Scotchy scotch scotch scotch

I have always enjoyed good single-malt scotch, but I don't get to enjoy it very often. This is mainly due to the facts that: a. scotch is expensive and b. I don't have any money. So when I received a gift certificate to the local nice wine/liquor store, I knew immediately that I was going to turn that into a pretty nice bottle of old, smokey, peaty goodness.

So I got a bottle of 12-year Bowmore Islay single malt (on account of the extra-peatyness) and have been slowly - very slowly - enjoying it. Its the nicest bottle of liquor that I've ever owned, and I intend to enjoy it to its fullest, dammit.

So of course, the next step is to hop on the intro-net and research what makes a good scotch, what to taste for, how to taste it correctly, etc. All of which eventually led me to this page: The Scotch Doc.

I love it. This is a perfect example of what most websites used to be in the heady early days of the web (I'm sure he hasn't updated it in over 7 years). There is the standard menu frame on the left, the standard shitty color scheme, the standard rambling on about onesself, and the standard shitty photos. The guy is an absolute riot because he takes himself wayyyyyyyyyy too seriously, and because he is a self-described "twentieth century Renaissance man", and "redneck Riverbottom Okie".

So you can explore yourself because the page will undoubtedly make you laugh more than I ever could, but there is one page that I do actually enjoy - the "Scotch Doc" method of tasting scotch. He goes into explicit detail on the techniques of drinking scotch, and also offers a commentary on not using scotch to get drunk. While I'm not completely with him on that particular salient point, he makes a lot of sense, and says it pretty poetically:

"An understanding of the Scotch Single Malt Whisky has been proven to enhance, not only the gastronomical experience, but also the self-discipline and respect for the qualities of this unique spirit. The greater the understanding the less the abuse of this mysterious and complex alcoholic beverage. Knowledge begets appreciation, which begets respect, which begets a natural temperance. I know of no true connoisseur of the Scotch Single Malt Whisky that uses it to intoxicate himself. Such an action is considered an abuse by the connoisseur and an insult to this noble spirit. There are certainly more economical alcoholic beverages that can accomplish the objective of becoming intoxicated equally as well."

Okay, okay, I'm with you...

"Finally, our politicians, social scientists and well-intended, but sometimes misguided, organized protestor groups have proven to us, over and over, that human integrity and self-discipline cannot be legislated or forced upon anyone. What, then, IS the answer? Perhaps it lies in the realm of education. Could the true and full understanding of related outcomes of irresponsible behavior be a substantial part of the answer? I think so. If not, what are the other options. I can think of none. Having witnessed the moral and physical destruction of beloved relatives due to the abuse of alcohol, I have undertaken the educational approach to this international problem. My motto, "The intelligent appreciation of the Scotch Single Malt Whisky," could apply to the use of all alcoholic beverages. I profess that the Scotch single malt makes a wonderful companion but a vicious master. I still believe in the validity of the ancient Roman term, "abusus non tollit usum," which translates, "Abuse is no argument against proper use." This is, also, the message of "The Scotch Doc." "

Pretty heady stuff there, but I do love the last quote: "Abuse is no argument against proper use." Man, the Romans kicked ass.

Feeling the Dark Side's Power Flow Through Me

Well, it happened. I asked for - and received - an iPod for Christmas. This may sound like a pretty lame thing for a twenty-something blogger and tech nerd to be exited about writing about, but it is very nearly a watershed event in my life. Maybe not quite that epic, but I think it says something. Ever since our family got our first Packard-Bell 386 computer (complete with 2x CD-ROM drive and oooh 256-color VGA monitor), I have always been an ardent and vocal supporter of the "IBM" or "PC" style computer, as opposed to Apple stuff, like iMacs and iBooks and whatever else.

I'm a nerd, but I never reached the level of spurning Windows to use Unix or Linux or anything like that. But I certainly enjoyed the fact that I had mastered DOS back in the day - it was something I took pride in and knew that I had at least a basic level of understanding of what went on behind the scenes of all the pretty pictures and graphics in Windows. I think that was where my hatred of all things Apple began...it was not so much that I thought that it was a bad product or that it wasn't useful, it was that I believed it encouraged people to not think about what their computer was doing. It simplified things to the point of rediculousness. ONE mouse button! How the hell do you call up the properties menu? Is there a properties menu? What do you mean you don't know how to access your hard drive? It made me mad that people delighted in the simpicity of everything. They didn't have to know text commands to "cls" or "md FAVORI~1" or adjust COM ports to make your Sound Blaster (or equivalent) sound card work or make a boot disk or pound your keyboard in frustration when Doom said there was an IRQ error or any of the fun stuff!

But of course that was the point. People don't want to have to worry about that stuff. People don't want to have to worry about IRQ addresses. They want to hit a button, have a pretty picture pop up with a status bar to tell you that the computer is working on stuff, and then hit one big mouse button to play solitaire or whatever other crappy games they offered for the Mac. And there's nothing wrong with that. That statement is what took me 15 years to come to terms with. People want things to work right because they have enough other shit in their lives to worry about and enough other tasks taking up their time without having to worry about whether or not they'll get a Blue Screen of Death and have to reboot and rewrite that entire Christmas letter they just spent two hours they'll never get back on.

Now that I'm older and I have a real job and significantly less free time, I understand that. When I was a kid, I happily spent entire summers fucking with COM ports and memory allocation to make Duke Nukem 3d run well without having to listen to MIDI music. I have to admit, nowadays I get frustrated as all hell when my MLB 2005 game has a direct 3d error or locks up, because now I'm wasting my valuable free time fixing my computer, instead of enjoying it.

So, to bring things back to my original point, it is an event for me that I am excited about and thoroughly enjoying my Apple iPod. Just like the literally millions of other people out there with the same damn thing. I am now a statistic - there is absolutely nothing that distinguishes my iPod from any of the others out there. But I don't care. It is fucking awesome. Here's why:

1. It looks awesome.
2. It feels awesome - heavy enough to let you know its built decently well, but not obtrusive or bulky.
3. The interface is awesome. You push the buttons just hard enough and they immediately respond with a click and the thing does what you want it to do. Brilliant.
4. It holds ALL of my songs and still has room for more. All 98G of my songs.
5. It has games on it that don't absolutely blow.
6. It synched with my iTunes, charged, and worked perfectly the first time I used it.
7. It sounds pretty good.
8. I can manually drag and drop songs to and from it from Windows Explorer. Makes me feel like I retain a little bit of control over the damn thing.

So, call me boring or call me a bandwagoner or whatever - I've already called myself all of those things. I don't care. It is the bomb. Kudos, Steve Jobs. You did a hell of a lot better than Dell did when it tried to make an MP3 player.

And on and on and on

So here we are, a full six days after my last blog post wherein I stated my jubilation that the red sox were out of the bidding for Mark Teixiera. Turns out, they aren't. Turns out, they are still the favorites. That is, if you are willing to believe Buster Olney.

I used to like Buster Olney's writing - a bit dry, but he seemed to have a pretty good grip on things. Plus, he spent two years as a beat writer following the Orioles. But the last two weeks have really made me reconsider my opinion on him; and to be frank, most reporters for the major news outlets.

It has been a kind of perfect storm around here for the last two weeks - things have been slow at work, I am enthralled by the whole Teixiera pursuit, and rumors are flying around everywhere. I have an add-on to my Firefox browser that allows me to see every update to MLB Trade Rumors as it is posted. I am following every link. I am reading every forum. For the first time, I'm putting the pieces together.

And what I've found is that none of these reporters know dick.

And yet, they will all take the same half-second blurb or soundbite or e-mail snippet and spin it in the direction that their sports editor wants them to spin it, and while they're at it, add a paragraph or two that expounds on this statement based on...well, based on horseshit, basically.

The Olney column that I linked to above is a perfect example of this. The Orioles have not made one single statement about their offer to Tex since the beginning of last week, when MacPhail said that their offer was "flexible". That's it. No leaks, no rumors, no statements, nothing. And yet, Bad-boy Buster has been making the absolute clear statement that the Orioles are completely out of the bidding. Based on what, exactly? Similarly, he has been repeating and repeating that the red sox are the 'clear' front-runners. Again, based on what, Buster? If you have inside knowledge that no one else is privy to, I'm sure that your ass would be putting in bold print at the top of your page, "according to an inside source...". But you really haven't made a statement like that.

You're going off of the same bullshit, third-hand, expired information that everyone on the Intro-net has been hashing and re-hashing for the last week. The only difference is that you work for ESPN and you have the balls to report your gut feelings and opinions as fact.

This would typically be the kind of thing to really disappoint me, but I feel as though I'm not alone in feeling this way. Baseball and sports fans in general now have access to exponentially more information than was ever available in the past, and I don't think I'm alone in coming to the realization that some of these reporters are bullshit artists of the highest order.

So anyway, don't take these reporters at their word just because they work for a big newspaper or magazine or gigantoid sports media outlet. They can be just as lazy and full of bullshit opinions as the rest of us - its just now that we can call them out on it.

omgomgomgomgomg

Dateline: Thursday, Dec. 19.

Boston -

9:58pm: Red Sox owner John Henry said:

"We met with Mr. Teixeira and were very much impressed with him. After hearing about his other offers, however, it seems clear that we are not going to be a factor."

Now obviously, as a massive, undying, through-and-through, dyed-in-the-red Orioles fan, I would love to see us obtain Mark Teixeira. It would not be the end of the world, however, if we did not end up getting him. All reports are pointing to the fact that he will most likely get an 8-year contract valued at about $22mm a year. That is a lot of dough for a long time. He is an amazing player and a perfect fit for the O's, but one player is not the answer, and we really need pitching. I think if the season were to start tomorrow, the O's rotation would be:

1. Jeremy Guthrie

2. Garrett Olsen?

3. The Oriole bird

4. Ernie Tyler

5. The re-assembled corpse of Hoyt Wilhelm

ANYway, the point is that while it would not be the end of the world if Tex didn't end up in Baltimore, it would be the end of the world if he were to end up with the red sox. To have to see that guy play against us day in and day out for the team I most despise would absolutely kill me.

But now, it looks like that won't happen! Happy x-mas to moi!

Except...this is Scott Boras that we're talking about, so who knows whether or not John Henry is bluffing in calling Boras' bluff. In all likelyhood, the sox have already signed him and they are just holding off on announcing it in some sadistic plot to allow the fans of shitbag teams like the O's and the Nationals to believe that there is a glimmer of hope in the massive black hole of despair that is Major League Baseball these days.

But of course, all of this information will change in about 15 minutes from now, so whatever.

I swear I'm not paranoid. I think I'm not paranoid, anyway. I suppose one of the hallmarks of being paranoid is that you're generally not aware that you're being paranoid - it has to be pointed out to you by some 'rational' colleague. But I'm pretty sure I'm not an overly paranoid kind of guy. But the fact of the matter is, I'm typing this blog entry in Windows Notepad so that I can quickly copy and paste it onto my blog page so as to minimize the chances of being caught not doing work while at work.

The way that my desk is set up is so that there is one person, let's call her 'Nindy', who sits right behind me. She pretty much has a complete view of my computer monitor at all times. There's not really a way that I can position my monitor or my body to block any portion of the screen from her view. It also so happens that she sits at her desk all day long, every day. So I'm left feeling that she is observing every key stroke and mouse click that I make throughout the day.

Now, this does border on paranoid for the following reasons:

1. I do actual work the majority of the time that I am at work.
2. She has never mentioned anything or made any sort of remark that would make me feel as though she is looking at my monitor, much less concerned that I am spending too much time writing this blog or doing whatever.
3. She isn't my boss, and wouldn't tell him, anyway.

So why do I care? I have no idea...I guess I shouldn't. But for the time being, I'm going to work the whole 'Keep Notepad open to jot down blog ideas' angle just in case.

Gotta go - she just sat down again...

Billy Speaks!

Bill Ripken, in all of his glory, finally answers the great unanswered question of my childhood: who wrote 'Fuck Face' on the end of his bat before his picture was taken for this card:

http://www.cnbc.com/id/28116692

Certifiably Awesome

Well, its official. I am now officially a Certified Technology Specialist. In other words, I now have documented proof that I am a giant nerd. Basically, it says that I know what the hell I'm talking about in regards to audiovisual equipment and sales. Pretty sweet, huh?

I had to take this 110 question test yesterday, which I passed with flying colors, but I had to take it at a ProMetric testing center. I realize that securely testing people is their job, but these guys are fucking serious. Not only did I have to completely empty all of my pockets and store everything in a locker, I also had to give them my fingerprints. Yeah, not just one - fingerprints from multiple fingers on each hand. They checked them and scanned them electronically on my way into and way out of the actual testing room. You know, in case I had concocted some elaborate scheme to go into the testing room, have someone there waiting for me in the air ducts to actually take the test, and then escaping out of the same air duct while the guy who took the test for me exits, pretending to be me. Or something similar to that, I guess.

Anyway, it was a very nice place, and everyone there was very nice, but it was the closest place to an FBI interrogation room that I've ever been. There were cameras everywhere, your ID was checked everywhere, and in the 'staging' room outside of the testing room, there was a massive mirrored window. Pay no attention to the massively oversized and out of place mirror behind you, sir.

So I guess that this is a ringing endorsement for ProMetric testing facilities - if you have an important test that you need to give people and you feel as though the air of a KGB secured underground bunker is the only way you can prevent people from cheating, I give them my hearty recommendation.

Now, off to go solve the world's audiovisual problems! CTS, away!!!

Moooose

I love this picture. I also love Mike Mussina. Like most Orioles fans my age, I absolutely loved him, then I hated him, and now I've pretty much grown to love him again.

I feel particularly connected to Mussina in that he was the first ballplayer that I can remember actually tracking as he came through the minors. I saw him pitch at Municipal Stadium when he played for the Hagerstown Suns. I tried to get his autograph, but I missed the chance. I remember very distinctly watching his major league debut on TV. I'm told by Baseball-Reference.com that he won 7-3 in 8 innings of work over Scott Erikson and the Twins. In my mind, he threw a no-hitter against the AL All-Stars, but whatever.

So I felt as though I had a justifyable claim on Mike. He was pitching for me. He was young, cool, he kicked ass, he played for the Orioles, my team, and I felt like I was the only one who knew or cared about him. Which was entirely possible, at least in my general vicinity, as I grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania that really didn't give a crap about the Orioles at all.

I watched Mike pitch along side Gregg Olsen, Fernando Venezuela, Alan Mills, Ben McDonald, Todd Frowirth, Curt Schilling, and play along side Cal, Mike Deveroux, Brady Anderson, Harold Baines, Rafael Palmeiro, and all the rest of the Orioles throughout the heyday of my baseball-watching and playing youth. He was absolutely my favorite pitcher, and probably my second-favorite player in all of baseball.

So when he was picked up by the Yankees, I was obviously disappointed. And saddened. And a little bit hurt. But at that time, I had kinda grown away from baseball anyway. I kept track of the O's by seeing their record in the paper or whatever, but I really had grown pretty disillusioned with the sport, and I didn't really care about it any more. Cal was almost done, Brady had his steroid year and fell off the table, Jose Canseco was playing for Tampa Bay, there was a team in Tampa Bay, the Yankees won everything every year, and now my favorite player, the one guy I still actually gave a shit about, had done the unthinkable - he had become a traitor and forsaken his ties to the good people of Baltimore and gone where the money was. Fucking New York.

I remember officially dismissing baseball as soon as I found out that he had left. That was the final straw. I was going to college, my life was changing, and I didn't need that kind of bullshit anymore. Baseball was kid's stuff, anyway.

So life and baseball went on. Moose kept on pitching in his inimitable silent and crossword puzzle-completing fashion, I ironically moved to Baltimore to go to school, and I didn't think twice about baseball. For a while.

I'm not sure what it was in me that clicked, exactly, but in 2004, all of the sudden I was absolutely unapologetically head-over-heels back in love with baseball. I read every single book I could get my hands on, I played fantasy baseball, I played baseball simulations, I thought about statistics and new analysis techniques that I never knew existed in my younger days, and pretty much just immersed myself back into baseball. It helped that the first half of the summer of 2005, the Orioles had a great start and were actually looking like a real team...that didn't last long, but I was back in the fold. I'm so glad that I did - it gives me something to do when I'm at work, and something to look forward to when spring rolls around.

And so I think that its fitting that as my love for baseball has been renewed, my admiration for Mike Mussina as he is retiring has also been renewed. He is the first baseball player that I can remember fully tracking the entire arc of his career - from minors to retirement. He has been a class-act all of the way, and has held his own in an era that saw both the highest offensive output in the history of baseball and at least 5 for-sure hall-of-fame pitchers (Clemens, Johnson, Maddux, Glavine, Pedro). In another era, he may have been seen as one of the best in baseball. He stood tall amongst giants of ability and ego. He does crossword puzzles. He's a pretty cool guy.

So thanks, Mike, for hanging in there even when I didn't give a shit about baseball. Thanks for not (probably) taking steroids. Thanks for having a cool signature pitch. Thanks for hanging with Baltimore for as long as you could and not complaining, even though Albert Belle was probably a total jackass. Thanks for learning command and control after you had lost your velocity. I'm sorry I hated you for pitching for the Yankees. Secretly, I'm pretty glad you never won a World Series with them.

And good luck with that whole Hall of Fame thing. You've got my vote.

A Meta-Blog

I've been doing this blog thing for about two months now...I know I don't write every day, but I've been pretty consistent and I think I'm getting better at working within the confines of the blog medium. I tend to get pretty positive comments from the 4 or 5 people who have checked out my site so far, and I happen to be of the opinion that perhaps many more people might have good things to say about my blog.

However, the only way that I can spread the word about my blog is to advertise. I've been doing some guerrilla marketing the last month or so...I have a link to the site at the bottom of all of my personal e-mails, and I try to mention it to people who might give a shit, etc. But if I really try to market it or push it on people I don't know, doesn't that shift my motivation for having this blog? I started it just to do it, write about my awesome scooter, and give myself an excuse to write. I told myself I didn't care if no one reads it.

Except, I do.

I want people to come to my blog from all over the internet and post comments and have me post back and start flame wars and have people accuse me of not knowing what the hell I'm talking about and parlay all of this buzz into a regular paid column at ESPN. Is that too much to ask?

So, who knows? In another month or so, all of my loyal fans may be forsaken for the great unwashed rabble of the general internet population. Such is the way of a crappy personal blog about anything I feel like. Time marches on. Or not. Probably not.

/wantonly self-promotes through other peoples' blogs

I Love my Car. Really.

Yeah, I know, I know. This blog is supposed to be about my misadventures whilst riding my scooter through the crazy streets of Baltimore, MD. But it is December in the Northeast, and it is cold. And windy. And damp. So I've been driving my car to work. Sue me. Or pay me to write this blog and I'll write about any damn thing you want.

Now that I'm putting some serious miles on the ol' Jetta, its time to actually put some work into the girl. I've had the car for almost 3 years now, and it has not really given me any problems at all, which is pretty incredible, considering I do no maintenance outside of oil changes and occasionally cleaning the windshield. Well, some issues are finally starting to creep up on me. Here's a list of the things I need to have done or do to the car, in order of seriousness/immediacy:

- Replace front brakes
- Replace brake fluid
- Fix driver's side mirror/find the asshole that broke it and beat him/her up
- Get a new spare tire
- Replace spark plugs
- Replace fuel filter
- Check struts & shocks to see what's causing that weird clunking sound when I hit any bump in the street. Baltimore has many bumps in its streets.
- Get rid of annoying mildew smell inside
- Clean it, eventually

So its not the end of the world, but it is a bit of an investment of time and/or money. The problem is that I'm absolutely convinced that I am capable of doing all of these repairs myself. Ergo, I won't take it to the shop. Nevermind the fact that I will curse every minute that I'm fixing my damn car in the street on a cold Saturday when I should be inside curled up in front of a nice warm video game. And I'll probably spend more money trying to fix it and buying incidental tools and parts than I would just taking it to the shop.

Its not my fault - really. Blame my stepdad, who never, I mean ever, took any of my family's cars to the shop unless it was under warranty, and even then he did it with great trepidation. The only problem is that he passed on the DIY attitude to me, but since I don't have his genetic make-up, I don't have the technical ability to do the work myself. Ironic, eh?

Here's to a very dirty, cold, frustrating, and expensive weekend.