Saturday, October 09, 2010

The Reno Column: Recycled


Since I'm in Reno, I thought I'd write something. Since I'm down here with my Father and not drinking, my best chance at a decent story is if I hit a jackpot. Or a hooker. Otherwise, here's an 11 year old piece of writing. Damn, I'm getting old.

The Reno Column (1999)

gooch:out

Tuesday, October 05, 2010

I Like the White Girls that the Black Guys Like.

DHCP Clients:
 
Not drinking for two months has made me A: Very self conscious about my weight and B: alarmed at the diminuative size of my arms. These are odd things to focus on, especially for a super hero like myself. However, this is what my non-chemical soaked brain has led me to worry about. Alcohol told me that I was "big boned" and that my arms were big. Alcohol lied. Alcohol always lies. I should consider myself lucky: Alcohol has never told me that some dude was actually a chick.
 
The confidence... God, do I miss the self confidence. And the Charisma. I seem to command more of an audience when I'm drunk. When I'm sober, I've only a few seconds of getting a thought out before my friends start talking to each other about something else. This is why I'm good at Twitter: I've been forced to reduce my communications down to 140 characters in real life for most of my adult life.
 
But back to the physical deficiencies. These issues should be solved eventually as the lack of hangovers has allowed me to not miss so many workouts at the gym. I've also joined a MMA training program. It's the stuff that you see in UFC fights, but I don't kick or hit actual people, just the pads that people are holding. So if I'm walking down a dark alley and an Everlast punching bag tries to take my wallet; I'm pretty sure I'm safe from the forces of foam padded evil.
 
Peace.
 
goochout.