Weakend Edition

Crustaceans:

 

I've been aggressive in my effort to desensitize my desensitization, not drink, be more positive/less cynical, get healthy, and essentially drag the needle over the spinning record that is this website.

 

It's hard to write about being a designated driver. It's hard to describe the situations that come from no longer self medicating my social-phobia. Or, I should say, the lack of situations that come from no longer self medicating my social-phobia. Writing about your own drunken escapades is so much easier that writing about observing others' antics.

 

MMA classes, the extra fitness endeavor financed by my extinct bar tabs, are interesting. Having your head and shoulder pinned between a dude's legs and giving him adjustment pointers until you start losing consciousness from lack of blood to your brain ("okay, push the top of my head over so that the sharp part of my shoulder goes into my carotid artereeeee... [tap tap]) is certainly an interesting hobby. I have a lot of appreciation now for those UFC fights and the skill/endurance that goes into it. At age 36 I've also, I believe, finally learned how to throw a punch. Who knew that you were supposed to make a fist first? Not me.

 

Off to lunch. Have a good weekend.

 

goochout

 

 

Waiting to Exhale

Goochalos:

I bought one of those e-cigarettes Friday after work. I don't smoke, although I've tried to start many times. I'm just fascinated by the fact that an electronic alternative to smoking has not only been invented (they've been around a while, my friend Mike Henry has been "vaping" for a while now) but is available at convenience stores for under $20. You inhale on the hard plastic simulated cigarette and the end glows red - brighter depending on the velocity of your "drag." In the course of this process, an element heats up and liquid nicotine is vaporized and that is what you inhale. Should the simulated lit end start to flash, you unscrew the cigarette from the nicotine cartridge end and screw it into a USB adapter to charge. It's fucking genius.

http://www.xhaleo2.com/

In other news, I feel myself getting sick. The stuffed head, the fatigue, headaches, dizziness. I don't like being sick and missing work is an option for people with compensated sick time. I'm getting pissy about this because I'm missing workouts and I need to get into some sort of shape. Usually, if I rest, I don't get full blown AIDS and squeak by with just a cold.

Honestly, I'm just waiting for my torrents to download. Pirated Dexter and Boardwalk Empire episodes are trickling over my internet pipes. I'll probably pass out before they hit the media server. I guess it's one reason for me to wake up. Finally, a reason to wake up. [starts to weep, takes a cigarette and tries to burn himself in a self mutilating/masochistic endeavor with it but realizes that it's a fake electronic cigarette and says "duh, I just wrote about this thing" then turns around and crawls into bed.]

goochout

The Reno Column: Recycled

Since I'm in Reno, I thought I'd write something. Since I'm down here with my Father and not drinking, my best chance at a decent story is if I hit a jackpot. Or a hooker. Otherwise, here's an 11 year old piece of writing. Damn, I'm getting old.

The Reno Column (1999)

gooch:out

I Like the White Girls that the Black Guys Like.

DHCP Clients:

 

Not drinking for two months has made me A: Very self conscious about my weight and B: alarmed at the diminuative size of my arms. These are odd things to focus on, especially for a super hero like myself. However, this is what my non-chemical soaked brain has led me to worry about. Alcohol told me that I was "big boned" and that my arms were big. Alcohol lied. Alcohol always lies. I should consider myself lucky: Alcohol has never told me that some dude was actually a chick.

 

The confidence... God, do I miss the self confidence. And the Charisma. I seem to command more of an audience when I'm drunk. When I'm sober, I've only a few seconds of getting a thought out before my friends start talking to each other about something else. This is why I'm good at Twitter: I've been forced to reduce my communications down to 140 characters in real life for most of my adult life.

 

But back to the physical deficiencies. These issues should be solved eventually as the lack of hangovers has allowed me to not miss so many workouts at the gym. I've also joined a MMA training program. It's the stuff that you see in UFC fights, but I don't kick or hit actual people, just the pads that people are holding. So if I'm walking down a dark alley and an Everlast punching bag tries to take my wallet; I'm pretty sure I'm safe from the forces of foam padded evil.

 

Peace.

 

goochout.

 

 

 

 

At the 11:11: True Gooch Stories...

I was driving up West Burnside today when I noticed a girl walking on the sidewalk. More dangerous than talking on the phone or texting, I engaged in a task that I probably do five or six times a day (I drive a lot): I stared at her.

I'm driving west, she's on the right hand sidewalk walking the opposite direction. As my eyes follow her, they run into a few obstacles. a street sign, the Range Rover rolling alongside me in the lane to my right, the head of the driver in the Range Rover to my right. I noticed the driver fidgeted a bit... it was odd enough that in my peripheral vision he got my attention. It was then that I noticed that my eyefucking of a random girl wound up turning into my eyefucking of 90s alt-rock icon Art Alexakis, a Portland resident. At the next stop light, I noticed that he stopped a few car lengths back, I assumed as to stay out of my stalkers' gaze.

I felt like a total tool. My mid-commute slow motion daydream ended up being a socially awkward nightmare.

Picture of Art Alexakis

 

[Picture of girl walking down street not available]

At the 11:11

Interesting fun fact about me: I swing a bat left handed, I swing a golf club right handed, I kick right footed, I skateboard regular stance (right foot pushes), I bowl right handed, I throw darts left handed, I write on paper left handed, I right on chalk boards/vertical surfaces right handed, I dribble a basketball right handed, shoot a basketball left handed, shoot a gun left handed. The J.O.? Right handed.

None of the above activities am I actually good at, just an odd lack of favoritism among the left and right hemispheres of my brain. My ambidexterity means I'm mediocre at everything... with either hand/foot.

Get to sleep.

goochout

Forget Height/Weight ratio, BMI, Calipers, Etc...

...If you're holding the camera 7 inches above your head to take a picture, you've got a weight problem.

But who holds your camera?

Before you call me a dick, I'll have you know that I commission satellite photographers to take my Facebook pictures. It's the only way I can eliminate my double chin.

See what I did there? I made fun of myself to negate the dickness of my putdown. I'm not a pioneer in that art, just a genius at it.

gooch:out

You're going to call me a dick anyways, aren't you?