Exercise and Meteorology

Interesting factoid about my neighborhood: you can jog around it for 40 minutes in essentially a giant circle, and be in a headwind* the entire fucking time. 

*I've ruled out a constant cyclone hovering over housing development, or my blazing speed giving the illusion of a headwind...and am now open to new theories.

Huge Pills: A Yetis's dick or King King's Fang? (and "the clap")

Got some antibiotics for a sinus/upper-respiratory infection I had...and they are these HUGE horse pills.  I mean...HUGE (Like a Yeti's dick?  King Kong's fang?  I dunno...you get the idea*).  Anyways, two a day X2 a day.  Seems excessive.  Makes me wonder if the pharmacy accidentally switched my prescription with somebody who has the clap...not that, you know, I'd know what those kind of pills looked like or anything...just sayin'.

*I have no factual basis for the size of either.

KFC, beards, baby corn and facial hair

Was discussing pet peeves with somebody, and I realized I have another: beards. Thought I'd repost a short rant on the subject.

Beards:
Tuesday, April 23rd, 1441 hours Pacific Time...the date and time beards officially jumped the shark.* This was made apparent as I just saw a KFC commercial with bespectacled, 30-something "hipsters" all sporting beards as they wolfed down their chicken. By the time corporate America gets on board, it's never a good sign for the "cutting edge" crowd. RIP ironic facial hair.

*Yes, yes...I know. The term "jumped the shark" jumped the shark on Friday, October 28, 2009. I just haven't found a suitable replacement.

Also, it turns out that "baby corn" is just that...baby corn. Who the fuck knew?**

** Obviously, not me. I figured it was just this weird little vegetable that looked like a "baby corn." Kind of like how Michele Bachman LOOKS like a human being, but isn't.***

***She's actually a replicant constructed from polycarbonate, the blood of the innocent, and Republican sexual fantasies.

"Read the Label", i.e., "Caveat Emptor Motherfucka!"

Just discovered the salsa I ate had a "best by date" of Sept. 2012.  That probably explains the stomach ache.  I wonder what the "will kill you" date is?

Target, Flying, and Stella Skull Candy

OK, I've bitched about my experiences at Starbucks (I'm going to start calling it "The Bux", because it makes it easier to cram it into one run-on word.  For example: "gettacupatthebux".  I'm all about brevity, and just don't have the time for actual proper English, busy guy that I am) and grocery stores, so naturally, the next, almost organic, progression from these two retailers would be (drumroll, please): Target.  Quick exposition to set up the rant:

I was going on a short one hour flight last weekend, and I wanted to buy some cheap headphones pre-flight.  Why cheap headphones?  Because if they get lost during your journey (which is a 50/50 probability), you won't get all bent out of shape because you left them stuffed in the airline seat-back next to the barf bag and the Alaska Airlines courtesy magazine (why are your headphones stuffed in the barf bag/magazine seat-back?  Because you got up to take a leak.  Duh.  And why are you getting up and taking a leak on a measly one hour flight?  Because you were pounding Stella* prior to the flight.  Double duh).  Anyways, I really don't like to fly (my brain gets mildly preoccupied with the all the moving parts that have to work perfectly in unison in order to keep you aloft...and if you ever spent any time pondering the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics, you'd be preoccupied too...), so listening to music is a nice diversion.  I suppose having a crazy three way with the flight attendants would be another diversion as well, but I feel listening to my iPod is a) more appropriate b) easier to attain c) probably doesn't violate any FAA laws, and d) doesn't require the use of latex, various gels, and an awkward post event shame-walk back to your seat.  Additionally, you're less likely to have to look anyone in the eye and have an uncomfortable moment of false intimacy, talk dirty, cuddle, or wonder two weeks later if that rash that suddenly appeared means anything (then again, I have no idea how involved you are with your iPod/iPhone...so maybe you do experience those things, you perv).  So, off to Target I go, and I see a basic pair of Skull Candy earbuds on sale for less than $10.  Perfect.  I make my purchase and go catch my flight.

OK, so now were back to the flight, post Stella shenanigans and trip to the urinal 30 minutes into the flight (sans flight attendants and the kinky stuff), and I wander back to my seat.  I look out the window and stare at the turbo-prop to my right and immediately start wondering about lift vs. downforce vs. drag, gravity, structural integrity, pressure variances, and, yes, as mentioned above, entropy.  Hey man, to quote Yeats: things fall apart. OK, it's definitely earbuds and iPod (well, iPhone) time!  I pop in the earbuds, crank up the tunes, and......only one of the earbuds (bud?) works.  Looks like the old 2nd Law is working its magic quicker than I would have thought.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to enjoy music with only 1/2 of the stereo sound working?  Exactly.  You cant.  Upside was, I killed another 20 minutes of the flight trying to figure out how to get them to work properly (maybe if I blew in the earpiece to dislodge an unseen particle of plastic, or fiddled with the wires, maybe try and peel of an unseen piece of protective film on the miniature speaker....fuck.  Nope.  Broken as Mickey Rourke's face ((was going to say "mental state", but truth be told, I have no idea how sane Mickey Rourke actually is, or isn't.  But his face, I think we can all agree, is a train wreck.  Btw, he was fucking awesome in Angel Heart.  Just sayin'...)).  In hindsight, I now realize watching me obsessively fuck with the earbuds must have gave the other passengers the idea I snorted a whole bottle of Ritalin in the bathroom, but oh well).  Anyways, I gave up in defeat, and perused the Alaskan Airlines in flight magazine.  The magazine had little nuggets of info like: Alaskan Airlines has flights to Alaska.  Holy shit.  Who knew????  And: the National Parks of the USA are picturesque.  Well, fuck me...somebody better get a photographer over to Yosemite and Yellowstone, stat.  Might be a good idea to photograph them in order to let folks know they may be a nice place to visit.  Amazing nobody thought of that.  Thank you Alaskan Airlines.

Now, where was I?  Oh yeah.  Ear buds no workee.  So, I get back to good old Fresno (Fres-no?  Fres-hell-yes!  Sorry...dumb but irresistible) and eventually head over to Target and get in the "returns" line.  There's three lines.  Two with four people in line, and one with two.  Being the mathematical genius I am, I get in the line with two people ('cuz two be less than four and shit).  All three lines move at equal speed with the first people in line, but then we get to the second in line.  The lines to my left and right continue to move at a nice clip.  But, naturally, mine grinds to a halt, because, as usual, I pick the line that was the opening act for some pretty good street theater.  This evenings show was titled (I'm guessing) "White Trash Camera: A Source of Debate".  I have no fucking clue what the issue in front of me was, but the evenings performers included a goateed family of six (both men and women goateed...with the women possibly having more tattoos than the men...and all in loose fitting tank tops) trying to return a camera, coupled with what appeared to be the entire Target staff clustered around that one register.  The conversation seemed to be going something like this:

-Family matriarch: We just want to return this camera we bought here.  Nobody told us to keep the receipt!
-Target staff: Ma'am...the lack of a receipt is only part of the problem.  The bigger issue is this camera doesn't appear to have been purchased here.  In fact, I'm not even sure it's even a camera. It appears to be made of clay,wood, bits of string and a Pabst beer can...and the brand name "Nykon", which looks to have been scratched on the side with a switchblade, isn't spelled with a "y".

Anyways, by the time I got to the front of a different line, my exchange took about 15 seconds.  That's right...I'm the wet dream "cash register line guy in front of you".  If you're in line behind me, I can guarantee you'll be out of there tout de suite...and I usually smell pretty good too, which is a bonus.  Some folks?  Not so much (see the Duggar family above).

I got my return, and there was great rejoicing throughout the shire (confession: I dont have hairy feet).  I would add more to this story, but I just got back from the gym, it's late, and a hot shower and bed sounds better than...well, something normally fantastic.  I have analogy fatigue.  Sorry.

*Stella as in Stella Artois the beer.  So, when I said I was pounding Stella, I meant I was sucking down a beer, as opposed to having some wildly enthusiastic sex with Stanley Kowalski's wife in the airport (who's that?  Why Stella of course.  Read a damn book** once in a while for god's sake).  

** Yes, I know it was actually a play.  Quite being an argumentative pain in the ass.

Give me meth, or give me cupcakes!

 

OR

1:30 am on a Friday night (well, Saturday morning), you are awoken to the sounds of electric mixers, metal bowls banging around, rapid speech and maniacal laughter.  So, is it A) methamphetamine addicts have broken into your kitchen and are making a late night batch of crank, or B) teenagers have decided 1:30 am is the perfect time to make red velvet cupcakes?

Scotch Snobs

*

Those who know me even casually, know that I like whiskey (or "whisky").  It's good stuff.  My favorite is bourbon, but I also enjoy Irish whiskey and Scotch whisky as well.  People who don't like whiskey will say it's nasty, rough, and burns like a mouthful of gasoline.  Well, poor quality whiskey can, in fact, taste like that.  But the good stuff, the stuff I enjoy, will have (in various combinations) honey, vanilla, maple, oak, dried fruit, smoke, sherry and floral qualities to it.  It's seriously good.  However, this brings me to the Scotch snob crowd...

A Scotch snob will tell you if it tastes good, it's shit.  Only the overly peated, medicinal smoke bombs that would make a wild boar gag are the Scotches worth your time.  Only these vile whiskies are "complex" (complex is whiskey snob code for foul tasting) enough for a Scotch snob's time.  Here's a typical Scotch snob whiskey review of something they would find top notch:

Nose: smells like baby vomit...but worse.  Think of a baby eating an entire box of adhesive tape along with a couple of Band Aids, and then puked it up on your collar.  Once you get through the vomity introduction, it's followed by hints of summer road tar, and sulfur...like Satan farted in your car with the windows rolled up.  Some boiled cabbage comes through and some smoke.  But not wood smoke, more like if an emergency road flare had an orgy with gunpowder, burning foam sofa cushions, and overheated disc brakes...and then had a bastard love child with all of these qualities.  Some sweet vanilla comes through, but then this is immediately shat upon by wave after wave of iodine, rotting oleander, and Vicks VapoRub.  The VapoRub is followed by the smell of a glue factory.  

It's complex and amazing.  I give the nose an A+.  (Warning: after one whiff of this my olfactory senses quit working for a week...but totally worth it)

Palate: now here's where it gets interesting.  More smoke.  Like an electrical fire and burnt insulation.  Some more rotten egg and sulfur...as if Godzilla sodomized a volcano and then immediately wiped his dick into my glass.  A little charcoal and bitter adhesive...reminiscent of being locked in a bank vault with a bandaged hooker on a summers day, and snorting lines of powdered residue taken from your barbecue grill off of the small of her back as she is positioned on all fours and lighting a crack pipe with a blow torch.  Wood glue. Model airplane glue. Super glue...hot lead solder...followed by more glue. This is followed by .0003 seconds of vanilla, oak, and wild honey, and this is mercifully strangled with a strippers bra and replaced by ancient mariners rope and disinfectant.  Some vegetal quality...spoiled sauerkraut...maybe some broccoli and asparagus.  Sweet dung...and finally isopropyl rubbing alcohol.  

It's complex and amazing.  I give it an A. 

Finish: long.  Slow.  Like slowly rotting desert roadkill left in the sun in springtime.  Instantly induces tinnitus and a short term bout of nonspecific urethritis.  Hot and tortuous...like a garbage landfill fire on the back of my tongue.  More charcoal and smoke...burning used tires and a dirty oven on the self clean cycle.  Momentary blindness in my left eye followed by overtones of ipecac.  Pine tar.  Cough syrup.  Dirty diapers and curry.  More curry.  Some kimchi...followed by more kimchi...Thai curry...and the baby vomit makes another appearance.  A little maple, which is immediately gunned down by a cigarette smoking, one eyed Hungarian with athletes foot, who then buries it in a swamp.  This is followed by clouds iodine, wound cleanser, the atmosphere of Venus, dirty crotch, and bug repellant.  

It's complex and amazing.  I give it an A.  

To sum up, this is mind blowing Scotch.  Highly recommended.   

If you look up a review by a whisky snob on something like Laphroaig, you'll see what I mean.

Now, here's the same review by a Scotch snob on something I'd enjoy (i.e. a Speyside, Highlands, or a high end blend*):

Nose: vanilla. Dried fruit. Wild honey. Some smoke...hints of bacon frying in the pan on a winters day. Oak.  Sherry. Compote.  Christmas spices.  Baked banana bread.  Creme brulee.  Wild flowers.  The warm skin of a beautiful woman as she lays next to you.  

It's ok, but rather dull and uninspired.  Could use more complexity.  I give it a C. (Side note: my inoperable brain tumor suddenly disappeared as I drank this....but this doesn't replace this whisky's need for more complexity)  

Palate: mana of the gods.  More vanilla, oak, mild flavorful smoke, heather, wild honey, and sherry.  Feels like a super model was massaging the back of my tongue.  Fresh baked bread, a spreading warmth like a holiday fireplace filled with flavorful oak, and some bourbon sweetness infused from the toasted cask.  Flavored lip gloss from the girl you first kissed at 14 and havent forgotten 30 years later, and hints of a Michelin starred restaurant.  Imported Swiss chocolate.  Baked Alaska surrounded by bread pudding, and finished with New York style cheesecake and wet dreams.

It's ok, but rather dull and uninspired.  Could use more complexity.  I give it a C.

Finish: I'm not sure.  It started off with the lilting sounds of angels singing and the smoothness of a gently flowing mountain stream.  Some delightful smokey warmth, and spontaneous orgasm.  Warm holiday spices and more of that vanilla and wild honey.  I then passed out from sheer bliss and cannot remember the rest of the experience.  

It's ok, but rather dull and uninspired.  Could use more complexity.  I give it a C.  

The whole experience with this dram is alright if you're looking for a Scotch that's drinkable, has good flavor, is smooth and brings you pleasure...but I cannot recommend it.  Look for something a bit more complex...and has hint's of Satan's flatulence.  In fact, there's an Islay single malt called "Satan's Wind" that has this very quality, and I highly recommend it...especially since it's a bargain at $250 a bottle.    

Anyways, what I'm alluding to here is that there are some delicious whiskies out there, and if the stuff you tried based on the review of some so-called expert tasted like shit...it probably did.  Ask your non-self aggrandizing friends who enjoy whiskey (and who also don't endlessly drone on about it...a good sign they're NOT Scotch snobs) for a recommendation.  Remember, it's important they're not uppity douchebags...otherwise they'll steer you to the "Satan's Wind" brand.  You might be surprised at what you find...and you may actually like it.      

* How to tell if you're one of the dreaded douche bags I just described above, i.e., a single malt Scotch snob:

1) You looked at the picture of the whiskey with ice in it and immediately thought: Ice???? ICE???  Ice lowers the temp and doesn't allow the full presentation, flavor and nose of the whiskey.  Only a charlatan, a bumpkin, or AN AMERICAN adds ice!!!!  You're missing out on the cabbage and baby vomit!!!!  

(Well, screw you.  I like my drinks ice cold and the ice melts and adds a little water to the whiskey, rounding its flavors, enhancing the wood and vanilla, and takes off rough edges...but that's just me.  Only the Scotch snob tries to tell another how to enjoy their drink)

2) You saw the word "blend" and scoffed, because the only Scotch worth drinking is single malt Scotch.  

(Actually, there are some amazing blends out there, some as good or better than overpriced single malts, and I've got a bottle of Chivas 18yr old to prove it.  In fact, the single malt craze is the result of a rather successful marketing strategy from years back, as it used to be thought most single malts were too rough for most palates.  Back in the day, most Scotches WERE BLENDS.  There is no shame in enjoying something easy to find like Johnny Walker black label.  It tastes good...and isn't that the point?  In fact, Compass Box is a highly regarded, craft style Scotch producer who embraces blends and makes nothing but blends...and is quickly reshaping the attitude towards blends with their highly rated offerings)