I'm only here for the beer

I brew beer from time to time at a local brew kitchen. I made a scotch ale recently (~9% abv), and decided to call it Asshole Ale. I made a label, stealing the solioquy from dennis leary's "I'm An Asshole" song.

http://www.stlyrics.com/songs/d/denisleary6392/asshole375206.html

I had to abridge it slightly to fit the label, and updated a couple things to make it more culturally current. I ended up with this:



" I'm gonna get myself a 1967 Cadillac Eldorado Convertible, hot pink with whale skin hub-caps and all leather cow interior and big brown baby Seal eyes for headlights, and I'm gonna drive around in that baby at 115 mph getting one mile per gallon, sucking down Quarter Pounder cheese burgers from McDonalds in the old-fasion, non-biodegradible styrofoam containers and
when I'm done suckn' down those greaseburgers I'm gonna wipe my mouth on the American flag and then I'm gonna toss those styrofoam containers right out the side and there ain't a god-damned thing anybody can do about it. You know why? Two words: Nuclear fucking weapons, OK!? Russia, Germany, Romania - they can have a big democracy cake-walk Right through the middle of Tiananmen Square and it won't make a lick of a difference because we got the bombs, OK? I'm gonna get Bruce Willis, Sly Stallone, Wesley Snipes, and a case of ASSHOLE ALE and drive down to Texas."

I put the text over a picture of a nuclear detonation from nevada.

Porkslappin' Snapperhead

I had to do it.



As I haven't been able to work out because I'm still 'booted'. I've had less guilt about drinking more. (note the subtitle of the blog). In preparation for our annual more-than-secular easter dinner, I decided I would bring one of my usual microbrews, typically a Flying Dog or Sam Adams. The store I go to - which has a small but eclectic selection of european an domestic brews - usually has some thing interesting. There it was.

Snapperhead and Porkslap ales, two offerings from Butternuts Beer and Ale Company in Garrastville, NY

The Porkslap was a hearty ale with a bitter finish. The Snapperhead was more along the lines of a bass. Both were well made, with no yeasty or skunky contaminants. They were both typical microbrewed offerings, which is to say, they were both pretty good. Bitter ales don't do much for me, so I won't be goin' porkslappin' again any time soon, but a nice cold snapperhead on a hot summer day would fit the bill.

another installation of "my previous life"

When I was ten, I had a little gas powered airplane. It was the type that you had to hook a battery up to a glow plug, then spin the prop with your fingers, and hope your finger got out before it started up. It wasn't radio controlled, but ran on a couple of wires hooked to a handle. You had to stand in one place and spin around in circles since it flew at about 20 mph...too fast to run.

I digress. This story is actually about the battery. It was a big dry cell, about the size and shape of a tennis ball can. It only put out 1,5 volts, but the point was to provide current for the glow plug to get really hot.

About that time, rechargeable batteries were becoming popular. I thought, 'gee, if you take these little aa batteries and put them in the little recharging cradle, then plug it in the wall, I should be able to just plug my airplane battery in the wall!'

The next thing I remember, was an extremely bright flash of light, followed by temporay blindness. It was as if someone lit off a flash bulb inches from my open eyes.

After my sight came back (it was a few minutes) I saw a massive scorch mark on the wall. Apparently the wires I pushed into the wall socket instantly vaporized. This was actually the best thing that could have happened. If the wires had been large enough to handle the current, it's likely the battery would have exploded.

It dawned on me in one of my earliest electronics classes: Since a battery is for all intents and purposes a capacitor, it looks like an exceptionally low impedance - a short circuit - to an AC signal source like household power. The wires were thin enough that the resultant ~ 1.8 kilowatts simply vaporized them.

lucky me.

A week has gone by.

I did one night of 'core work': my standard off season regimen of crunches, back extensions, and leg curls, but I did leg extensions this time instead of squats (I know, squats and leg curls don't qualify as core work. Fuck off). I lack any semblance of motivation, my basement is still cold, and maneuvering around my weight bench is a pain in the ass with this cast on.

I have noticed a sharp decrease in my appetite since I have done shit for over three weeks now. Here's this weekends dietary journal:

Saturday

9 AM two egg ham and cheese omlet and 20 oz vat-o-java (two tbsp each of cream and sugar)

1:30 PM One order of buffalo wings and one 20 oz sams winter wheat at the 99.

3 pm one 16 oz guinness

7 pm one order of fried onion rings and two 12 oz sams lager.

sunday

9 am one rather large whole wheat pancake with butter and artificial maple syrup, two pieces of bacon and 20 oz vat-o-java (two tbsp each of cream and sugar)

5 pm ~ 8 oz serving of chicken pot pie

8 pm ~ 8 oz glass of yellow tail merlot

10:30 golf ball sized dollop of p-nut butter

I'm thinkin', all weekend, I probably took in a s many calories as a I would have in one meal (minus the beer calories) had I been riding the number of hours I planned to at this point. Of course, Had I been riding, I would have been a little more conscious of _what_ I was eating as well, and the buffalo wings and onion rings wouldn't have happened.

I'll have to see if I can get on the trainer with this fucking boot.

Weekend Stats.

OK, I said I was going to list stats from my workouts, so here's this weekend:







(crickets chirping)







I didn't do shit. Sunday I didn't even get out of my PJs. Am I taking the dr's advice to much to the extreme? I did figure out one thing. The point of the aircast is not - as they claim - to eliminate mobility and provide support. It's to make it so uncomfortable that you can't help but _not_ walk. Seriously, my leg hurts more now than it did_before_ the cast. It digs in places. I'm using muscles I usually don't to compensate.

Saturday I did get out, but it was to visit our accountant. We made a stop at Target on the way home, and I had a latte and double-chocolate biscotti. Saturday night i drank two double glennfiddich single malts. Sunday, I pretty much surfed the web and watched TV, but I _did_ spend a solid hour cleaning the kitchen (I'm actually pretty good at cleaning).

Aren't you just on pins and needles waiting for my next post?

random post.

I have dreams. I like it when I dream. It's rare when I have one I don't enjoy. Over the years I've had certain recurring dreams. My favorite is one where I could fly. I haven't had that dream in about ten years, and the only reason I can think why is that I'm now a father of a 12 year old. I'm guessing as the responsibility of being a parent became more and more demanding, it became more and more obvious I don't have the freedom to fly, but then, I could be completely full of shit.

I have 'old house' dreams not infrequently. Usually they involve me finding a new hidden room/floor in my home or back before my parents moved in with me, in their home. The rooms were always massive, and either ornate and majestic or dilapidated but filled with interesting items. In one of my dreams, my current home has an entire additional floor with a massive ballroom and a conservatory.

I had a new dream last night. In it, the money pit (manch-vegas triple decker) has another large room off the back. I discovered it, and found a large collection of old musical instruments, strewn about in dusty cases. I found a small horn, similar to a french horn, but half the size.

Then came something really strange: A strip of photographs. I know the source of this: In my current home, I was remodeling tha basement and came across a set of old negatives from a family dinner. I'm assuming the y were taken in my house. From the clothing the attendes were wearing, it was obviously no later than the mid 60's. I didn't keep them.

In this dream though, they were sort of like a strip of negatives, only they were positives.





They featured a young blonde woman in a 60's era outfit that looked somthing like this:

On the strip was printed "UC Berkely, 1967". She was posing in what could be considered 'fashion shoot' poses. She was cute, but not gorgeous. She bore no resemblance to any one I know. The photos were taken on the front step of an apartment of house, outside. I didn't recognize the location.

I'm not sure what to make of it, if anything. I just thought it was interesting.

fuuuuuuuuck meeeeeeeeee (a.k.a., The Whiney Post)

Prognosis is in......Slightly torn achilles tendon.

fuck.

Yesterday, my primary care physician was somewhat incredulous that I wasn't actually in pain, and scheduled an apt for me this morning with an orthopedic surgeon he knows that has a number of athletic clients.

This doctor, at the Leahy Clinic Orthopedic Surgery Dept., said no riding for at least two more weeks and 'normal' training will have to wait a month to commence, Provided I wear this during most of my waking hours:




Yup, that's my foot.

For the next month I an to eschew any activities that involve any sort of stress on the achilles tendon. This pretty much rules out any aerobic activities whatsoever. Even though she said I can ride in two weeks, she said I must do whatever it takes to restrict the movement of the tendon, and she suggested I try to find a way to ride with the boot. I asked about taping the ankle up really well, and her response first to make a disapproving frown, then said If I tried it, to be very cognizant of discomfort. Not pain, discomfort, and if I felt discomfort to stop immediately. If I don't wear the boot, according to the orthopedist, I stand a chance of creating a nodule on the tendon which will result in chronic tendonitis. Even still, she said no outdoor riding until I see her again in one month. Then she'll re-assess the knot on the tendon (actually visible) and make a recommendation from there.

I guess I'm going to be restricted to the machines in the gym. I can do quad work with a leg press, as long as I put all the force into the heel and don't flex the ankle. I can do leg flexion work as well (hamstrings, glutes), and of course there's nothing restricting me on core work. There's a new Yoga place that just opened up across the street from work, I can try that too.

The irony of this is that I spent six hours on my commuter bike this weekend, prepping it for this year. I had actually planned on riding in this week....weather permitting (I hate cold rain). I rebuilt the rear hub including the freehub, new chain, cassette, and a long overdue replacement of the index gear in the rear shifter (gotta luv that about campagnolo, a $40 indexing gear and it shifts like new).

Well, I was seriously wondering how much riding more than commuting I was going to be able to do this year, just because of other issues in my life mostly relating to that money pit in manch-vegas. I guess the decision has been made.

The Conspiracy Of One

It's worse that I thought.

After rest/ice on the achille's tendon for the past week, I attempted a ride sunday morning. It went from feeling absolutely no pain or discomfort in the past few days to a searing, stabbing sensation in less than 20 minutes. This was spinning an easy gear (39x16) with no hills.

fuck.

Now it's a day later and it's painful to walk up stairs again. I'll be calling my doctor this morning.

Yew Know Yew Wont Suuuuum!!!!

I can't believe I forgot to relay this little tidbit about the trip to georgia:

The day we got there was gorgeous. In fact it was the only nice day of the whole trip. As we were driving to the cabin, we had to pass through intersection in the local town. The Cheerleaders from the school had set up a fund drive in the middle of the intersection, selling dozen-boxes of Krispy Kreme donuts. They had actually stacked dozens of boxes in the middle of the intersection, hawking them to drivers. In their little colloquial drawl, the largest girl - presumptively a generous patron of Krispy Kreme donuts, was chanting "You know you want some", which sounded more phonetically like the title of this post.

It became the tagline for the rest of the trip.