It's my birthday.

SARS virus identity confirmed

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The coronavirus is, of course, spread through the unsafe practice of not serving a bottle of Corona with a lime.

GOOCH AND MISS WHITE TRASH 2001

Wow, I just found this picture buried in the day planner I used religiously while writing for Jam Magazine. Good times. Good times. This was back when I had a girlfriend. You can see a little bit of apprehension on my face at the prospect of having a picture of me with a girl's tongue in my ear in circulation. If I recall correctly, I nixed this picture from being on the cover of Jam, out of respect for the girlfriend. Now, if I go a weekend without someone taking a picture of me with some girl's tongue in my ear, I'm annoyed. In the photo, of course, I'm wearing a GoochOnline Rx T-shirt, available in the merchandise section of this site (hit MERCH in the menu above).

Mmmmhmmm...

I'm turning 29 this Saturday. I guess I'm supposed to take stock, inventory in my life. But I won't. I won't, because responsibility isn't on my agenda. What is on my agenda? Sit-coms tonight. Sit-coms followed by a sugar induced coma. The little bastards next door are selling fund-raising candy. And I'm buying it, baby. Miss White Trash 2001 is giving me my birthday haircut tomorrow. I'm doing my birthday drinking all week. I've got to line up a birthday lapdance soon. Absolutely nothing worth mentioning here, except that sometimes people check in to this site strictly for something to read. Oh, if you drive by Powell's Books in Portland, look at the name on the marquee: Diana Abu-Jaber is doing a book signing. Ms. Abu-Jaber gave me a c+ in a creative writing class because I wouldn't revise the first draft of my story. If I write something, there it is. I don't second guess myself (unless I was drunk when I wrote it, not an uncommon phenomenon during the Jam Magazine days) when I write something. There's no final draft and director's cut... this is it, baby. So, she's a successful published author, but she'll likely be best known for giving me an average grade in writing.

Yo.

I've got the mother of all sore throats. Holy... fucking shit. I've popped so much Ibuprofen that I actually passed some of my stomach lining this morning. Went to the Ash Street last night. Fuck, I was sober the entire time. Sober, sweaty from the Advil, drinking a water, and watching some bands. I slept in so hard today. They should videotape my sleeping in this morning and use the footage for an instructional video on unemployment. I bought a new pair of Adidas yesterday. I'm working the door at Skyland again tonight. Watched GOthis morning. "Go" is also the Japanese word for "five." Five is also the number of fucking Advil I took this morning to keep the sore throat in check. I'm about to go take another nap.

I contacted the crew from COPS to "digitize" my face in the picture below (4/8/03). It's one of the rare times I've altered a previous log, but God, that was awful. Thanks to the Tylenol, my fever is going down like your sister. Or your gay brother. Today, I'm putting the final touches on a bachelor party I helped coordinate. The full effect of the bachelor party may be lost on me. While I eagerly anticipate the event, I'm sort of thinking that what you people call a bachelor party: Drinking too much, watching porn, eating too much, looking at strippers, not having to work the next day, puking the next day, etc... is what I often call a typical Tuesday night.

Oh, look, cold pizza for breakfast. Again!

Gooch: lacking adult supervision since November 2002.

Wow, I look like hell. Many props to Dominos Pizza for delivering my life supporting food to me tonight.

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