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.