Dial 'M' for Moblog. Or Meh.

Another brain purge while on the way to breakfast this morning. It's typical stand-up fodder, really. Not sure what brought it on. I explain in the post that shit pops in my head and won't go away until I, you know publish it. Enjoy:

Eenie Meenie Miney... whatever.

From a girl's blog:

"my attempts at dating non-rednecks haven't gone that well. One seemed to be slightly manic-depressive and the other was a worthless alcoholic that couldn't handle responsibility."

I'm one of the people she's writing about... but which one?

gooch:out

Word to the wise. And to your mother.

Have I mentioned that the one thing I hate most about being a computer tech (aside from pursuing past due accounts and having to perpetually be a fucking nerd) is telling people that their pictures, documents, anything precious, is GONE due to a hard drive failure. People need to realize that hard drives are like goldfish and Kennedies: They die.

Please remember to put anything important to you on two separate types of media, whether it be a hard drive and a thumb drive, hard drive and a burned CD/DVD... always pretend as if your hard drive is going to die that evening.

I have to tell someone that their stuff is lost today and I dread the conversation. I wish I could be like a doctor on TV: Put my hand on someone's shoulder, look them in the eye, and tell them "I'm sorry, I did all I could." Then walk away.

But no... it'll be somehow my fault. I may take some shit; and I'm really not in a shit taking mood. I'm still high as a goddamned kite from an energy drink I did this morning. I think it's like cocaine but without the bad conversation at 4am. I'm just amped. I should jog home.

"Gooch" you ask: "Because you're so amped up?"

No, because I'm fat. It was a non-sequitur. Keep up.

I gotta go. Peace, fuckers.

goochout.

Lunch Time

Asteroids record still unbeaten

My favorite part of the story:

Bill Carlton, of Oregon, attempted to beat the record in 2004, but he failed miserably when the arcade cabinet malfunctioned after 27 hours of solid gameplay. His score reached over 15 million points.

I love classic arcade games and their history. Found this interesting. Can you imagine playing a game for 81 hours straight? I mean, without the aid of cocaine? I'm just saying...

My friend Shane sent this Craigslist posting for a personal assistant job. Good stuff:

http://portland.craigslist.org/mlt/ofc/947116345.html

I'm a Party of One.

Jenna Von Oy from "Blossom." I'm pretty sure I'd give Six my three.

I drank a little too much wine last night during my own Monday night movie, um, night last, geez, night.

I watched "Saving Sarah Marshall" last night, at the recommendation of a friend. Good flick. When I wasn't thinking about who I wanted to just absolutely plow into (Kristen Bell or Mila Kunis) I thought about the situation of the protagonist, a guy whose girlfriend just broke up with him. I've been in the situation a few times. I think it, despite the tears, may be the most liberating experience one can experience. If you get dumped, you can do whatever you want. You can drink too much, get into a bar fight, fuck random sluts, and maybe wrap your rental car around a telephone. Why?

"Oh, he's going through a tough time right now."

Ha. That's bullshit. Sure, the overwhelming feeling of rejection and sorrow may cause you to want to wash down your Jack Daniels with a shot of .38. However, you can embrace the situation by using it as a free pass at life. If only for a short while.

Okay, Kristen, now it's your turn to hold the camcorder. Mila! Get off of the trapeze. Now be honest, does this diaper make me look fat?

As my wine-buzz settled in, I thought about something I did last week when I was sober. I immediately thought to myself "Oh, my God... I can't believe I did that." My drunk side is appalled with the shit my sober side is doing. On the other hand, Sober Gooch is pleased with how Drunk Gooch has handled himself lately.

The economy and my brain are completely fucked up at this point. It ain't my job to fuck you on your birthday. Think about that.

What ever happened to my podcast?

Message on my phone alarm: 6:00am: Work out you fat fuck

Guess that's my cue. Goochout.

Xanadon't

If it was possible, I would wake up every morning to Olivia Newton-John and Electric Light Orchestra's collaborative "Xanadu." It's the theme song to the 1980 movie of the same name. OL-J's perfect pop delivery accompanied by ELO's harmonics and synthesized musical accompaniment causes me to transcend the worries of the day. Is it the perfect pop song? No. It's up there, though.

I successfully duplicated my music drive last night. It took six hours and I immediately transported the original drive to a safe place. Perhaps it's on a plane to Switzerland. Perhaps the drive is being transported via armored truck to my Compound outside of Ontario, OR. Maybe it's encased in a concrete time capsule to show people in the future what our music was like, and how truly easy it was to pirate a shit ton full of music in a short period of time.

Maybe it's in the little safe that Cheryl bought me six years ago.

I'll never tell.

Gooch:Out