As I grow older, wiser, and fucking older, I've started learning life lessons that I feel I can pass down to the younger readers of this site. Recent news articles and personal experience has dictated that it's really a good idea to:

Never allow yourself to be photograhed or filmed while naked or having sex.

It will always come back to haunt you.

Ask Paris Hilton and Jessica Lynch

Oh, Friday night my friends and I got a limo to celebrate my friend Ryan's birthday. Ryan is a bartender at Pallas Club in Portland.

In other news, this Paris Hilton sex movie scandal thing is intriguing the hell out of me. What do you want to bet that she was fucking Shannen Doherty's husband in a room at the Ramada? Four Seasons? Funny.

First off: I wouldn't bang either one of the Hilton sisters. If I wanted to, I'd just put a blonde wig on a twelve-year-old boy and, well. I can't get into the waif thing. Never could. The Hilton parents are mad that the video is being released and vow to "vigorously" prosecute the "criminal" responsible for the footage shot three years ago. I'm desperately trying to get a copy of this video off KaZaa, but KaZaa has sucked lately.

November 2003 marks year four of the existence of this website. From it's humble beginnings as a blog (before the term "blog" existed) on some free web space (the original URL was http://www.teleport.com/~gooch) to having it's own domain name: gooch-1.com, to it's current status as a 117MB website residing on the goochonline.net server at URL http://www.goochonline.com, it's been a journey that has spanned three residences, two girlfriends, graduation from college, a home purchase, a hiring and a layoff, the rise and fall of Jam Magazine, appearances on cable access, 9-11, internet dating... and this run-on sentence (in no particular order). I've almost killed the site more than once. I think that would be mistake. It's been an anchor, a focal point for me. I've always felt a low pressure necessity to keep it running if only to give myself a journal with which to look back and reflect. I've taken the time to write thoughtful columns and blogs, and sometimes I write something and don't even bother with the spell check. As far as commitments go, however, this is as good as it gets with me.

Every now and then I put up a link to some "blogs" from the genesis of this site - before I used the blogger service. HERE IT IS.

With my personal and professional lives seemingly in a continuous state of change, this site has been one of the few reliable constants.

BLOG UPDATE: Here's the picture I referred to in the November 7 blog:

I'd typed a fat blog recently and blogger crapped out and lost it. Bouts of genius should be harnessed and blogged, not wasted by a login glitch. I'm getting really frustrated with KaZaa in that 95% of my requested downloads result in a "more sources needed" error message. Meanwhile, people are uploading files from me and I'm seeing people requesting files that I didn't know I had. I've got a porn collection that would make Ron Jeremy blush and hard drive manufacturers feel more secure. Did anyone see the picture of Mike Tyson holding the "Free Kobe" signs at a Laker game? I'm sure Kobe's legal team was ecstatic about that image circulating the press. That's like Christian Longo cheering for Scott Peterson. Did Tyson think that (being a convicted rapist himself) he would have some power of swaying public opinion in Kobe Bryant's favor? It's the most disturbing picture I've seen this year (Tyson holding the 'Free Kobe' signs) and I can't find a copy of it on Google anywhere. God, I'd love to post that picture. Later, yo.

I just heard that my last post looks like a rip-off of a specific Seinfeld episode. It's not one that I've seen, but George tries to combine eating and sex at some point during the show. Normally, I'd delete the post, but it's an honest coincidence.

I love sex. I also love prime rib. In the same fashion that a chick has to smoke after sex, I truly enjoy post-sex prime rib. I guess it's not really post sex, rather it's post sex and post-chick leaving my house/me leaving her house. Either way, as soon as the obligatory hugs, kisses, good-byes, and/or payment is taken care of, I can't wait to get to the Skyland and order up some prime rib.

It's probably a fat-kid thing to say, but I'd venture that it's possible that sheer bliss could be felt by me if I could convince a girl to let me eat prime rib while I'm having sex with her. I can't imagine a relationship where you're so comfortable that you'd feel free to try to introduce red meat into the bedroom. You could ask, even if only to make any future requests seem normal by comparison.

Honey, would you mind if I set these prime rib pieces on your back and eat them while we make love?

Are you out of your fucking mind? Get the fuck away from me!

Okay, well then how about some anal?

Sure, whatever, just get that hot plate out of here.

I had sex this morning, then I had prime rib, now I want to have sex again. It's a vicious cycle. I'm going to have a heart attack by noon tomorrow.

Meg: click on the "Columns" section on the menu above for more suggested reading.

I wore a shirt, tie, backpack, and bicycle helmet as a costume last night [mormon].

Happy birthday John Barr.

Gooch: Out.

I was illin' in need of penicillin but now I'm chillin' like a villain with a bouncer gig as a fill in but last night I was drink spillin' today I'm sharp like a porcupine quill an' filled up on Hydroxycut so now I'm able and willin' did a lot of work so now I'm billin'...

Shake it like a Polaroid picture: I dig the new Outkast track "Hey Ya." The first time I heard it I knew it'd be some funky hit. I've had it on the mp3 player for a while now. Can't get sick of it.

Stop the planet... I want off: Macho Man Randy Savage, aging wrestler, has released a CD titled "Be a Man." OH YEAH, indeed. Machoman.com

Embrace the wife beater: I've gotten back into the T-shirt wearing world with a purchase of the wife-beater styled, or "Athletic cut" T-shirt. Combined with the bad-ass shirts on which I maxed out my Meier and Frank card and my gold chain, I look like a bloated Ricky Martin.

OUR FOUNDER, CIRCA 2003

I think the clock is slowwwwww.... After enough Jack Daniels to sedate, well, me, I sang Van Halen's "Hot for Teacher" at a Karaoke bar last night. The second I finished, you could hear crickets chirping following by some pity applause. Fuck all 'yall: I kicked ass. I know when I suck at karaoke and I can honestly say I knocked it out... made the song my own... oh fuck it.