Sunday, June 24, 2007

Conversations With Jersey

So this weekend, my buddy, the boyishly gorgeous, Colin Donnell (pictured -goatee & earring sold separately) was starring as Nick Massie in the 'ol Jersey Boys skit. Being the cheap bastard good person that I am, I awoke at the crack of dawn to secure student rush tickets.

"But Patrick, how can this be? You are not a student. You graduated from the prestigious Syracuse University in 2001?"

Why yes, yes I did. Since that time I have been using this sexy ID (click upon it and bask in my machismo! was it good for you? yeah, you're welcome -your money's on the counter.) to craft an elaborate ticket scalping campaign that has made me rich! RICH I TELL YOU! Mwwwaaahhhhh hhahah! Mwaha! Mwah! Ha!

The thing that I can't stand about these student rush lines is that they are inevitably chock-full of unattractive socially inept people (USIPs). And you know how I feel about that.

Me, I'm not so much the morning person. However, my commitment to scalping greatness (and supporting a friend, yada, yada, yada...) supersedes this, so I press on despite said obstacles.

In the line, there is an older fellow who is quite the Chatty Cathy, who has made it his mission to involve everyone around him in conversation. At today's performance, the role of Chatty Cathy will be played by this guy:

So Chatty Cathy, goes on spewing all this touristy bullshit about the "the Big Apple" because he's from New Jersey and he "knows the city." With every sentence, I become more annoyed / agitated. Then, I breathe. The following scene ensues....

ME: (fresh faced and inquisitive) Have you seen this show before?

CHATTY CATHY: No, but I'm a music teacher from New Jersey so I know all the songs already. (I don't even know what that means.)

ME: Really? Would you sing me one of the songs?


ME: [SINCERELY] Wow, that was incredible! I have never heard such a glorious tone. Are you a castrato?

CC: [CHATTY CATHY CHUCKLES] No, no, I just have a wide range. Are you a student?

ME: Yes, I go to the Joyous Conclusion Massage School.

CC: Hmmm, I've never heard of it.

ME: Yeah, it's pretty exclusive. Can I have a piggy back ride? is at this point in the show that I hopped on his back and the interaction digressed into a brawl.

Well! Everyone freaks out and calls the 5-0. When New York's Finest show up, wouldn't you know it the USIPs side with Chatty Cathy!! Figures.

Well, I got off with a stern warning not to attempt to receive piggy back rides from people who do not wish to give them. But the lesson didn't end there.

I single-handedly ended the student rush for Jersey Boys.

So much for my scalping enterprise. I should've just gotten the Sunday Times.


Fashionista Focus

Will someone buy me this shirt? I think I need a yellow (lemon) shirt. I am a size S/M. Thaaaanks.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

Like It's Your Last

Now, I don't know if 'ol Blue Eyes really is the original source of this quote. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's not, but I needed a nice picture to start this blog -So just drop it, okay?!!

Sorry, I'm a little worked up. You see, for the longest time, I thought this was a positively bullshit quote. Then this weekend I really stopped and thought, "holy feck, what if this is my last day?!" A massive panic attack ensued, and I began sucking my thumb while rocking uncontrollably in the fetal position for the next two days.

Following what I like to refer to as "my good cry", I realized this isn't a doomsday scenario. "This isn't a doomsday scenario, Patrick." I reassured myself. This was an opportunity. An opportunity for greatness.

Immediately, I got started doing all those things that I had been putting off or had always wanted to do...

I love peanut butter. I mean, I really love peanut butter. Usually, I eat 3 -4 peanut butter sammys a day. Partially because the protein enables my enormous guns to maintain their virtually unhuman girth. But more than that, I find it's perfect blend of sweet 'n salty to be absolutely irresistible.

"Man, if I could, I would just cover myself in peanut butter."

You know what? I could. I can. I did. ...and it was everything I had hoped it would be.

Andie MacDowell is what the kids call, "talent-free." I don't know what it is about her, but I find her profoundly irritating. It's probably that she's Southern.

Regardless of the reason, I am seizing the day and kicking off my Andie MacDowell hate mail campaign. If you'd like, you're welcome to participate. Here, I'll even get you started:

Dear Ms. MacDowell,

You are crappy. You almost completely ruined 4 Weddings & a Funeral when you...... [you fill in the rest]

[sign name here]
Letters can be sent to:

Andie MacDowell
c/o Elite Model Management
404 Park Avenue South, 9th floor
New York, NY 10016

My life is missing a critical piece, a taser.

When I'm sitting at home alone, in the dark, on Saturday nights I love watching COPS. Over and over when I watch this program, the COPS comment that they only use their tasers as a last resort.

Assuming that today is it, I need to get a taser and use it as my FIRST resort.

I'm walking down the street and someone does a deadstop in front of me -TASER!! I hold the door for someone and the person doesn't say 'thank you' -TASER!! Someone doesn't laugh at one of my hilarious knock, knock jokes -DOUBLE TASER!!!!

Each second is precious; I got no time for bullshit.

I have always wanted a pet bear like the one on that show, Gentle Ben. Gentle Ben really was an impressive ambassador for the bear community. He proved that man and bear could get along famously.

As a result, I would like a bear. Since today could be my last day, I think it is important that we get cracking on this immediately. I found a website where I could get one for roughly 12,000 British pounds. I think that works out to around $72 large American. Now I don't have 72k, so I'm counting on you to get this for me.

Don't be a cheap bastard. I could be dead by tomorrow.

I am really excited by the new direction this philosophy has taken me. If I keep this up, I will either be in jail or mauled by Christmas. Carpe Diem!!


GWGG Holiday Wishes:

Dear Dad,



Monday, June 11, 2007

The Heart of a Champion

I have the heart of a champion. It is best that you hear it from me. Relentlessly pumping through my veins is the inherent promise of greatness.

It has long been my charter, that no matter the test, take all comers, accept all challenges, and declare no holds barred. It has created what I call "The Winner Mentality©" Unconvinced? Here are a few of my representative triumphs:

1.) The Cold War - Victory: TEAM GARRIGAN* (*notes: w/ assists by Presidents Nixon - Reagan)

2.) January 5, 1995 Showcase Showdown - Victory: TEAM GARRIGAN [pictured]

3.) Treadwell vs. Garrigan: Who do the Grizzly Bears like more? - Victory: TEAM GARRIGAN

Impressed? Yeah, I thought so. Despite these monumental achievements, nothing prepared me for what I was about to encounter.

On June 5, 2007 I faced my most challenging challenge to date. The quest placed me in perilous peril, dubious danger, extreme exigency and many other examples of alliteration.

The challenge? Engage some of the world's greatest eaters in a battle of wills to answer the age old question:

How much cake can one eat in (2) minutes?

As the saying goes, a picture is worth a large amount of money, especially if you take picture of a celebrity. Additionally, it can say a bunch of stuff that may, under normal circumstances, involve supplemental expository information. ...or something to that effect. So without further delay, I bring you:

(the death-defying action begins @ 2:44)

Do not try this at home. I am an outright idiot professional.

EDITORIAL NOTE: Seriously, don't do this. While being a winner rules, I got home from the gym after doing this and thought that my intestines had burst. I then concluded it is a crap idea to eat a whole cake. Let this be a lesson to you.

Sunday, June 03, 2007

National Patrick Garrigan Appreciation Week™

What do Smith Wigglesworth, Barbara Bush, Rob Pilatus (of Milli Vanilli fame), Kanye West and the ever-impressive Mamoru Miyano all have in common?

Aside from, at one time or other, saying that George Bush hates black people, they all have my birthday -June 8th! Dontcha Wiggles?

While they have all made "notable" contributions to society, the fact remains, that none of these folks are -well, me.

So, the other day, I was having lunch with Criss Angel at Haru and he says to me, he says, "Patrick, yo, I am so stoked about your birthday, bro. I just wish it were more than one day, man."

"I know Criss Angel, it's difficult to pack that much magic [I jab Criss Angel in the ribs] into one day," I reply.

"Dude, why you gotta keep fuckin' jabbin' me in the ribs like that whenever you make a stupid "magic" joke. It fuckin' hurts man -here take a keychain, I'm outta here."

The more I thought about it, the more I realized, Criss Angel was right. I need more than a day. I need a fecking Patrick Garrigan Week.


National Patrick Garrigan Appreciation Week™, is a concerted effort by yours truly to make people do stupid shit under the guise of "...but it's my birthday" for a week instead of just (1) day. Here's this week's itinerary.

On Friday, I am turning 28. As I start to enter my early-late-mid-twenties, I begin to become aware of my many great accomplishments [SEE every posting ever placed on this blog] and in turn, I would like the to receive some respect.

Therefore, on Monday everyone will please refer to me as Mr. Garrigan and greet me with a small Japanese-inspired bow. I will then reply with, "What? Did you lose a contact?" You will laugh.

Initially, I started this blog so that I could sell advertising that would result in the purchase of a Shetland pony. I do love Shetland ponies as they remind me of a mythical world in which I am a giant. Despite my super-colossal dreams, I am sans pony.

My birthday wish is for you to spend all day Tuesday hitting the 'Refresh' button [pictured, if you're an idiot] next to the GWGG url. From here, hit counter will go through the roof, Google will realize I am advertising gold and then, finally, Sir Clopsalot will be mine!

People constantly ask me what they should get me for my birthday. Well, I'll tell you what not to get me. A Shetland pony. That, I want to earn.

I am always disappointed by the birthday crap people get me. As a result, please, please, please use Wednesday to purchase one or all of the following:

That Helicopter from Airwolf

A butler like Mr. Belvedere

...and I guess world peace would be fine too. If you can't get the other two.

For as long as I have been in New York, I have alway bought myself a new pair of nice underwear for my birthday. It's weird, I know. It has just been a tradition. But the search for the right pair has grown tiresome over the years. Boxers, briefs, boring. 2007, as far as I'm concerned, is the year for something dynamic. For my money, the undergarment of 'aught seven is:

You know, I'd like to volunteer something pithy for the actual content of the party, but the fact remains, by the time 2:30pm rolls around, I'm going to look like some shade of this.

Aren't you glad Criss Angel spoke up? I know I sure am. Thankss, Criss Angel.


The other day I found the following video I think best summarizes my daily train of thought. Enjoy.


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