On March 9th, 2005 I arrived at Penn Staion with a backpack filled with 3000 pre-addressed postcards to hand out to the masses. Goal: Spread the word. Here's a glimpse at what transpired.

This is Dave Gorman and me. Well, an illuminated photo of Dave Gorman and me. I got much of the inspiration for Going Postal 3000 from Dave Gorman's Googlewhack Adventure. I read the book in the summer of 2004 and then saw his live stage show in the exact spot this picture was taken in November of 2004. The run for the show in NYC ended a few months ago, but the sign was still there. Dave Gorman's website is the place to find out about all things Dave Gorman. His show and books are all highly recommended.

I handed out postcards here for about 2 hours. Dave's image was the only light source around, so if you're into cheesy pun-ish sayings, go right ahead and say he 'lit up my life'. Being a Gormanesque Canuck, I figured this was the ideal spot to pitch a Googlewack-ish project to passerby, but boy was I wrong. The best indicator of the response came from a twenty-something woman who said she'd lived in the apartment building beside the theatre for three years and had never heard of Dave Gorman or his Googlewhack Adventure. I guess Bleeker Street ain't the random project loving mecca I'd imagined it to be after all.

It's not every day you tick a goal off your "list". Rarer still is a day where you tick two goals off your "list". Today was the day. The 'Today' day. Not only did I shake the leather-gloved hand of a Mr. Al Roker from NBC's Today show, but I managed to get a Going Postal sign broadcasted into the homes of millions of tired-eyed moms around America. Despite ticking two life enhancing goals from my list, I went for the hat trick: I thrust a manila Going Postal 3000 postcard into Al Roker's hand. He looked at it quickly, then promptly dropped it directly into a muddy puddle. Security raised their eyebrows and Al checked to make ink from the postcard hadn't rubbed off on his glove. Doesn't matter though, I'm sure he'll send a postcard in. If there's one guy you can count on, it's Al Roker. The picture above is yours truly in a state of excitement from having just touched a living legend.

This is Gerrard. He's rad. He grew up in Woodstock NY. We hung out with him for a few hours in Willamsburg, Brooklyn. His dad was Bob Dylan's "right hand man". As a child at his folk's house in Woodstock, Gerrard ate thanksgiving dinner with George Harrison. He's apparently trying to get his hands on an RV. If you're ever in Willamsburg, be sure to hang out with Gerrard. He doesn't really have an address or use a computer, so just ask around.

Gerrard took us to a place in Williamsburg called the "Free Store". As the name says, everything in the store is free - a shoplifter's wet-dream. I walked out guilt-free with a cassette called "Gazza and Friends - Let's Have a Party." Now I'm the kind of guy who's keen on having a party at any given time, but you can see how even the less party-prone among us would have a tough time disagreeing with the wavy font and balloons that spell ou the enticing title. Gazza's even got that mouth-open, party-starting grin you look for in a party starter. I'd forgotten my yellow Sony Sports walkman at home, so I stuffed the cassette in my less-than-shoplifter-like small pocket. A few nights later I popped Gazza into our ancient cassette deck while partaking in a cereal feed of knock-off 'Crisp Rice'. Gazza's Pet Shop Boys-esque English 'football' star vocals over early 90s techno beats and mo-town classics put up a pretty good party-having argument. I emptied the bowl and reached for the much more party-like Honey Smacks and waved my hands in the air like-I-just-didn't-care, cereal style. Shaq Diesel eat your heart out.

We were with Gerrard when we saw these cakes. He wasn't quite as stoked about it as Dom and I, but then again, he has eaten turkey with a Beatle, so you can see where he's coming from.

We saw this Cadillac with Gerrard too. He claims it's a sixty-eight. I claim he's probably right. If Gerrard's an expert on anything, it's definitely the sixties. You've gotta admit it's a pretty badass grill. Not the kind of thing you'd wanna get caught up in, that's for sure. I would've gone as far as saying it's the most badass grill I've ever seen, but I saw this one last summer.

This, of course, is the Naked Cowboy. He's pretty much the best thing since sliced bread. I'd tell you more, but it's easier if you just go to his website. Immediately after this picture was taken, I was interviewed by Anamaria Flores of the North Jersey Record newspaper. I'm not exactly sure where North Jersey is (Apparently near a White Castle fast food restaurant) but one thing's for sure: if you're in the centre of Times Square being interviewed by someone from a newspaper, you feel like a big shot. She put Dom and I on the cover of the travel section, in colour. Big Shot.

This picture is kinda hurting. My eyes are red and teeth look yellow. Dom looks like the Michelin Woman. But that's okay, cause the important thing is not HOW the picture looks, but WHO took the picture. After Dom and I got screwed over royally at 1am by an unnamed hostel on the upper west side, we decided to cut our losses and fend for our lives on the concourse of Penn Station. When we got to the 103st Subway station, we saw a really wigged out rat walking drunkenly across the platform. Then we met two sisters, Meg and Kara. Meg was freaked out by the rat, but managed to still take this picture. They listened to our predicament and offered us a couch to crash on at Kara's place in Brooklyn. We took them up on the offer and had a great sleep. Like me, Kara's 25 and a writer. She's currently working as a temp somewhere in NYC and plans to put together a collection of memoirs about working as a temp. She hates rats, but dislikes the term "memoirs" even more. Same goes for me.

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