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.

I've got a golden ticket...

Michael Jackson's memorial today. He was a national treasure, an icon, and a goddamned pedophile.

I know I keep saying it, but it's so strange that it's been so overlooked by the media; the ones that profited most from Michael Jackson's existence. From his hair catching on fire in the 80s to the molestation trial in 2005, any agency with a news department made a lot of money off of the antics of MJ.

I'm torn... despite my past blogs (see THESE) I do see Jackson as an amazing talent. His music wasn't really my taste, but I appreciate well performed music of any genre, really. Even country music. There aren't any child molestors in country music, because I'm sure that a lot of country singers were molested themselves as children. The Back Woods are a real motherfucker.

I see Michael Jackson as a monster. Albeit, a monster that could fucking dance. I have childhood memories of sitting in the library of one of the grade schools that I went to, all of us gathered around a 20" television watching a Betamax recording of the Motown anniversary where MJ debuted the moonwalk. Jesus... Michael Jackson could defy the laws of gravity!

...and later the laws of the State of California. Michael Jackson will leave behind a legacy of great entertainment and furthering the public notion that celebrity justice is very different than normal people justice. If Jesus Juice was served in an Airstream trailer as opposed to the Neverland Ranch, you'd have had twelve counts of "guilty."

But today, as some 9000 lucky fans get to the Staples center to attend the MJ memorial, I think it's okay to simply remember Jackson as an entertainer. I'm not saying that writing Thriller should excuse any of the shit he did behind closed doors (read: molesting kids). I'm saying that as a society, we need pop stars.

We need people who are stars based on real goddamned talent. What do we have now for entertainment? Pirated CDs and a bunch of reality shows? This is bullshit. This country is starved for entertainment. Real entertainment. We went from the moonwalk in 1983 to "Dancing with the Stars" today. We used to watch real talent and not somehow settle for normal people trying to dance or sing. There's a place for variety and talent shows, just not as many as there are in existence today.

Michael Jackson should have lived his life locked in a dance studio, taken out to a yard for an hour a day, and only let out when a performance needed to happen:

"We need a performance of Man in the Mirror at the VMAs"

"Okay, I'll ready the Con-Air plane and the Hannibal Lector face mask hand truck"

That was the answer, lock MJ up and wheel/armored plane him to where he needs to be. Ten guys with tranquilizer guns on either side of the stage, should MJ try to escape or jump into the seats to get a few dry humps on a middle schooler. MJ was a powerful force, we just didn't know how to contain him.

I'm looking at the Man in the Mirror. He needs a shave and to get rid of the bags under his eyes.

Jam on... indeed.

Gooch:Out

I, Degenerate.

I have no idea. Bitter End Pub, 2009.

Do you remember "ghost riding" your bicycle? It was when you would pedal enough to get some speed and then jump off the back. The payoff was watching your bike coast, unmanned, for a hundred feet or so.

I think that's pretty analogous of me when I'm drinking. It's sorta fun, but I have no idea what's going to happen, it's like nothing but momentum is governing my behavior. I'm more likeable when I'm super wasted, but I'd like to remember those moments that chicks like me and people think I'm funny/cool. I should have a camera crew. Also, I'm due for another beating. It's been a while.

That said, I've slacked a little bit this week at every aspect of my life. Except for the cat. The cat is fine. She does some weird shit like laying perfectly still in a random place on the floor. She looks dead, but I wake her up (pissing her off in the process) to find she's just sleeping. It's weird, though.

My computer, now dubbed the Millenium Falcon for it's ability to kick ass when it actually starts up, is getting jankier. It was used when I got it. I just had to fuck around with it to accept my 1TB drive, the new residence for my extensive porn and music collections.

Fuck, I'm hungry. It just hit me as I type this. Now you're asking yourself, is this an actual physiological phenomenon or is the writer (like the reader) realizing that this post is going nowhere?

Who cares? If I stop now, we both win.

gooch:out