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Short-lived handlebar mustache phase
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"I love the NY Yankees. I love Netflix. I do not work out enough. "I write for a living" is a euphemistic way of describing..."
More about Greg
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Schools (Other):
Horace Greeley High School, Vassar College, Miami Ad School
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Occupation:
copywriter
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Affiliations:
Uh, I subscribe to Adweek. Does that count?
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Hobbies and Interests:
Baseball (watching not playing), guitar (both real and air)
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Favorite Books:
Updike's Rabbit (Run/Redux/is Rich/at Rest); Ragtime by EL Doctorow, Carolyn Chute's Egypt, maine series; and of course The Lovely Bones.
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Favorite Movies:
Oldboy, Ed Wood, Spirited Away, Bottle Rocket, Hud, the Last Picture Show, Midnight Cowboy, Big Lebowski, Manchurian Candidate, Toxic Avenger Part IV: Citizen Toxie, Beetlejism, Tromeo and Juliet, Baseketball (this went south quickly...)
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Favorite Music:
Decemberists, Belle & Sebastian, Washington Social Club, Arcade Fire, GBV, Pavement, any hot young hipsters from Brooklyn who release snarky singles
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Favorite TV Shows:
Baseball Tonight, Upstairs Downstairs, Veronica Mars, Freaks & Geeks
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Zodiac Sign:
Aquarius
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About Me:
I love the NY Yankees. I love Netflix. I do not work out enough. "I write for a living" is a euphemistic way of describing my life... do you consider Beano commercials equivalent to publishing poetry in the New Yorker?
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Who I Want to Meet:
i want to type the names of people I knew years ago into the user search engine and be like "oh shit, he moved to Michigan" or something like that.
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Greg to move to anywhere other than New
York City.
cheek whispered, "I love you."
Twirling in the right hand said sadly,
"I love another."
gonna play a little ditty on this here piano.
cabbage moth, Greg was there. Those
were happy times.
me. I think it's safe to say I speak for all of
America when I say: Fuck England. You're
probably sitting on one of London's famous
beaches, sipping a margarita without a care in
the world. I'm glad. But we need you back
here. You were the best douchenapes we had,
and the motherfucker we got to fill in for you
sucks. He never walks around the house in his
underpants and he doesn't hug right either.
until I taped fake armpit hair to myself and
made him laugh...I think. Then he
proceeded to make me urinate on myself
with laughter on a regular basis. He's left
me here in New York to fend for myself,
laughterless, while he pursues the future of
a real job and i serve Guinness to unfunny
people. I found a handwritten script of the
entire tront saga penned for my expressly by
Greg just the other day, and I remembered
that all I wanted to ask Greg was "woul dyou
like to gooo ona date?"
You know what I'm saying?
poetic and interesting with his senior
blurb for our undergrad yearbook. da
lousy bum. something about gumsmacks
and pulses on a walkman. can you
believe this choad?
on his last day in nyc, i wanted to try
and get the astor place cube to rotate
for him, but alas we were two scrawny
honkys and couldn't get it to budge.
still, this man is the media pope and
should be worshipped as such. except
for "that frickin delorean thing.
what's wrong with you??!!? i made you
smart!" --BLIPCO.
when you get mad, count to ten and
exhale slowly.
2 when you're talking about computer
games, to "Where in the World is
Carmen San Diego?" is going to be
"Where in the World is Greg
Costello?" Is he in Miami, waking up
dazed wearing a t-shirt and nothing
else in some random dude's
apartment? Is he kicking it in
Northside windy city with Ferris and
the Cubs at Wrigley? Word on the
street puts him in England wearing
sunglasses, swapping suitcases of
___ w/ infamous middle-eastern
dope cartel Nosmo King, though
word on the street is wrong. He's in
the West Indies on a steady diet of
Nyquil and peanut butter with a tattoo
of a butterfly on his chest. By the
way, to all the Where's Waldo fans
out there...I'll tell you where's
Waldo...he's somewhere between
Greg's kidneys and his large
intestines on the fast track to your
toilet should you be so lucky.