could get dry. That's how I do it.



I'm moving a shit ton full of data around on my computer and the process appears to be way slower than I anticipated. By my solar powered calculator, the porn will be moved off the G: drive and onto the X: drive in... wait, the calculator just says "November." This is either the best or worst free solar calculator ever. Either way, I'm going to try to put a copy of Windows 7 and a copy of Mac OS on my computer this weekend. Get me an extra hard drive and a bottle of anything. I've never watched porn on a Mac before. My goal is to be the first person to ever watch heterosexual porn on a Macintosh.



Wow... that last line is a tweet if I ever wrote one. You see... it's offensive to Mac users, and gays and lesbians. Yes!



Anyways, I'm going back to bed for CNN then hitting the gym. If I quantified the time I've spent writing blogs, Tweets, Facebook, whatever... it would depress the living fuck out of me.



Peace,



gooch:out

P.S: Don't think I didn't notice the "chard" typo on the previous post. I guess it's how a 'tard spells "chart." I don't know. Fuck... I hate typos.

Ahhh... Yeah.

Bitches:

Crashed my home computer something fierce. I know what I did. It involves torrents, lack of adequate antivirus, disreputable torrent sites, lack of judgement, lack of sleep.

I got it working somewhat this morning. All clothes were in the dryer, so I had to make a pajama-ed trip to the car to get my computer-tech CDs.

"Gooch," you ask, "is there something gratifying about being able to fix your own computer?"

No. There is something gratifying about keeping your own computer from getting jacked the fuck up. In my case, as of last night: fail. This morning: fail.

Then, as I'm working on my machine, I notice that the cat is missing. She normally wakes me up at 6am, but as of 9am... no cat nor any sign of her. My whole fucking life was falling apart this morning. I had to resort to tweeting/Facebooking via my phone. To top off my morning: I went to look for my wallet when it dawned on me that it was in my shorts from last night. Which were in the dryer. Which would make sense because they'd already been through the washing machine.

Hell yeah. I've got cash laid out on a desk trying to dry. Damn right it was a good day.

Speaking of which: click HERE for an Ice Cube/It Was a Good Day inspired flow chard that I lifted from Geekologie. Awesome.

gooch:out

Goochonline: Now with 400% more caffeine

I took my usual pre workout caffeine pill but am now using that energy to focus on updating the various venues through which I purge my tasteless jokes and quips.



"Gooch," you ask, " and downloading pirated movies and porn?"



Yes. and those things, too.

I'm intrigued by the news of an Asian girl being found dead in a high security building on Yale's campus inside of a wall.

There are 72 cameras in the building where she was killed. No one has explained fully the "tucked in a wall" concept. How the fuck do you put a body into a wall? Did she stiff a sheet rock contractor on a payment? Was it a gang hit? "Annie Le sleeps with the insulation." The police are clearly sandbagging the media on information. I mean, the killer has to be on the video. The killer had to swipe a card to get in. Bloody clothes found above the ceiling and police won't say to whom they belong?

And when did mainstream media start giving such a shit about non-caucasian missing people? Good for you, CNN!

Interesting story about the picture at the beginning of this blog: I'm not listening to anything on the headphones and I'm not wearing pants.

Patrick Swayze died. He's the one who inspired me to become a bouncer in the early 2000s. Well, he and unexpected unemployment. Finally, it's his way or the highway... in Heaven.

I love ending items about dead people with the words "in Heaven." Here's a Facebook update that did make it to Twitter/Facebook:

Patrick Swayze and Jerry Orbach can argue about putting Baby in the corner... in Heaven.

I like using bold and italics. It brings a warmth, depth, and extra dimension to my writing. It serves as, say, a distraction from the hasty and thoughtless nature of my semi regular articles.

Peace, fuckers. I'm working on a list of people who have died in 2009. This has NOT been a good year to be an unhealthy celebrity.

goochout

I Wish EVERY Day Was Valentine's Day.

Every now and then I get a reminder as to why I'm not in a relationship. I don't think that 90% of the population is mature/capable of maintaining a healthy cohabitation/marriage.

This morning, I want to briefly explore a specific type of relationship: The other person.

Keep in mind that I'm not referencing any actual people, places or things (you know, nouns). I've been intrigued by this phenomenon for over 10 years. Here's a scenario:

A guy has a girlfriend for about six months. She works nights, so the guy goes out by himself a lot during the week. He meets a girl at a party and starts making out with her. This girl is hot and he laments that he never meets girls like this when he's single. When the making out starts reaching third base, he announces that he has a confession. He states that he has a girlfriend.

She responds: "Oh, that's a relief! I thought your were going to say your were married." Moral relativism aside, the guy's futile and feeble attempt to thwart the situation ends with a wicked fuck session.

He continues to see the "Other." Other knows that he's got a girlfriend, but it doesn't bother her. He maintains two relationships.

Here's the heart of the issue: The dual relationship functions (while the Girlfriend is oblivious, the Other is content with the arrangment).

One night, out with the Other, the Guy hugs a platonic friend for too long. A kiss on the cheek... something sets Other off. Other asks to be taken home immediately.

The drive home leaves Guy perplexed. "Why are you jealous of her? She's just a friend." Other is completely ending the relationship over a perceived overly affectionate friend. Guy plays the only card he's got: "I have a girlfriend! Why would my hugging a friend cause you to freak out when you know I live with another girl?" His argument fell on deaf ears and totally awesome tits and he never talked to her again.

So I pose this situation as a sort of character study and maybe it's a relationship that hasn't been discussed: The Other. The Other is the person with whom someone cheats on their girlfriend or spouse. Even in this situation, exclusivity is demanded (like most mainstream relationships). The Other can't necessarily have this, so peace is maintained with an exception. The cheater can maintain his or her public relationship, can maintain the Other relationship, but the Other will get pissed off if the cheater shows affection to someone other than the spouse/girlfriend or the Other. Does it make sense? No. But neither does love.

Here's a link to the "Love Column," the best thing I ever wrote:

http://www.igooch.net/columns/lovecolumn.htm

Here's a link to my first 9/11/01 post:

http://goochthecolumn.blogspot.com/2001/09/early-this-morning-about-845am-edt-two.html#links

goochout

Facebook is Fucking Stupid.

A venue with which you can broadcast your thoughts is a powerful thing. Historically, the means of broadcasting thoughts and/or ideas have been controlled by the Government and (lack of) technology.

HAM radios require a license, You have to have a television or radio station to broadcast (and the FCC to regulate the content). Billboards are subject to local regulations for placement and content.

Enter the internet. Assholes, such as myself, have the ability to write and say whatever they want. The ability to broadcast video/audio/text is just a trip to Fry's away. In the beginning of the WWW, it still took some doing to get a website up.

When I started this site ten years ago, I had to learn what FTP was (I hated computers at the time, so this was a really painful exercise), I had to learn hyperlinks and basic HTML, I had to buy a domain name ($72 a year at the time, versus $5 or so today). This barrier made it so that people really needed to want to get their message out (in my case, I just wanted to publish my awesome articles that got bounced by the college newspaper).

Now there's Facebook, MySpace, Twitter, Blogger (which I've resorted to for this site), and a myriad of other services dedicated to making it easier to get your message out. You don't have to sit and think of something important to say while sitting at your desk. You can update Facebook and Twitter (mercifully limited to 142 characters) from your phone. You've got 300 friends who are almost forced to read the self adoring minutia of your day when they log on.

I think a lot of normal people are passing themselves off as fucking stupid, fucking high, or fucking both. Perhaps I'm jaded at the whole relationship thing, but is there anything more nauseating than someone who has to crow bar something about their significant other into a Facebook update? It's almost viral in that people have started to exclaim that they "love life" and the fishing for sympathy when something bad happens.

The ability to self publish is one that should be taken seriously. One should think about everything they say and think "is this important for everyone to hear and /or will they give a shit?"

Thank you for your time. Now get me a fucking drink.

gooch:out

True Gooch Stories.

About 12 years ago I was dating a girl. She lived in a house with her Father, near my Father's house where I lived. We were at her place and we were making out on the couch.

I became self conscious about my breath, so I excused myself to use the restroom. My plan was to find some toothpaste and swish it around to make my mouth a more refreshing environment in which to tongue joust.

I go into the bathroom and hit the light switch. The light was apparently burned out. I couldn't see a thing, but it wasn't that big of a bathroom. I reached up to the medicine cabinet and with what little light I had, I found what felt like a tube of toothpaste. I took off the cap and squeezed some paste onto my finger. I then rubbed the compound onto my tongue and roof of my mouth.

It tasted awful, but these were hippie type people. I figured that it was some of that "Tom's of Maine" shit. Then I noticed that the stuff wasn't spitting out and was rather sticking to the surfaces of my mouth. I couldn't spit it out and had resorted to using my fingers to scrape the crap off of the roof of my mouth and tongue.

Now I'm worried that I'm taking too long in the bathroom and the girl is getting turned off by the thought of me taking a major shit in her bathroom. I'm having a fucking crisis, however, in that I've coated my mouth with denture cement and not the minty freshness of Crest or Colgate.

Once the panic subsided, I figured that the girl would have a sense of humor about the situation and sounding like, well, someone whose mouth was coated with a rapidly hardening adhesive, I explained what happened during my ten minute ordeal in the restroom. It was all good, we got a chuckle out of the story, but it took a long time for that shit to come out.

She's Just Not That in to Gooch

In a douchey endeavor and at the suggestion of a good friend, I joined Match.com. I received my first rejection notice. Apparently, there's a "Not Interested" button people can click. I've already emailed Match, asking that they provide (for an extra charge, of course) a "Fuck you, you fucking lesbian" button.

Just kidding, I'm not as jaded or angry as some might think. Sure, those of you lucky enough to regularly encounter me in real life might think I'm a bitter prick, but I'm just going through an adjustment period.

Yeah, that's it. Meanwhile, don't forget to check the twitter posts to the right of this blog. I've been railing on the Kennedy theme for a bit. Perhaps taking the joke a little too far for a little too long. Fuck it, it's funny to me.

Coasting through a good weekend. I stayed around the house, hung out with friends. I napped a lot. I ate too much and paid the overindulgence pennance by working out.

I started a script for a new podcast; should be good.

Out.

District Gooch.

Didn't get the beating I think I deserved last night. I did drink and go to multiple clubs on the east si-eed. I woke up this morning and went on a Taco Bell bender, for which I now feel guilty (in a health/diet sense).

Found the obit for one of my former customers. He owned the gym(s) I used to frequent. I always liked visiting with and working for him.

Obituary for Myron Nelson.

I've taken another caffeine pill which forces me to work out. If I don't, my heart will explode and I will fucking die. Some people work out to stay healthy... I just want to avoid a seizure and death.

It's the way of my people.

I'm out.

G.

Murder on the Gooch Express

I'm in a fucking mood. I think I've been kind of a dick today. I've taken care of responsibilities, helped people out (in three distinct cases today). Otherwise, I've insulted and hurt the feelings of other people. Sometimes I think they deserved it. Sometimes I don't. I haven't really thought about it as it would kill my self contented buzz that's carried me through the day.

I will drink tonight. I will probably say something to get me punched. It won't be the first time, nor the last. I feel like running through town like a nineties rap video. You know what I'm talking about?

Heh, me neither.

Caffeine's kicking the fuck in. My extremeties are starting to hurt and my vision's getting blurry. Must lift or jog or something.

gooch:out

Citizen Gooch

Thought this was a funny clip. I like the YouTube. I don't think I've given it as much time as I should. Which means I've treated it like this website. A lot of bloggers take the summer off. Maybe I should have and then written a "What I Did This Summer" summary. I've done a lot this summer; I'm actually trying to say no to events/projects/activities. In an effort to stay somewhat interesting, I still say yes to things.

The JGFC is doing another pub crawl this month. I like pub crawls; I don't do them enough. This one should be the best ever.

I need to go to Europe. I always meet chicks that ask me where I've traveled and I always feel a sense of inadequacy when they've backpacked through France and I've merely drank my way through Maui.

"John, have you ever been to a third world country?"

"Um... Florida?"

It's a weird thing, dating. There's no anonymity anymore. If you meet someone, you can learn everything about them pretty quickly. Google, Facebook, MySpace, personal blogs, uploaded sex videos by angry ex boyfriends... everything about everyone is available via the interweb. It's our own fault. It's like the hangover at the end of a self exploitation party.

I'm self employed. My livelihood depends on people trusting me to work on their computers. Should I really have this website for current and potential customers to see what a degenerate I am? Should clients see me typing obscenities like shit, fuck, cock, Rush Limbaugh, and bukkake? Should clients read my having to explain what bukkake is? (or Rush Limbaugh).

Truth be told, we seem to be a culture that lets people get away with stuff. Ted Kennedy fucking drowned a chick and waited 10 hours (you know, for the scotch to work its way out of his fat ass) to report it to authorities. Michael Jackson molested kids. Hell... I'm watching porn on one monitor while I type this on another. The truth is, if you're good at your occupation, it doesn't seem to matter how you conduct yourself in your personal life.

Portland Mayor Sam Adams would be jerking himself off to that last paragraph. Either to that last paragraph or a picture of Macaulay Culkin age 12. This doesn't apply to you, Sam. You drunk driving slut. Oh yeah... I'm more pissed at Adams for that drunk driving deal (and the cops for not pursuing it) then his ass-pounding of a 17 year old.

How the fuck do you illegally pass on the right, drive your car into another (parked) car pushing it through a parking lot while accelerating the entire time, emerge from your car with your pants undone, have beer on your breath, and don't even get a parking ticket? I swear to fucking christ if I cross over the center line at 2am, there's a fucking SWAT team barreling down on me.

I know it's old news, but I'm still pissed about it. Oops... insert the word "alleged" above, wherever you see fit. Or don't.

Gooch:Out

Facebook Update That Didn't Make It.

On September 11th, 2009, I'm ordering drinks in tall identical glasses two at a time; drinking one really fast and then the other equally as fast. Then some hippies are gonna say that I didn't drink them, but the US government did. They're going to say that my mouth alone couldn't have caused those drinks to fall so fast; there had to be an accelerant of some sort.

Gooch: The Podcast #8

Gooch talks about his 9 month hiatus from the podcast, mainstream vs. strip club DJing, DJ Hero video game, and soccer.

Greatest Misses: Part MCXXVI

I've had a significant lack of creativity lately. Trying to be funny on command has been a failure as of late. Plus, trying to make daily posts to Facebook without sounding like a self adoring/self loathing puke like everyone else on FB has jerked my giant penis of creativity to exhausted flaccidity.

Yeah, I just wrote that.

You see, Facebook is a lot of people's first foray into publishing themselves into the masses. People think that their daily minutia is interesting to the public in general. This can be attributed directly to the wholesale issuance of reality shows to... ah... fuck it. Don't get me started on that topic again.

So here's a blast from the past. Reno last year... drunken phone call from the hotel room after a night out. I don't think I've listened to this personally:

Kate Gosselin is a Fucking Puke.

I tried to watch a Kate Gosselin interview on the Today Show a couple days ago. The phony tears, manufactured smile, scripted answers (you can tell they're scripted when they don't actually answer the question asked). I had to change the channel.

Reality TV used to be cool when it reflected, you know, reality. Even if it was people reacting to an artificial environment, at least there was some genuine glimpse into human nature.

Now it's all bullshit. Reality TV is like a cancer spreading throughout modern television. The Learning Channel is now "TLC," MTV no longer refers to itself as "Music Television," other cable channels are hopping on the reality show bandwagon with the most obscure couples and their antics. Style Network has "Giuliana and Bill?" Giuliana DePandi, an anchor on E! used to refer to herself simply as "Giuliana." Here's another fucked up part about entertainment: EVERYONE THINKS THEY'RE A CELEBRITY. Just because you're on TV does NOT mean you're meant to be famous and have a reality show.

It's offensive to me. It's offensive to me in the same way that a stripper can be offensive to me. I no longer can sit at the rack. Not because I have an aversion to seeing vag up close. No... because in my stupid neurotic head I don't want a stripper to think that I think that she wants to fuck me. Reality TV is presented to the audience as reality when it is more manufactured and scripted than some genuine sitcoms that rely on spontaneity and ad libbing (Curb Your Enthusiasm) as a comedic device.

Self manufactured celebrity creeps into all aspects of life. I was mortified one day. I was sitting in the Portland State University (my alma mater) commons waiting for a line at the ATM to die down. It was Halloween time and the back page of the Vanguard (the school newspaper) had full size pictures of the faces of the two editors. The eyes and mouths were dotted with instructions to cut them out of the paper (as well as the outline of their heads) and ultimately you'd have a Halloween mask of their faces. Because the students at PSU give enough of a shit about the editors at the school paper.

You see, the two editors of the Vanguard are somewhat public figures. You see, because their names are in a paper read by (ahem) a couple thousand people, they deem themselves as personalities. Characters, if you will, that the general public thinks about when they're eating at Smith Center and they can't find a copy of ANY OTHER NEWSPAPER and the Vanguard is all that's available.

This was a few years ago, but my point is that we're in a culture that has spawned a generation of "look at me" motherfuckers. Jon and Kate had a bunch of kids and got a reality show... "Octomom" Nadya Suleman had kids specifically to get a reality show (Fox, of course took the bait and is doing a documentary of some sort). Giulana DePandi (the E! News anchor) reads the news and starfucked her way into a reality show. Local network news pimps their weathermen as some sort of personality that should make me want to tune in. I hate it. Whenever someone on local or national news tries to do something cute in an effort to draw me in... I can't grab for the remote fast enough. Please: Read the news, predict the weather, and edit the fucking newspaper. You're not celebrities. You do not have jobs that were meant to be "celebrated."

[sort of a raw, unedited post. I didn't feel like going through it again... sort of a purge through the keyboard and onto your monitor. And face. I'll get you a towel.]

Valkyrie: The Plot to Kill Gooch

"Maybe you're gay?"

My friend Nikki is analyzing me and has determined that I'm gay. I won't go into the evidence presented, but whatever.

How's that for a witty comeback? "Whatever."

That's what you tune in here for. Craftsman style writing.

I've procrastinated enough... back to work. Or should I say "to" work. I suck.

peace.

gooch:out

G.I. Joe: The Rise of Gooch

On day TWO of no exercise. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem. For me, it could be the beginning of a slippery slope back into the world of "No Gym." This is a bad place for me. I failed in my efforts to keep a soccer team at the field where I've played for the last 2.5 years. Fortunately, another team playing at another field needed to fill their fat guy quota, so I'm in.

I love the fat guy quota. You know, the mandate that every group has one big/fat guy? Entourage: Turtle. South Park: Cartman. A-Team: B.A. Beverly Hills 90210: Muntz (pathetic that I knew that off the top of my head). Sex and the City: Sarah Jessica Parker. Oh, wait... she's not as big as a horse... she just looks like a horse. My bad.

I've got an after-work date today. I'm intrigued at the notion of spending time with a girl that could possibly be not batshit crazy, has a career that doesn't involve changing in dollar bills, and can actually have a conversation that doesn't begin with "I got so fucked up last night."

Oh, I'm so fucking jaded.

Alright... off to slang some tech support.

Peace.

gooch:out

Facebook Update that Didn't Make it:

I have the worst time remembering peoples' names. It's not fair that I've been called "Gooch" since the seventh grade and everyone seems to remember that. The only time I'm ever referred to as "John" is after sex. And that's only when the undercover cop calls me "a john."

The Post that Almost Didn't Happen

I'm fucking telling you... every time I sat down to feed you the acerbic wit that you crave, I was stopped. Writus interruptus. Cockblocked from fertilizing your egg of boredom with my seed of excitement.

Batteries... emergencies... computer issues, parking patrol lingering around my car... Every time I sat down to type shit, shit happened.

I think you get the point.

"Gooch," you ask, "what have you been up to?"

Glad you asked. This entire summer has been chock full of me doing shit. For example, I've performed two weddings, DJed a high school reunion in Astoria (my first mainstream gig), visited an archaeological dig in southern Oregon, I'm DJing at Montego's this Saturday at 8pm, I'm going to my ex girlfriend's baby shower this Sunday. Combine that with the fact that all of my friends have birthdays occurring during the summer months and you can see why I'm a bit frazzled. I've been so busy that I haven't even had time to watch porn. I'm literally typing this on one screen while Carmella Bing gets railed on by some dude on the other screen.

I'm looking forward to a kinder, mellower rest of the summer. A trip to Reno, some more barbecues once it becomes bearable to go outside.

It's Friday night and I think I'm going to drink wine and just fall asleep. With my cat. Add a 'Sex and the City' marathon and I could be a fat chick.

I'm going downstairs, where it's only 90 degrees. Oh yeah, Portland's in a heat wave situation.

Peace.

Out.

And you don't stop...

What's up, G?

Sorry for my absentness... cruising along the streets of east county has made me weary. I stopped by Taco Bell last night. The evidence is in front of my computer. Empty paper plates, usually reserved for dinner guests, are strewn in front of the keyboard. It's 7:14am and I capped off last night's soccer game with the obligatory post game beers at a pub near the field. Then, I caught up with Marty for more beer. Domestic beer. The kind that makes your tongue beg for water and general mercy at 6am.

My DJ rig is almost set up in my home office. It's a good thing, as my gig starts in 36 hours. I think I have this thing figured out. For the most part. It's really just another adventure for me to seek out. Another story I'll be able to tell.

I'm going back to bed. Peace.

gooch.

10 Days... 10 Ways.

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It's been 10 days since my last post.

Between the Twittering and Facebooking, it's hard not to let a couple of outlets slip through the cracks. I've got this blog and a Podcast that I've neglected.

Also: Match.com. If a girl emails me I must respond immediately, right? I'll look uninterested or like an ass. I've only met two girls off of Match, one of whom I remotely fixed a computer problem only to have her get pissed when I postponed our first date. First dates, mind you, are me buying dinner for a girl I'm only moderately interested in and then trying to figure out a way to get away/cut the night short so that I can hang out with my friends.

Cockblocking platonic female friends might not be such a bad idea after all.

Purchases an expensive-ish piece of DJing equipment. It works well (after I downloaded the white papers and required software to update the firmware, you know... two hours of what I do for a living just to get it to work). It works well, but do I really want to be a DJ? Do I need another hobby? It'll look nice next to the electronic drum pad that I seldom play anymore after eight years of ownership. How's my bicycles doing sitting in storage? Yeah, Gooch: don't ride the bicycles... take on a hobby in which you stand in place.

Fuck: I ate too much sushi today. Caffeine from the diet pepsi is the only thing keeping me from a deep white rice food coma. That and the boredom of getting a cell phone to synch with a server. A mundane task which, when it doesn't go right, is frustrating as fuck. That's what I've encountered a lot of this week: normal IT tasks that for some reason just clusterfuck themselves from a 10 minute task to a two hour orfuckingdeal.

Might have to get out of town this weekend. We'll see.

Shalom, fuckers.

out.