A Year in the 504

Beer and Wine Ranking System

Malcolm — Fri, 03 Aug 2007 23:18:16 +0000

Beer:
Overall grade of 0-20

00-causes cancer
02-vomit inducing
04-indistinguishable from urine
06-noticeably bad
08-1 or 2 more cons than pros
10-average, nondescript
12-above average, no flaws
14-solid, 1 or 2 points in favor
16-good
18-great
20-perfect

Wine:
Copied from the Wine Enthusiast Scale

3 Miles: 20:38

Malcolm — Thu, 25 Jan 2007 08:18:48 +0000

I have shaved 3 minutes off my time from four months ago. Just another 39 seconds to go and I will have to set another goal. Maybe a half-marathon in under 100 minutes? I don’t know if I could tolerate another run of that length though, it’s just so damn tiring mentally. Anyways, it’s a wonder what a huge resevoir of self-hate can do for your motivation. Some people cut themselves; I used to read; now I run. Whatever it takes to escape for a brief time, to just fucking get away.

Running On Fumes

Malcolm — Tue, 23 Jan 2007 04:54:19 +0000

It’s not often that one can honestly say that you hit empty on your personal gas tank. It goes beyond anything normal, hard, or even extreme in terms of effort. It is about running right by extreme and not giving it another glance even though you would really really like to stop and go back. It is also not a cardinal thing. You cannot measure it. Everyone has different limits. The only certainty that I can at least attest to is that, sans high level athletes, if you think you’ve hit empty before, you probably haven’t.

I have come close to hitting empty twice lately. The most recent is the below half-marathon run. I am not a runner by training. I had never eclipsed eight miles before and even that I had only done twice. I typically try to run 3 miles 2-3 times a week since I do not have a team sport outlet currently. But this past Sunday, I just went for it, mainly because I was preoccupied with hating myself, and self-hate is a great motivator for self-abuse, and a half-marathon essentially boils down to self-abuse.

The first time was back in December when I went through Team Tests for Tae kwon do. While the running was difficult mentally because it was so damn repetitive, this was just flat out physically grueling. Over a four hour period we were put through an ever-changing array of exercises designed to strain every muscle fiber in your body. There comes a point where you can no longer hold push up position on hardwood floors on your knuckles, but I now know that 120 isn’t it. There comes a point where you simply cannot maintain an exact 6-inch lift on your legs while doing crunches, but I now know that ten minutes isn’t it. There is a limit to how many squats you can do in unison, but I now know that 300 is not that limit.

And that’s the heart of the matter. Pushing yourself passed tired, exhausted, and gassed; you get to find out just how far you can really go. That’s a wonderful thing. Though for now, I’m taking a damn break and drinking some wine to celebrate.

1:58:14

Malcolm — Mon, 22 Jan 2007 00:14:16 +0000

13.1 miles.

I wanted sub 2 hours.

I did it.

My god I am tired.

If You’re Clever and You Know it, You’re Wrong

Malcolm — Sun, 21 Jan 2007 20:23:57 +0000

Just because you majored in journalism does not mean you are a journalist. In fact, it most likely means you aren’t because you must be fucking retarded to be a journalism major.

Anyways, I’ll keep this short because bad journalism, especially in sports, has been well covered in other places. Why the propensity to make sports headlines revolve around puns? What’s wrong with a simple understated headline that doesn’t make me want to bash your skull in? Look, there’s nothing wrong with puns. I happen to be one of the few people in the world that like them. In fact, I get a really nerdy rush of pleasure from truly creative puns. But puns are only tolerable when they are clever and not overused.

Immediately following the Cardinals World Series victory this fall, ESPN.com ran the headline, “In-Card-ible!”? What the fuck is that? I mean, seriously! Good lord. They must have hired the douche bag who comes up with all the headlines for MLB.com because that is right up there with some of their gems.

Then again, these people chose to be journalism majors (read: had journalism as a major chosen for them because grocery bagging wasn’t available at their university and they didn’t have the mental capacity for anything else), so I don’t know why I’m surprised.

Circadian Time

Malcolm — Sat, 20 Jan 2007 17:19:48 +0000

Something that has always fascinated me is the little biological clock that we all possess. I am not talking about the oft quoted one that women start hearing in their mid-30s. I am talking about our circadian rhythm. Some timer buried somewhere in our system that regulates our 24-hour cycle.

For myself, this cycle has always manifested itself most clearly in my sleep patterns. Given a few weeks of waking up to an alarm at the same time each day, I will start to reliably wake up two to three minutes before the alarm. That is not that surprising, but what tickled me was what happened this morning. Now, I have two alarm times, 9:45 and 10:45, but often on the weekend, I choose to stay in bed after them. I went to sleep late last night, and when I finally awoke for good this morning I was curious as to how late it was.

My eyes still closed, I pondered for a bit. I remembered the first alarm going off, silencing it, and returning to sleep, but do not remember the second. That meant my return to sleep must have gone well. Right then, the time 11:52 percolated up to my consciousness. Curious, I rolled over, and gazed onto my clock.

11:52.

Luxury Suites Minus the Luxury and Most of the Suite.

Malcolm — Sat, 20 Jan 2007 00:19:55 +0000

Key Arena is the primary home for the Sonics, Seattle’s (at least for now) NBA franchise. It is also the home for the Thunderbirds, a minor league hockey team. I recently had the opportunity to catch a Thunderbirds game from the Bank of America luxury suite in Key Arena. I was psyched up for this; imagining some lavish creature comforts and just an overall new experience.

Boy was I in for a surprise.

From the looks of it, you would think that Key Arena was built to host minor league hockey and not an NBA team. The luxury suites, where more teams make a large percentage of their game revenue, are small, bare, and lack anything except for slightly more comfortable chairs, that would indicate you are paying out your nose. You are not walled off from the fans below you, in fact they are only about 10 feet directly in front of the suite. Nor is there adequate wallage on the sides, as you can easily make yourself noticeable to the neighbouring suites.

I cannot fathom why anyone would actually pay face value for these suites. No wonder the Sonics make jack shit from Key Arena. And that’s before you factor in their hose job of a lease agreement.

Beer: Delirium Tremens

Malcolm — Fri, 19 Jan 2007 23:26:15 +0000

Not well known in America, but what’s surprising about that considering it’s a product of Belgium which, based only on the beers that they make, must be the greatest place in the world. DT is one fantastic beer and has perhaps the most complex makeup of flavors that I have yet to taste. It’s pricey for a typical beer, but it is certainly worth its price and only having it on occasion helps to make it all the more special.

Cost: 7.99/25.4 fl oz (750ml) bottle
Rating: 19

UPDATE:
So it’s been brought to my attention that the official script used to write out Delirium Tremens closely resembles Thai. Coupled with the large elephant, an animal of extreme importance to Thais, as a mascot, and I am left wondering what the connection is, or if this is just some bizarre coincidence. Kudos to S for spotting it.

The Best Part of Waking Up

Malcolm — Fri, 19 Jan 2007 17:27:35 +0000

Most people are not walking around outside at 8 or 9am. They are either at work indoors, commuting in their vehicles, or still in their homes, perhaps not yet awoken. The result of this is that walking the streets on a refreshingly crisp bright morning, I came across few other pedestrians doing the same, but the ones that I did encounter seemed all-around friendlier than normal. People were smiling. They said hello. Good morning.

I don’t know if it’s a self-selection bias; that people who are up and about at that hour are generally the more friendly people, or maybe nobody wants to be up that early, and we form a small bond, gutting out another early morning. Perhaps it is the mere fact that less people are around. It is no surprise that aynominity allows and even encourages us to act more standoffish, more brutish to strangers. But in these earlier hours, we lose the cover of having many other strangers around. It is more difficult to close yourself off in a 1-on-1 situation than it is when you can disappear in the crowd.

As I stated above, I don’t know the reason. Maybe it is a combination of the above reasons and more. Whatever the cause, it is a welcome time.

Haha, tricked you!

Malcolm — Thu, 18 Jan 2007 21:21:27 +0000

Scene: M sitting at computer at head of room, behind Malcolm is a large, room-wide whiteboard that is empty except for the following message spelled out in 4-inch high letters:
CIS 540 OFFICE HOURS, MALCOLM 4 –> 6pm

Idiot enters room, looks around, pauses, looks at Malcolm: Is this CIS 540 office hours?

Malcolm, afterward inward sigh: Yes.