Sing it: And there'll be bunnies hopping and Christ is rising there too...

The story of Easter, as I recall it is that Jesus gets tortured and killed, put into a tomb, and after a few days wakes up and moves the boulder sealing off the tomb. Is the story of Easter not  the greatest setup for a rampage film ever?

I mean, a thirty three year old with a kickass beard emerges from a tomb. He looks at his hands and feet to see unhealed nail holes are still present. He pauses, looks up and screams "dude, what the fuck was that!?"Cut to underground bunker filled with fully automatic assault rifles, grenades. Jesus throws an AK-47 and a rocket launcher over each shoulder and an ammo belt and a rosary around his neck. Don we now our death apparel. All he'd need is an ironically Hasidic Jewish sidekick and let he who casts the first stone get his motherfucking cap peeled.


goochout.

Kool Thing.

I solved a couple troubling/complicated issues yesterday. As an IT consultant/contractor this is, of course, what I do and what I'm paid for. However, problems are not always easy to solve and sometimes things don't always go as planned. After an hour of zero progress, I've identified my stages of failure as I perceive them:

• There's got to be a way to solve this.
• I can't believe I'm having this much trouble solving this.
• They know they're paying me by the hour, right?
• Google it.
• Call an associate (phone a friend).
• Bring my netbook in and set it up, if only to give the illusion that I'm escalating my efforts and not that I still have no fucking clue.
• Google it again; change some words around or something.
• Go out to the car, turn up the music, and yell "fuck" loudly. Unless I'm working at a church.
• Tell customer that I have to get more tools out of my truck. Disappear inexplicably.
• If the customer isn't nearby, quietly ease out of the nearest fire escape.

As I write this I'm sitting in the home office eating some home made pizza for breakfast and packing the rest for lunch. Sonic Youth (pictured above, for those of you that aren't as wildly hip as I am) is on the iTunes. I have an office anniversary party this afternoon. Short day, it would seem. Also, someone I knew in high school apparently died last night in a car accident. I didn't know her that well, although we were Facebook friends. I can't stand how people take other people's deaths and make it into a "look at me and how I'm mourning" opportunity.

People are such attention whores.

She was driving her truck and reached for something in the glove box, lost control of the vehicle, and rolled it. Her three children were wearing their seatbelts and survived. The woman, Kim Yost, was not wearing her seatbelt, was thrown from the vehicle and killed.

Wear your seatbelt.

I'd say my life has been saved at least twice by my wearing my seatbelt. I've never had an airbag deploy on me. Strictly crumple zones and nylon belts have stood between me and permanent disfiguration. Or permanent death. I've been in a temporary death for about eight years.

It's sad regardless of personal safety hindsight. Check out Kim Yost's last Facebook post (from just six days ago):

Just wanna state for the record, my oldest Aryal moved back in with me last sunday!!! Relized daddy's a D#$% the hard way. Turned him in for child abuse 2 sundays ago on the 2 youngest, then last sunday on my oldest! I have poggressively gotten angrier over the last 6 months, found out it was cause my "flock" was split!

Apparently she had finally gotten custody of all three of her children (who were in the truck at the time of the accident). Other posts from other people suggest that she was in school and her life was looking up for a change.

Wear your seatbelt.

Shit, it's 9am. I have to get to work.
goochout.

'Tis the Season

I'm currently booked for one wedding-DJ gig and one wedding-officiating gig. Rehearsal dinners and comped booze. DJ Priapism and the Honorable Reverend John Gregory Gallucci: Coming to a wedding near you.

Out.

Damn right it was a good day. Birthday 2011

The shallow end of the pool... indeed.

Irasshaimase, bitches:

I got the new Mortal Kombat game for PS3, a set of four Atari themed pint glasses, drink coasters made from recycled mother boards, a hanging flower pot, dinner, dessert, and the bulk of my new washer/dryer paid for. I'm a spoiled little shit whose gift wish list mirrors that of any other 37 year old. You know, one that's mildly retarded.

I took the day off work and after tackling some obligatory job requests, a friend and I went to Powell's Books, Dinner at Nostrana (Italian spot in inner south east), dessert at Rimsky Korsakoffee, and then slept my diabetes inducing food consumption off until late this morning. Was a good day and now I'm sling shat back into the mix. Lots of work back at the lab. In fact, no time for this shit, have to run.

Bananas.

goochout.

Blitzkrieg Gooch

It's my birthday. I am 37. I swear to god that my life has not changed much since I was 25. I mean, my house looks like someone in their mid 20s lives here. Whatever. I'm sure married 30 year olds are envious.

From Facebook:

I went on a jog this morning with my new Nike+ gear. I would post the stats on Facebook but my running makes Nazi death marches look like Laurelhurst strolls. Thanks everyone for the birthday wishes. Taking the day off. Salaam.

I'm going to spend a day doing pretty much everything I want to do. Two Rockstars. Work out. Tan. Starbucks Pho', Ground Kontrol. Whatever.

That's right... video games.

As one of the great leaders of the African American Community once said:

"Damn right it was a good day." - Ice Cube.

Out.

Goochpourri

Tweet that made it (sort of):

#Timbers Fact: Jeld Wen Field was supposed to be called John Gallucci Field. I just hadn't heard of Kickstarter yet.

The original idea was to be:

#Timbers Fact: Jeld Wen Field was supposed to be called John Gallucci's Magnificent Penis. I just hadn't heard of Kickstarter yet.

Neither version is that funny, but I realize the dilemma I'm actually in: My Facebook used to be populated with friends that I couldn't give a shit about offending. Now, not only is everyone on Facebook, but they're all my friends. Too many worlds colliding. This blog is my last refuge of unadulterated brain dumping.

My Birthday dinner is this Saturday, followed by drinks I'm sure. I've comandeered a Designated Driver. Because that's how I roll. In the back seat trying to puke out the window that doesn't roll down all the way. Stupid windows. They need an emergency vomit mode. My binges and subsequent need to vomit must not be hindered by child safety measures.

Thank you, and God bless.

goochout.

Word? Word.

I'm eagerly anticipating the removal of the old and the installation of the new. Instead of spending a single dime to repair the used-yet-expensive washer/dryer combo set I purchased two years ago, I'm going ahead and replacing it with a new front loader set. Domesticity must have set in, because I only looking forward to one thing, and that is doing laundry. I thought my mattress was somehow becoming firmer, but it was just my unwashed sheets after nearly two months of not being washed.

I might even have a day off today. I mean, if no one calls, I will stay here and clean the house.AND FUCK!

I had the wrong outlet for my new dryer. "The salesman should have told you, man..." the delivery guy explained.  I expressed my thoughts on the situation:

"Well, fuck him. I waited three days for this shit and I could have done this before you guys got here and now fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck."

So with all of my home electrical prowess (I fucking shocked the living fuck out of myself replacing a 110v outlet, this 220v/50amp situation was expected to kill me) I replaced my outlet and called for the delivery guys to bring my olfactory salvation back to my crib. Por Favor.

Anyways. Back to the lab.

goochout