After seeing a ridiculous picture of Miley Cyrus running in cut off jean shorts, aviators and some other interesting garb with shirtless boyfriend in tow, I had posted something relating how much I would be heckled in a similar situation but, hey, when you're a celebrity, it's cool. But then I hadn't saved it and my browser crashed and you know how sometimes it feels, hm, off, to try to replicate the energy you had when first writing something? I mean, you know when you have a good idea, and then you don't write it down, and then you can kind of remember the idea later but it lacks that punch? Maybe not.
Anyway, today I went out for a little 13.5 mile jaunt and I should have known it was coming with the mildly damp and cool weather but boy did I chafe myself good. Yeesh. Also, since I generally do all my runs these days with my iPod and I just restored it (meaning all my tracks were wiped), I took it as an opportunity to switch up my jams a little bit. While I keep on rockin' out to The Killers' "Human" and "Spaceman" a little too much, I threw this priorly ignored Ingrid Michaelson tune in there. Tee hee.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
Monday, March 2, 2009
Get Ya BM Pancakes Here!
Last week after my first ever Shamrock Shake, my buddies and I passed an IHOP with a sign that read "never-ending BM pancakes." Now I don't know about you, but the first thing that comes to mind when I see the letters "BM" is bowel movement. Just what in the Hell IHOP meant sadly eluded me until my friend texted me "BM=Buttermilk" the following day. It was so obvious and yet, without his message, I probably would not have figured it out, all the more because I like the way it sounds my way.
I remember quite well the first and last time I stepped to IHOP's never-ending pancake deal. Some friends had come up to visit me at school during my sophomore year of college and somewhere around eleven at night we decided it would be a good idea to see how many pancakes we could handle. We nearly hit a roadblock since not all IHOP's are twenty-four hours, including our first stop. None of us knew where a twenty-four hour IHOP might be as we were in foreign territories of Connecticut, but luckily the cook leaving his shift at that IHOP was on his way to another shift at a twenty-four hour joint. Not only did he lead the way and have us follow him, he also got us a huge discount on our check. The real beauty there is that you get to leave an extra generous tip, which is what really matters.
So there we were, sitting down to our $2.99 never-ending pancakes and, yes, that was the real cost...2003 was clutch like that. Now, with competitive eating there are a few factors that are always essential for me: 1) eat quickly before your stomach can tell you it is full; 2) be hungry but not starving as you otherwise fill up too fast; 3) variety; too much of any one thing without variety can be difficult to manage. Pancakes are brought out in stacks of three, so in order to satisfy the first criteria, you have to order the next stack pretty much immediately upon working on the previous. When I eat pancakes, I also cut up every single piece before my first bite. This might slow me at first, but greatly increases my pace thereafter.
The second criteria was fairly well satisfied, but with the third I was going to encounter problems as all I was eating was pancakes. Now here is where I may have slipped up, attempting to switch syrup flavors in an effort to interest my palate with variety. As sweet as syrup already is, I found all of the flavors other than original far too sweet and otherwise revolting. I quickly changed back, but the damage may or may not have been done.
Now, out of curiosity I had weighed myself before the pancake effort, a healthy 158 pounds. Thirteen pancakes later I had ballooned to 163, admitting of course that some of that was probably water weight and pancakes can be spongy. Still, I considered it a rather unprecedented turnaround when I awoke at around ten in the AM and managed to produce a BM that put me right back down to 158 pounds. The manner in which my mind typically operates, coupled with this strong pancake dump memory clearly influenced my reading of that IHOP sign but can you honestly say "buttermilk" is what comes to mind when you see BM?
In light of the fact that pancakes tend to make me really sleepy and put me into a short-term diabetic coma, and prompt me to utter statements like, "I'm never eating pancakes again," I think I'd like to take one more shot and see if I can't break into the upper teens (say seventeen) pancakes. Probably silly, but then so is the Cy Young Award winner only signing to a $650,000 contract...
I remember quite well the first and last time I stepped to IHOP's never-ending pancake deal. Some friends had come up to visit me at school during my sophomore year of college and somewhere around eleven at night we decided it would be a good idea to see how many pancakes we could handle. We nearly hit a roadblock since not all IHOP's are twenty-four hours, including our first stop. None of us knew where a twenty-four hour IHOP might be as we were in foreign territories of Connecticut, but luckily the cook leaving his shift at that IHOP was on his way to another shift at a twenty-four hour joint. Not only did he lead the way and have us follow him, he also got us a huge discount on our check. The real beauty there is that you get to leave an extra generous tip, which is what really matters.
So there we were, sitting down to our $2.99 never-ending pancakes and, yes, that was the real cost...2003 was clutch like that. Now, with competitive eating there are a few factors that are always essential for me: 1) eat quickly before your stomach can tell you it is full; 2) be hungry but not starving as you otherwise fill up too fast; 3) variety; too much of any one thing without variety can be difficult to manage. Pancakes are brought out in stacks of three, so in order to satisfy the first criteria, you have to order the next stack pretty much immediately upon working on the previous. When I eat pancakes, I also cut up every single piece before my first bite. This might slow me at first, but greatly increases my pace thereafter.
The second criteria was fairly well satisfied, but with the third I was going to encounter problems as all I was eating was pancakes. Now here is where I may have slipped up, attempting to switch syrup flavors in an effort to interest my palate with variety. As sweet as syrup already is, I found all of the flavors other than original far too sweet and otherwise revolting. I quickly changed back, but the damage may or may not have been done.
Now, out of curiosity I had weighed myself before the pancake effort, a healthy 158 pounds. Thirteen pancakes later I had ballooned to 163, admitting of course that some of that was probably water weight and pancakes can be spongy. Still, I considered it a rather unprecedented turnaround when I awoke at around ten in the AM and managed to produce a BM that put me right back down to 158 pounds. The manner in which my mind typically operates, coupled with this strong pancake dump memory clearly influenced my reading of that IHOP sign but can you honestly say "buttermilk" is what comes to mind when you see BM?
In light of the fact that pancakes tend to make me really sleepy and put me into a short-term diabetic coma, and prompt me to utter statements like, "I'm never eating pancakes again," I think I'd like to take one more shot and see if I can't break into the upper teens (say seventeen) pancakes. Probably silly, but then so is the Cy Young Award winner only signing to a $650,000 contract...
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Escape
Two stories you can't escape of late are Michael Phelps' late 2008 bong rip, and A-Rod's steroid use. They're both athletes, but you don't have to follow sports at all to have read endless criticisms of both. Honestly, I shouldn't even weigh in because I'm just perpetuating the bs. So it goes.
I'll start with A-Rod for alphabetical purposes (um, first name instead of last, right). I was never an A-Rod fan, especially when he went to the Yankees, a team I have long despised, but I can separate the player from the man, and he is a stat machine. The revelation that he used steroids, which is hardly a revelation if you are as cynical about drug use in sports as I am, doesn't actually change that all that much for me. Maybe now all sorts of impressionable youngsters or, hell, other professional athletes, are going to feel now as if they need to use performance-enhancing drugs (PEDs) to compete but, then again, I have a hunch a lot of them felt that way anyway. And without entering long discussion, I'll simply say that I don't condone A-Rod's steroid use but, since it's one of the popular topics, I think he belongs in the Hall of Fame regardless. When two players are exceptional, it seems logical to assume that the one using steroids has the edge, except that who knows that the other player was not doing the same? I find baseball games a bit too long to capture my attention span these days anyway, but I'll be content in the knowledge that, with all the drug enhancements a contract as lucrative as A-Rod's can buy, I still would not be half the player he is. So it's a little sad, but you move on or, if you are a sports writer, you write hundreds or thousands of words on it and, for at least one writer, I'm sure they will attempt to craft a book.
Far sillier in my eyes is the hullabaloo over Michael Phelps apparent marijuana usage, so silly that I used the word "hullabaloo." The first thing is that it is a reminder how shitty it can be to be a celebrity. If I was at that University of South Carolina party, you can be damn sure no one would have given two shits if I was taking a bong rip. But of course, some asshole takes a picture with his camera phone and opts to sell it. Now, why exactly it took so long to surface is the same question I ask with the Christian Bale angry sound byte. Both took place a while back, especially Bale's incident, but they have only come to light now. It's an interesting game the media plays on when they release information.
As with A-Rod, I am not a Phelps fan. My allegiance and dislike of athletes and other celebrities bears no logical explanation, as I am sure would be the case for a lot of people. Still, guy is an amazing athlete, and I was rooting for him every time he dove into the Bubble and chased a gold. I wanted to see him perform his best. Even when I root for a person or team to lose, I really just want their opponent to outplay them, I'm not asking for my object of disaffection to shit the bed.
So right, again it comes in with Phelps being a role model, and this is where it gets oh-so-very dicey. What if instead of or, in addition to, labeling Phelps a poor role model, we teach kids different things. We all want that great athlete to be a great person too, but wait, all he did was smoke marijuana, right? The same marijuana that can be legally obtained in many states for medicinal purposes. Maybe Michael Phelps is a complete asshole in real life. It wouldn't surprise me if he was or he wasn't. Maybe I'm an asshole in real life too. Maybe I'm an asshole in this blog. And you know, maybe it's just a dose of reality. Do kids get over it when they find out Santa isn't real (sorry kids if you're reading)? Maybe not all of them. Will every kid with swimming or any other type of athletic aspirations go out to grab the nearest bong now? Maybe. Maybe they would anyway. That's a whole lot of maybe.
I'm just saying things happen, and if we're blaming Michael Phelps and A-Rod for shattering dreams, then we should go ahead and take responsibility for creating them in the first place. What if NBC came out and apologized for all the hype and the human interest around Phelps? Or what if Kellogg's came out and said, "Well, we thought long and hard, and we realized that, after a good bong rip, somebody might just want themselves a bowl, or a box, of Frosted Flakes...theeeeeeeyyyyyy're great."
I'll start with A-Rod for alphabetical purposes (um, first name instead of last, right). I was never an A-Rod fan, especially when he went to the Yankees, a team I have long despised, but I can separate the player from the man, and he is a stat machine. The revelation that he used steroids, which is hardly a revelation if you are as cynical about drug use in sports as I am, doesn't actually change that all that much for me. Maybe now all sorts of impressionable youngsters or, hell, other professional athletes, are going to feel now as if they need to use performance-enhancing drugs (PEDs) to compete but, then again, I have a hunch a lot of them felt that way anyway. And without entering long discussion, I'll simply say that I don't condone A-Rod's steroid use but, since it's one of the popular topics, I think he belongs in the Hall of Fame regardless. When two players are exceptional, it seems logical to assume that the one using steroids has the edge, except that who knows that the other player was not doing the same? I find baseball games a bit too long to capture my attention span these days anyway, but I'll be content in the knowledge that, with all the drug enhancements a contract as lucrative as A-Rod's can buy, I still would not be half the player he is. So it's a little sad, but you move on or, if you are a sports writer, you write hundreds or thousands of words on it and, for at least one writer, I'm sure they will attempt to craft a book.
Far sillier in my eyes is the hullabaloo over Michael Phelps apparent marijuana usage, so silly that I used the word "hullabaloo." The first thing is that it is a reminder how shitty it can be to be a celebrity. If I was at that University of South Carolina party, you can be damn sure no one would have given two shits if I was taking a bong rip. But of course, some asshole takes a picture with his camera phone and opts to sell it. Now, why exactly it took so long to surface is the same question I ask with the Christian Bale angry sound byte. Both took place a while back, especially Bale's incident, but they have only come to light now. It's an interesting game the media plays on when they release information.
As with A-Rod, I am not a Phelps fan. My allegiance and dislike of athletes and other celebrities bears no logical explanation, as I am sure would be the case for a lot of people. Still, guy is an amazing athlete, and I was rooting for him every time he dove into the Bubble and chased a gold. I wanted to see him perform his best. Even when I root for a person or team to lose, I really just want their opponent to outplay them, I'm not asking for my object of disaffection to shit the bed.
So right, again it comes in with Phelps being a role model, and this is where it gets oh-so-very dicey. What if instead of or, in addition to, labeling Phelps a poor role model, we teach kids different things. We all want that great athlete to be a great person too, but wait, all he did was smoke marijuana, right? The same marijuana that can be legally obtained in many states for medicinal purposes. Maybe Michael Phelps is a complete asshole in real life. It wouldn't surprise me if he was or he wasn't. Maybe I'm an asshole in real life too. Maybe I'm an asshole in this blog. And you know, maybe it's just a dose of reality. Do kids get over it when they find out Santa isn't real (sorry kids if you're reading)? Maybe not all of them. Will every kid with swimming or any other type of athletic aspirations go out to grab the nearest bong now? Maybe. Maybe they would anyway. That's a whole lot of maybe.
I'm just saying things happen, and if we're blaming Michael Phelps and A-Rod for shattering dreams, then we should go ahead and take responsibility for creating them in the first place. What if NBC came out and apologized for all the hype and the human interest around Phelps? Or what if Kellogg's came out and said, "Well, we thought long and hard, and we realized that, after a good bong rip, somebody might just want themselves a bowl, or a box, of Frosted Flakes...theeeeeeeyyyyyy're great."
Monday, February 2, 2009
Groundhog Day
I knew I just wouldn't feel right if I didn't get in a Groundhog Day post. If I end up repeating myself at all over the course of this writing, it will only be a bonus.
My strongest memories of Groundhog Day are of The Today Show, watching Willard Scott from Punxsutawney, PA, where he would view the famed Punxsutawney Phil. Interestingly, in reading P. Phil's wiki entry he took the year off in 1943 on account of WWII. Seeing as how that war was fought for several other years, why he chose only to take that year off, I don't know. More importantly though, in reading Willard Scott's wiki, I discovered that he was the creator of Ronald McDonald. Apparently this came to light in that flick Super Size Me, but as with a lot of movies these days, I never saw it. Scott also portrayed Ronald, but was replaced when his fleshy body was deemed harmful to Mickey D's precious image.
At the risk of this precious (damnit, there's that word again) intellectual property being stolen, I feel it's the time to share a Groundhog-themed joke concocted by my good buddy Max and I while living in Hawaii. We'd only been there a couple of weeks, but the island had already taken it's effect when we decided upon a strong (in our compromised estimation) comic strip type effort. During the Winter, people tend to tub up a bit. This is okay because, not being in a warm climate, they aren't exposing too much skin. Plus, the additional meat keeps you that much toastier. Of course, in preparation for Spring, all sorts of diet plans and/or tanning need be undertaken as preparation for that following glorious season of Summer. Now, I would not have gone to the trouble of explaining this if I'd simply illustrated the cartoon already, but since I haven't, well, I did. Follow? Plus, explaining your jokes makes them much funnier.
So the Groundhog, a rotund creature in general, would emerge from his hole and look down to discover, to his dismay, that he couldn't not see his prized family possessions. The caption reads, "Uh oh, six more weeks of dieting." Now, I happen to not like The New Yorker, cartoons and otherwise, but we thought this would go well in there. In fact, I'm going to draw that shit tonight and mail it on over. Okay, I won't, but I could. Also, in 2010 I might try reading the New Yorker again.
Something else I don't like, but in a much more intense way, is Ann Coulter. She falls into that category of people that I am still trying to figure out how they became famous. Of course, for all that I might not like Coulter, I actually think she is pretty intelligent. I am not sure what her true beliefs or motivations for her terrible terrible points of view are, perhaps she is just milking it all the way to the bank. I had forgotten about Ann for a while until something recently reminded me of the tirade she went on when Michael J. Fox did a political ad promoting stem cell research to help find a cure for his affliction, Parkinson's Disease. Rush Limbaugh, another right-wing windbag, also chimed in for that bit of course. How these and other famous blowhards manage to to maintain employment is astonishing and a bit frightening to me.
Foolishly I burned close to an hour today watching Ann Coulter videos, with the accompanying commentary of those supporting her more infuriating than Ann herself. But infuriating people like me is surely one of, if not the sole aim, of Coulter's remarks. I'd sort of like someone to speak to her like Christian Bale when a lighting man walks onto the set during filming, but somehow I think an Al Franken response achieves so much more. Puts the theatre d'absurd in a whole new light for me.
Soon I'll discuss my efforts to create a book that teaches the art (or handicap, however you view it) of puns, witticisms, and wordplay. Actually, shit, I probably won't...but I might. Either way, Larry Fitzgerald is amazing.
My strongest memories of Groundhog Day are of The Today Show, watching Willard Scott from Punxsutawney, PA, where he would view the famed Punxsutawney Phil. Interestingly, in reading P. Phil's wiki entry he took the year off in 1943 on account of WWII. Seeing as how that war was fought for several other years, why he chose only to take that year off, I don't know. More importantly though, in reading Willard Scott's wiki, I discovered that he was the creator of Ronald McDonald. Apparently this came to light in that flick Super Size Me, but as with a lot of movies these days, I never saw it. Scott also portrayed Ronald, but was replaced when his fleshy body was deemed harmful to Mickey D's precious image.
At the risk of this precious (damnit, there's that word again) intellectual property being stolen, I feel it's the time to share a Groundhog-themed joke concocted by my good buddy Max and I while living in Hawaii. We'd only been there a couple of weeks, but the island had already taken it's effect when we decided upon a strong (in our compromised estimation) comic strip type effort. During the Winter, people tend to tub up a bit. This is okay because, not being in a warm climate, they aren't exposing too much skin. Plus, the additional meat keeps you that much toastier. Of course, in preparation for Spring, all sorts of diet plans and/or tanning need be undertaken as preparation for that following glorious season of Summer. Now, I would not have gone to the trouble of explaining this if I'd simply illustrated the cartoon already, but since I haven't, well, I did. Follow? Plus, explaining your jokes makes them much funnier.
So the Groundhog, a rotund creature in general, would emerge from his hole and look down to discover, to his dismay, that he couldn't not see his prized family possessions. The caption reads, "Uh oh, six more weeks of dieting." Now, I happen to not like The New Yorker, cartoons and otherwise, but we thought this would go well in there. In fact, I'm going to draw that shit tonight and mail it on over. Okay, I won't, but I could. Also, in 2010 I might try reading the New Yorker again.
Something else I don't like, but in a much more intense way, is Ann Coulter. She falls into that category of people that I am still trying to figure out how they became famous. Of course, for all that I might not like Coulter, I actually think she is pretty intelligent. I am not sure what her true beliefs or motivations for her terrible terrible points of view are, perhaps she is just milking it all the way to the bank. I had forgotten about Ann for a while until something recently reminded me of the tirade she went on when Michael J. Fox did a political ad promoting stem cell research to help find a cure for his affliction, Parkinson's Disease. Rush Limbaugh, another right-wing windbag, also chimed in for that bit of course. How these and other famous blowhards manage to to maintain employment is astonishing and a bit frightening to me.
Foolishly I burned close to an hour today watching Ann Coulter videos, with the accompanying commentary of those supporting her more infuriating than Ann herself. But infuriating people like me is surely one of, if not the sole aim, of Coulter's remarks. I'd sort of like someone to speak to her like Christian Bale when a lighting man walks onto the set during filming, but somehow I think an Al Franken response achieves so much more. Puts the theatre d'absurd in a whole new light for me.
Soon I'll discuss my efforts to create a book that teaches the art (or handicap, however you view it) of puns, witticisms, and wordplay. Actually, shit, I probably won't...but I might. Either way, Larry Fitzgerald is amazing.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Bizarr[h]os
For as long as I can remember, I have been captivated by bizarros, doppelgangers if you will, perhaps even Vesuvan Doppelgangers. Before I go any further, yes, that's right, I used to play Magic: The Gathering. Not very much though. I even had a reprisal of sorts when I spent the summer living with some teammates in 2005. Unfortunately, by that time, several expansions had been made to the game, creating cards that frankly shit squarely onto the faces of all the cards I cherished in my youth. Pauper that I was, I couldn't justify investing in the freshest cards and was summarily blown out of the water by my competitor's decks.
Constructing a deck in such a game is an art that goes beyond the ability to simply buy the best cards as, even when a monstrous deck is created, the dexterity to play it properly is also required. Short of the cards, I may also have lacked the ability to create that "perfect" deck, and perhaps also the necessary savvy to carry out a game to perfection. But that is neither here nor there because, nostalgic bastard that I am, I really just liked the idea of playing with my old cards where I dug the artwork and the accompanying tidbits of fabricated lore oft written on the base of the cards.
But I wasn't even meaning to talk about Magic (incidentally, there is a good chance I look briefly through my few remaining cards after finishing up this post), I meant to talk bizarros. Fairly frequently I see strangers on the street that resemble people I know well and I'm left wishing I had a camera, which I sometimes do, but it would be creepy to take photos of strangers even if it's for a good cause like unlocking bizarros. Also, it's not as fun just showing a picture of some random stranger to people and saying, "Hey, this looks like that other guy." Instead, the ultimate comparison is the celebrity. Celebrities are on the brain of so many of us that it provides a convenient reference point for all manner of things, appearance certainly included.
A typical flirtatious move by both male and female is to relate the appearance of the desired subject to that of some celebrity whose physical appearance is well-regarded. But when I seek out bizarros, I'm much more interested in accuracy than the prospect of hooking up. If that means telling a girl she looks like Bette Midler, so be it. And with all due respect and disrespect to Ms. Midler, I consider her a heinous hosebeast. One thing I have never found is my own bizarro. There probably could be, or are, some interesting studies concerning vision and mental association of appearance; i.e. what it is we acknowledge in facial structure and so on that has us deem certain individuals to look similar. I actually do know for certain that there are existing studies to account for the white man stereotype that "all asians[insert other race of choice look the same." We simply tend to pick out subtleties differently when someone is of our own race, although, in our increasingly intermingled bloodlines, for how long?
And so, while I have yet to identify my own bizarro, I have been compared to any number of prominent celebrities all connected by one convenient string: eyebrows. On that note, I present to you my most recently suggested celebrity bizarro, according to a pair of Chinese tourists dating back to Halloween; I don't agree on the choice, but I've presented the most convincing photo I could find in their favor:
Are you Sylar from Heroes?
p.s. did anyone watch Lost last night. I wasn't paying much attention and only watched the first hour, but it was looking pretty campy...and Sawyer was looking like he needed the ab diet. Maybe it's just me...
Constructing a deck in such a game is an art that goes beyond the ability to simply buy the best cards as, even when a monstrous deck is created, the dexterity to play it properly is also required. Short of the cards, I may also have lacked the ability to create that "perfect" deck, and perhaps also the necessary savvy to carry out a game to perfection. But that is neither here nor there because, nostalgic bastard that I am, I really just liked the idea of playing with my old cards where I dug the artwork and the accompanying tidbits of fabricated lore oft written on the base of the cards.
But I wasn't even meaning to talk about Magic (incidentally, there is a good chance I look briefly through my few remaining cards after finishing up this post), I meant to talk bizarros. Fairly frequently I see strangers on the street that resemble people I know well and I'm left wishing I had a camera, which I sometimes do, but it would be creepy to take photos of strangers even if it's for a good cause like unlocking bizarros. Also, it's not as fun just showing a picture of some random stranger to people and saying, "Hey, this looks like that other guy." Instead, the ultimate comparison is the celebrity. Celebrities are on the brain of so many of us that it provides a convenient reference point for all manner of things, appearance certainly included.
A typical flirtatious move by both male and female is to relate the appearance of the desired subject to that of some celebrity whose physical appearance is well-regarded. But when I seek out bizarros, I'm much more interested in accuracy than the prospect of hooking up. If that means telling a girl she looks like Bette Midler, so be it. And with all due respect and disrespect to Ms. Midler, I consider her a heinous hosebeast. One thing I have never found is my own bizarro. There probably could be, or are, some interesting studies concerning vision and mental association of appearance; i.e. what it is we acknowledge in facial structure and so on that has us deem certain individuals to look similar. I actually do know for certain that there are existing studies to account for the white man stereotype that "all asians[insert other race of choice look the same." We simply tend to pick out subtleties differently when someone is of our own race, although, in our increasingly intermingled bloodlines, for how long?
And so, while I have yet to identify my own bizarro, I have been compared to any number of prominent celebrities all connected by one convenient string: eyebrows. On that note, I present to you my most recently suggested celebrity bizarro, according to a pair of Chinese tourists dating back to Halloween; I don't agree on the choice, but I've presented the most convincing photo I could find in their favor:
Are you Sylar from Heroes?
p.s. did anyone watch Lost last night. I wasn't paying much attention and only watched the first hour, but it was looking pretty campy...and Sawyer was looking like he needed the ab diet. Maybe it's just me...
Friday, January 9, 2009
Beer Miling
There are a few things I've had on my mind lately that I was going to jot down in here, but as I was just updating my online running log, beer miling shifted to the forefront. Runners, more specifically distance runners, fulfill a bit of brainy and often full-on nerdy demographic. Many of us enjoy drinking and partying as much as the next guy, but because we are also runners, and a little touched, we also make efforts to combine drinking with one of our other favorite things: namely, running.
This is where the beer mile comes in. The concept is fairly simple: before each lap of the mile run on a certified 400m track, each runner must consume a 12oz beer (can or bottle) with an alcoholic percentage of five or greater. Speed enhancing methods like shotgunning are not allowed (link is not the best vid, but it demonstrates the concept. There's also the wikipedia version). On a side note (when do I not have a side note), lots of people will think you are hardcore when you shotgun a beer in front of them, let alone eight as I once did. The ability to kill brain cells at astonishing pace never fails to impress. On a further side note, they always had this "chugging can kill" poster in our health center that I sometimes thought was speaking to me.
Anyway, back to the beer mile, the best way to lay out the rules is to link to the official website for beermiling, the aptly named beermile.com, created and maintained by one of our successful and technologically savvy alums. Rules are here.
Every time I compete in a beer mile I am pretty excited but, because I end up taking shit a little too seriously and want to race well, I also tend to get nervous. In my latest effort, I think it was Indian food rather than nerves that brought about my excessive need for another type of bm (bowel movement, should I have left anyone in the dark here) pre and post race. And when I consider the fun I'll have, I always forget the actual pain of chugging the beers and having them jiggle in my tummy as I trot a few laps. This experience actually wasn't too bad except that my belly was emptier than bargained for, creating difficult to expel gas pockets; so basically I was struggling to burp, a rarity for me.
While my memory is jogged, I'm taking the opportunity to tabulate and briefly chronicle my beer mile efforts. I'll also take the opportunity to shout-out my boy Bryan Bissell for being potentially the most prolific beer-miler of all time with 30+ under the belt. I also am probably not the only person who has the distinction of never having to perform a boot lap but, regardless, I feel good about that.
My own tally is as follows:
2001-02 school year: My inaugural effort, a 7:02, which included controversy over finishing of my third beer I believe. An argument ensued which was deemed enough penalty time. I still contend I finished all of my beer.
2002-2003 school year: First one was an icy effort in the winter, fresh off eating three chicken sandwiches from the campus center. Footing was bad, as were the Ecko jeans I was wearing that kept falling. Ran 8:43, my only time over eight minutes. Winner ran an impressive time I don't recall of near or under 7 minutes. My next effort was our "team qualifier" for our conference championship. I mustered a 7:11. At the championship I produced a 6:45 which was probably sixth place, though I contend at least one person ahead of me cheated (no names). Winner ran an astonishing 5:56, with a 56 second last lap.
2003-2004 school year: Tough year as I had two surgeries in the fall and two stress fractures in the spring. Ran 7:24 in my sole effort.
2004-2005 school year: Having run my first complete year in college, I opted not to run a beer mile until graduation time. Mustered a 6:26 (~60 second last lap) for my first victory and also first post-race boot. Must have been the Charlotte's Own sandwich...mmm...Ran one summer race as well in a comfortable 6:45.
Fall 2005: Now, I ran two beer miles in Amherst, MA and I think one of them was this fall. This was on the Amherst track. I believe that I finished second in ~7:47, well behind individual champ Stephen Morris (~7:24), blowing by third placer Nick Holowka on the final lap. Nick admitted to being surprised by my speed but I don't know why. Also, it's relative anyway, and while he may own a ~6 minute personal best in the beer mile, he has no footspeed to speak of (if you ever read this, sorry Nick, but true). I always get pissed when people doubt my speed. I threw up gold foam after this because my stomach had been so empty and then ate some delicious burritos.
Good Old 2006: Mixed bag. Ran my first effort of the year in late May at graduation. Now, I was in sub 4:30 mile shape in late April, but then I hadn't run for a month. Still, I was confident I could take home the W. I was surprised to find an old teammate outdrinking me on each beer, and while I surprised myself with a ~58 second last lap, it was all for naught as my competitor, one Alex Battaglino aka AgBat aka FagBat aka SackFat aka AgBar closed in ~61 seconds and already had a healthy lead. He took the two second victory 6:17-6:19. Aggie was the better man that day. Haven't raced him since, but that remains my pr, so he may prove the better going forward. Next effort was stopped short on the Brattleboro Union High School track when some band or athletic high school students returned from some event in the evening, but we did manage to close out the summer with one. I dropped a ~7:17 for the mildly uncomfortable victory. Sometime in the fall, perhaps around November, we ran around the Amherst athletic fields. The distance may have been off as I ran very comfortably in the 6:30s for the win. I believe some n00bs unfamiliar with my running form got a good chuckle watching me crank the final lap. In December I rolled to Middlebury with a couple of other alums to compete in a large (too large in fact) race. I ran 6:31 finishing in God-only-knows what place but cheating was rampant and I had to step off the track each lap to fetch beers. This might make me DQ worthy, and I ain't talking Dairy Queen. This was the only time I felt slow. It wasn't about being winded as I'd run out of shape BM's in the past, I simply felt sluggish out there.
2007, the Hawaiian [half] year: I only had one effort in 2007, and that was in the small town of Hawi, HI, on the Kohala High School track. Mustered a ~7:17 on cinders.
2009: New Year: This past Monday, January 5th, I ran my first beer mile in ages. I had the goose egg for 2008, for the first time since I began beer miling. I don't want to ever say that again. Henceforth I will run at least one a year. Luckily this year is out of the way. I ran ~7:58 and I booted shortly after the finish. At least I kept it under eight.
That got long in a hurry...tally stands at 13. As a last note, the beer mile creates an incomparable drunk, a giddy and lively drunk that isn't quite the same as any other drunk you can produce. Well shit, I've got myself all riled up. I'm about to make sure I get healthy, so I can go out and run one every week. I mean, I want to go out and run one right now...
And as a closing note, just a little article on corruption from September of 2008. If I didn't say it yet, Happy New Year everyone.
This is where the beer mile comes in. The concept is fairly simple: before each lap of the mile run on a certified 400m track, each runner must consume a 12oz beer (can or bottle) with an alcoholic percentage of five or greater. Speed enhancing methods like shotgunning are not allowed (link is not the best vid, but it demonstrates the concept. There's also the wikipedia version). On a side note (when do I not have a side note), lots of people will think you are hardcore when you shotgun a beer in front of them, let alone eight as I once did. The ability to kill brain cells at astonishing pace never fails to impress. On a further side note, they always had this "chugging can kill" poster in our health center that I sometimes thought was speaking to me.
Anyway, back to the beer mile, the best way to lay out the rules is to link to the official website for beermiling, the aptly named beermile.com, created and maintained by one of our successful and technologically savvy alums. Rules are here.
Every time I compete in a beer mile I am pretty excited but, because I end up taking shit a little too seriously and want to race well, I also tend to get nervous. In my latest effort, I think it was Indian food rather than nerves that brought about my excessive need for another type of bm (bowel movement, should I have left anyone in the dark here) pre and post race. And when I consider the fun I'll have, I always forget the actual pain of chugging the beers and having them jiggle in my tummy as I trot a few laps. This experience actually wasn't too bad except that my belly was emptier than bargained for, creating difficult to expel gas pockets; so basically I was struggling to burp, a rarity for me.
While my memory is jogged, I'm taking the opportunity to tabulate and briefly chronicle my beer mile efforts. I'll also take the opportunity to shout-out my boy Bryan Bissell for being potentially the most prolific beer-miler of all time with 30+ under the belt. I also am probably not the only person who has the distinction of never having to perform a boot lap but, regardless, I feel good about that.
My own tally is as follows:
2001-02 school year: My inaugural effort, a 7:02, which included controversy over finishing of my third beer I believe. An argument ensued which was deemed enough penalty time. I still contend I finished all of my beer.
2002-2003 school year: First one was an icy effort in the winter, fresh off eating three chicken sandwiches from the campus center. Footing was bad, as were the Ecko jeans I was wearing that kept falling. Ran 8:43, my only time over eight minutes. Winner ran an impressive time I don't recall of near or under 7 minutes. My next effort was our "team qualifier" for our conference championship. I mustered a 7:11. At the championship I produced a 6:45 which was probably sixth place, though I contend at least one person ahead of me cheated (no names). Winner ran an astonishing 5:56, with a 56 second last lap.
2003-2004 school year: Tough year as I had two surgeries in the fall and two stress fractures in the spring. Ran 7:24 in my sole effort.
2004-2005 school year: Having run my first complete year in college, I opted not to run a beer mile until graduation time. Mustered a 6:26 (~60 second last lap) for my first victory and also first post-race boot. Must have been the Charlotte's Own sandwich...mmm...Ran one summer race as well in a comfortable 6:45.
Fall 2005: Now, I ran two beer miles in Amherst, MA and I think one of them was this fall. This was on the Amherst track. I believe that I finished second in ~7:47, well behind individual champ Stephen Morris (~7:24), blowing by third placer Nick Holowka on the final lap. Nick admitted to being surprised by my speed but I don't know why. Also, it's relative anyway, and while he may own a ~6 minute personal best in the beer mile, he has no footspeed to speak of (if you ever read this, sorry Nick, but true). I always get pissed when people doubt my speed. I threw up gold foam after this because my stomach had been so empty and then ate some delicious burritos.
Good Old 2006: Mixed bag. Ran my first effort of the year in late May at graduation. Now, I was in sub 4:30 mile shape in late April, but then I hadn't run for a month. Still, I was confident I could take home the W. I was surprised to find an old teammate outdrinking me on each beer, and while I surprised myself with a ~58 second last lap, it was all for naught as my competitor, one Alex Battaglino aka AgBat aka FagBat aka SackFat aka AgBar closed in ~61 seconds and already had a healthy lead. He took the two second victory 6:17-6:19. Aggie was the better man that day. Haven't raced him since, but that remains my pr, so he may prove the better going forward. Next effort was stopped short on the Brattleboro Union High School track when some band or athletic high school students returned from some event in the evening, but we did manage to close out the summer with one. I dropped a ~7:17 for the mildly uncomfortable victory. Sometime in the fall, perhaps around November, we ran around the Amherst athletic fields. The distance may have been off as I ran very comfortably in the 6:30s for the win. I believe some n00bs unfamiliar with my running form got a good chuckle watching me crank the final lap. In December I rolled to Middlebury with a couple of other alums to compete in a large (too large in fact) race. I ran 6:31 finishing in God-only-knows what place but cheating was rampant and I had to step off the track each lap to fetch beers. This might make me DQ worthy, and I ain't talking Dairy Queen. This was the only time I felt slow. It wasn't about being winded as I'd run out of shape BM's in the past, I simply felt sluggish out there.
2007, the Hawaiian [half] year: I only had one effort in 2007, and that was in the small town of Hawi, HI, on the Kohala High School track. Mustered a ~7:17 on cinders.
2009: New Year: This past Monday, January 5th, I ran my first beer mile in ages. I had the goose egg for 2008, for the first time since I began beer miling. I don't want to ever say that again. Henceforth I will run at least one a year. Luckily this year is out of the way. I ran ~7:58 and I booted shortly after the finish. At least I kept it under eight.
That got long in a hurry...tally stands at 13. As a last note, the beer mile creates an incomparable drunk, a giddy and lively drunk that isn't quite the same as any other drunk you can produce. Well shit, I've got myself all riled up. I'm about to make sure I get healthy, so I can go out and run one every week. I mean, I want to go out and run one right now...
And as a closing note, just a little article on corruption from September of 2008. If I didn't say it yet, Happy New Year everyone.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Werewolf Bar Mitzvah
I've recently returned home after a long night in Portland, Oregon. There is no question that, geographically, Portland covers a pretty creditable expanse. I'm fairly certain I covered about four miles in my walk home and when I have a better idea of where I actually was, I'm going to go ahead and consult gmaps for the proper distance.
In the meantime, the Pac Northwest is tight, even if it has been overcast and rainy virtually 100% of my visit thus far. As I'm typing it is 7:21am and there is not a hint of daylight I can see; it's like a giant fake-out. Anyway, I'm too sleepy to make much more of this, but updates to follow once I sleep and/or return east. Shiiiiiiit... spooky, scary...
Update: ate at Burgerville today. Pretty good. Sweet potato fries are probably the crown jewel. Eventually induced an impressive BM.
Also, I just logged into facebook, and it seems like nearly every time I do, there is an ad for laser hair removal asking, "tired of shaving?" and featuring a hairless male of moderate musculature with a razor on one of his pecs. Now, either facebook has so few advertisers this shit always comes up; these guys pay a premium for greater exposure; or the ads are targeted at me and somehow know I might have excessive body hair some places...eyebrows must be a dead giveaway. Speaking of dead...
In the meantime, the Pac Northwest is tight, even if it has been overcast and rainy virtually 100% of my visit thus far. As I'm typing it is 7:21am and there is not a hint of daylight I can see; it's like a giant fake-out. Anyway, I'm too sleepy to make much more of this, but updates to follow once I sleep and/or return east. Shiiiiiiit... spooky, scary...
Update: ate at Burgerville today. Pretty good. Sweet potato fries are probably the crown jewel. Eventually induced an impressive BM.
Also, I just logged into facebook, and it seems like nearly every time I do, there is an ad for laser hair removal asking, "tired of shaving?" and featuring a hairless male of moderate musculature with a razor on one of his pecs. Now, either facebook has so few advertisers this shit always comes up; these guys pay a premium for greater exposure; or the ads are targeted at me and somehow know I might have excessive body hair some places...eyebrows must be a dead giveaway. Speaking of dead...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)