KRAC Blog

The official Keith Richards website includes a section called "Ask Keith". I think that Tom wrote about a third of the questions, ("Do you hook up your Mesa cabinets through an ABC box to run your amps?", "What fret to you put the capo on to play 'Happy'?", "Can I name my athletic club after you?") but some are so far off the beaten track that it is hilarious ("Would you say that the English schooling system is superior to the Canadian or American system?").

Two beers a day contributes to maintaining bone density according to this study. Add that to the two glasses of wine that are heart healthy, and I'm starting to get a buzz.

UPDATE: In the interest of balance, here's a coupon for $1.00 off your next Monster Thickburger. But hurry! This offer expires 1/27/05.

Fast field yesterday at The Last Race of the Year: the winner came in at 20:08; 20:23 was good for third. Meanwhile, at our end of the pack I was 30:13(08:31 pace-- 10th in my age group); Tom was 31:25 (8:51-- 11th); Jim was 30:04 (08:28- good for 8th in the 40 to 44 group); and Dave was 30:05 (8:28-- 10th in the highly competitive senior bracket). This is obviously a race for genetic freaks-- Jim's bracket was won by a guy who ran 6:39 splits; Tom and I were up against a guy who ran a 20:22 (and came in second over all); and the top three finishers in the 50 to 55 group were all under seven minute mile pace.

I wish all my KRAC brothers a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year and share with you this heartwarming tale.

Not that I really understand much of what is being talked about here, never having been a part of this milieu, but I nevertheless sensed that this amusing vignette from THE ONION has a certain verisimilitude:

WEED DELIVERY GUY SAVES CHRISTMAS

MADISON, WI—The holidays evoke images of carolers and hot cocoa, sleigh rides through the crisp country air, and chestnuts roasting on an open fire. But for the four residents of a drafty little apartment on Johnson Street, such holiday traditions seemed nothing more than fairy tales. For, through a combination of poverty, circumstance, and plain old bad luck, these young gentlemen nearly saw their holiday dreams shattered like so many fallen ornaments.

Almost, but not quite. For although there would be no Yule log in the fireplace, a crackling blaze of another kind would come to warm the hearts of the hapless roommates. For, these four lucky friends had a guardian angel watching over them, and this is the heartwarming true story of how the weed delivery guy saved Christmas.

"Dude, I was so bummed when I found out my stupid supervisor scheduled me for first shift Christmas Eve," said Patrick Moynihan, 26, a "part-time musician and full-time phone drone." "I was like, 'Come on, I gotta go to Milwaukee to see my old man and watch the game.' He was like, 'Sorry man, life's rough. You should've remembered to ask off.'"

"It's not like Milwaukee's so great," Moynihan added, "but it beats spending Christmas alone in my shithole apartment."

But, in a turn of events Moynihan described as "X-Files-type shit," each of his remaining roommates—first Dirk, then Kleist, and finally even White Jimmy—watched their Christmas plans come undone, leaving the four housemates together in Madison on the night before Christmas.

"I was supposed to go home with this chick and meet her parents," said Dirk Udell, 24, a part-time bicycle-store clerk and bassist. "But we totally got into this huge fight the night before, and she was like, 'Sayonara, sweetheart.' Then Kleist got wasted and slept through his flight, and White Jimmy's credit card got turned down at the bus station, because he maxed it out on that amp he bought."

Individual heartbreak turned into collective joy when the roommates realized that they could have their own Christmas... together.

"We said, 'Fuck it,'" James "White Jimmy" Gaines said. "We were like, 'We have all the ingredients for old-time holiday cheer right here: some brews, the tube, and the Chinese place across the street that never closes on holidays.' We even cleaned the living room and washed the dishes. Then fate threw a monkey wrench."

"Dudes, it's a no go," Kleist said before delivering the bad news. "Carl totally flaked on us. He left for Michigan already."

The roommates' faces turned ashen: There would be no Christmas weed.

"I was, like, 'No way, man!'" Moynihan said. "Kleist even called all our friends, trying to find someone who was holding, but everyone was out of town. We tried to drum up some Christmas cheer, but there was no escaping the sad reality that the four of us had all this time to hang out, but no pot."

Disconsolate, the roommates went through the motions of scraping the bowl for resin. But, in their hearts, they knew that it wasn't enough to get them high. Peering out of the fourth-floor window, gazing at the municipal streetlight decorations below, they felt that Christmas had deserted them... Or had it?

"That's when Jimmy—I think it was Jimmy. It could've been Kleist—wait, was it Jimmy or Kleist?" Moynihan said. "Aw, never mind—whoever it was looked up and said, 'Hey Dirk, why don't we try the number that that guy who worked at Big Mike's Subs gave you?'"

After searching high and low with the help of his three determined roommates, Udell located the piece of paper containing the phone number given to him by his old stoner buddy Javier.

"Javier told me he hardly knows the dealer, but the guy always has really great shit and he comes right over," Udell said. "Kleist was all like, 'Who in their right mind is gonna be out delivering weed on Christmas Eve?' But I was like, 'What would it hurt to give the number a try?'"

"We were so psyched when he answered his cell on the second ring!" Udell added.

The roommates busily prepared for the weed guy's arrival by laying out Chips Ahoy cookies on paper plates, loading disks into the CD changer, and lovingly placing a new screen in the bong. All the while, they listened for the crunch-crunch-crunch of his footsteps on the snowy walk and the jingle-jangle-jingle of the Apt. 4-D buzzer. They even put the porch light on for the dude, so he'd feel welcome. And when, in less than an hour, the weed delivery guy showed up bearing a gift more precious than gold, the roommates' hearts soared with joy.

"That stranger brought us something so much better than any store-bought gift," Moynihan said. "I don't know his name—it's considered bad form to ask—but he taught us that Christmas wishes can come true, if you believe."

And so it was that the weed delivery guy—hardworking, dedicated, and discreet—saved Christmas in the nick of time.

"We may not have had a big tree and all that," Moynihan said. "And there wasn't eggnog dusted with nutmeg, 'cause the only time we ever had any nutmeg in the house was the time we tried to trip on it. Not recommended, by the way. But we had a happy Christmas all the same."

It wasn't long before all through the house, not a creature was stirring up off the couch. The boys opened the baggie and packed a bowl with delight, murmuring, "Happy Christmas, weed delivery guy. You did us one right."

I'll bet Dave and Nancy eat like this all the time.

John Rosenthal has an interesting proposal about performancing enhancing drugs in baseball that might work applied to all sports: voluntary testing. "Voluntary testing skirts the privacy issue. Any player who volunteers for steroid testing isn’t giving up his Fourth Amendment rights: He’s pleading his innocence to fans who already presume him guilty. There wouldn’t even be any punishment for refusing to take the test, or even for taking the test and failing. Except in the court of public opinion.... To prevent cheating, a steroid test would have to be administered as often as once a week. ....Voluntary testing, by contrast, allows the players to take responsibility for their own actions. They’ve been sneaking around the clubhouse for long enough. It’s time for them to step up to the plate."

The New York City Road Runners Club has held a New Year's Eve Midnight Run for 25 years. My brother ran it a few times-- it always sounded like fun, on an evening when I am frequently at a loss. I realize it's a sponsor, but even so, I'm not so sure I'd want to participate in something called the Emerald Nuts Midnight Run.

My Around the Bay plan is proof that I have serious memory problems. I ran eight Saturday, and it was quite nice-- the weather was clear and crisp, I was dressed exactly right, and I felt strong. I was also wiped out by the end of the day, and woke up in an armchair with the newspaper on the floor next to me after about an hour nap that snuck up behind me. I'd forgotten how tired the miles made me, and now that I remember, I'm wondering about the time commitment. Early morning is less appealing in the winter-- I want the heat of the day, thanks. My original thought was that I could sort of sneak up on 30k, but I can see now that I am going to have to be more methodical, and I'm wondering where I'm going to be able to find trails that are clear enough to run the sort of distance I'll need.

On the other hand, it is nice to be able to tear off an eight mile run. The summer's training has left me with the knowledge that I can go for more distance, and go comfortably, than I'd ever have thought.

I wish I'd seen The Pretenders back in the day-- can't think of why I didn't. The Ninteenth Floor directed me to the NPR site for a video clip of Chrissy performing "Back on the Chain Gang" at Live Aid.

I am going to have to go back to listen to this: The Who Boys-- a mash-up of Pete and Brian's best. I finally had a chance to hear SMiLE, and thought the world of it. It occurs to me that I didn't understand the Beach Boys, who, in their prime were probably less a group-- in the sense of a creative collective-- than they were an instrument in the ensemble Brian Wilson used to creat the sound that he was looking for. Similarly, The Who, for all the high concept folderol, were a great band because they had an amazing and unique sound. 

"I’m obsessed with bands that are rated as accurately as possible—in other words, nobody thinks they’re better than they are, and nobody thinks they’re worse. They have the acceptable level of popularity, they have attained the critical acclaim their artistry merits, and no one is confused about their cultural significance. They are, in fact THE TEN MOST ACCURATELY RATED ARTISTS IN ROCK HISTORY!"

Arthur Lydiard, the New Zealand distance running coach who pioneered training by running long distances slowly, to build up the body's stamina and ability to process oxygen, has left this mortal coil. He sounds like he was a pretty colorful cat.

When I was in high school I had a pair of Lydiard trainers-- our coach recomended them. They were expensive, and not widely available, but they fit great, and were a lot more cushioned than a lot of the other shoes that were on the market at the time. The uppers were kangaroo leather, which pleased me then, and pleases me now.

"Four years and $54 million for a six-inning pitcher with a history of shoulder problems." Bill Simmons has that one right. This deal looks like so many classic Mets deals. Is Pedro the next Mo Vaughn? George Frazer? Frank Viola? Eddie Murray? Bret Saberhagen? Bobby Bonilla? (That one still vexes me: you have a choice between Bonds and Bonilla and you take Bonilla?!?) It would have been funny if the Yankees had signed Pedro, in a Luis Tiant kind of way, but for the Mets, who will actually expect some wins out of the guy, I don't see the joke.

My 9/9 post on Outside Counsel-- the one that prompted the request to share my crack-- might not have been as far off as was widely assumed. "The games outside the division aren't as scary as all that: Jax at home for the opener; on the road against Oakland (whatever happened to Oakland?); away at Baltimore (I'll put that one in the "L" column in my mental chart right now); Rams at home; Seahawks at Seattle (another "L", I think); St. Louis at home; Cleveland, Bengels, 49's and Steelers to finish up. I can get to 10 wins-- the question is whether that's enough. The tricky part is that they won't be able to help themselves by beating division rivals after the road trip to Miami on December 5. They need to come on strong right out of the box, and hang on tight after that."

Woulda, coulda, but the team that has been playing lately is a lot better than the bunch that lost the opener, and lost to the Raiders. Getting to ten wins is still a longshot, but now that seems like a longshot because Pittsburgh is one of the two or maybe three best teams in the league. I didn't see that coming-- who did?-- but I'm thinking that I was closer than the chicken in Chinatown that plays tic-tac-toe would have been.

Forgot to give you the name of the wine guy:

Robert Leighton
Brighton Liquors
833-2606

Here's the recap of the wine pairings from this year's wonderful KRAC banquet:

APPETIZER:

Sesame wonton triangles with smoked salmon and wasabi

WINE:

Weingart
Mittelrhein
Bopparder Hamm Feuerlay
Riesling Spatlese
Gutsabfullung
2002
(Germany)

SOUP:

Butternut squash and bourbon bisque

SECOND COURSE:

Grilled miso-citrus scallops with mixed greens

WINE:

Kim Crawford
Sauvignon Blanc
2004
(Marlborough, New Zealand)

INTERMEZZO:

White grape ice (I know it was something slightly different)

MAIN COURSE:

Pan-seared sirloin with melted black pepper-garlic Napa cabbage

WINE:

Ceuso
Fastaia
2001
(Sicily)

DESSERT:

Pumpkin custard profiteroles with maple caramel

Thinking about the BALCO scandal, I'm wondering about the economics of it all. Victor Conte was, presumably, selling this stuff to somebody. Bonds says his trainer was living out of his car sometimes, so he wasn't buying enough to keep Conte in business-- all of the pros who have testified and fessed up-- except Giambi, the chump, seem to have been getting it for free. Even if they were buying it, what kind of market are we talking about? A little quick Googling suggests that there were about 10,000 athletes participating in the last Olympics. Let's say that one out of 1000 athletes who try out make it. That gives us a pool of a million athletes who are potential performance enhancing drug consumers. I would put it to you that that is far too small a base-- the business of selling performance enhancing drugs must be bigger than that-- Conte's business was bigger than that, and he's not the only guy in this business if my email is any indication.

I put it to you that there must be a lot more people who are using performance enhancing drugs than we think. How many of the 5,559 finishers in the Turkey Trot do you reckon? How many of the top finishers, and how many of the middle of the pack runners? How many of the 9,119 finishers in the Boilermaker?

Walking over to the gym today, I thought about how many of the people who work out at the Olympia Club might be doing this-- it is not really a bodybuilder's gym, but there are certainly people there who are serious about what they are there for.

I don't like drug laws, frankly. Except to the extent that the law protects purity, I would prefer to see the legal system get out of the drug business. I am also inclined to think that Sportsworld would be well advised to re-think its approach to this question. The health issues are one thing, I suppose, but the simple fact is that this war on drugs has been just like the war on recreational drugs. Both have been expensive, destructive, and unsuccessful.

Come to find out that possession of ethical drugs without a prescription is illegal. News to me, but it also seems like such a piddling offense that I can scarcely believe that the San Francisco US Attorney is bothering to conduct the investigation. Bonds is, in my view, guilty of trying to preserve his youth-- something that I find difficult to condemn. For whatever it is worth, he did not break any baseball rule. I've watched him at the plate, I've seen him run the bases. He is an amazing athlete, and one who has obviously worked hard to accomplish what he has. He used drugs-- so what? His accomplishments didn't come from a bottle- if you could get what he has from a cream or a pill, or a needle in the butt, the record books would look a lot different. Whatever Bonds did, I put it to you that it was no worse than what a lot of people do-- and I don't think it is that bad. Vitamins, HGH, whatever pep pills are fashionable at the moment, THG, whatever. None of it does anything without putting the work in, and Bonds obviously did the work.

I'm trying to get myself to feel the same way about Marion Jones. I guess the difference is that the rules of her sport (our sport) say that some performance enhancing drugs are banned. If we accept Conte at his word, then she broke the rules. Stupid rules? That's what I'm saying. Rules that are, it seems, honored mostly in the breach? So it would seem. What's to be done about it? Well, that's a difficult question. Going back to Bonds, one of the things that is interesting is that it apparently takes a village to ready an elite athlete for competition-- and, actually, we've probably know this or a while, too. I am not so interested in seeing what kind of athlete a lab can create-- I value sport because I value the effort that goes into a great athletic performance. The performance is, for me, the culmination of the preparation. Diet, training, and whatever your genes give you, plus the mental discipline that it takes-- that is what makes it worth it for me, and worth the watching.

Man, I thought sports were what I watched because I didn't want to have to think about it.

I'm in. Stupid? Probably, but I'm at the place right now where I reckon the thing to do is to do it-- no point in saying, "Another time." Right now I'm heathy and in shape-- a confluence of events that is rare enough for me to want to take advantage of it. I figure an eight miler a week through December, then bump my miles once a week through January. A couple of long runs in February-- a 12 and a 14 ought to do it, maybe a visit to the Ridge, and I'm braced for Palm Sunday.

Blister issues held me to six Sunday. It wasn't really cold, but the sun was solstice-like, casting light but not heat, giving everything a winter look, even though the Meadow was green, even though there were still golfers out there. Too bad-- rounding into my second time around the park I was thinking to myself, "The only thing that can stop me today is getting bored." Wrong again, but that's okay. There is a school of thought that says it is easier to train for distance in the cold weather-- hydration is less of an issue, for one thing-- but I'm a bit concerned about where I'll run. I can handle cold, but ice is another matter.

They are just at .500, and the 'Fins did score 32 points (and, really, just about hand the game to them) but the Bills suddenly look like they may be able to salvage something from this season. It'll be a test of the coaching, I think: running down the schedule, the next three look winable: Cleveland, at Bengals, at 'Niners. The trick will be to prepare for each one at a time, and not look to the final game. Pittsburgh at home. Right now my power rating has the Eagles and New England one and two, with the Steelers right in there-- maybe 2.5. The Bills could yet be a playoff team, if things fall right for them, but they are going to have to take a very focused, systematic approach. Each of the next three games have the potential to be games where they let down-- next week in particular. They say Mike Mularkey has imbued the team with a winning attitude, and it does seem to me that they are playing with the belief that they will win-- I came in at the Miami game when they were down a touchdown, but they seemed like they felt like they were in control. One game at a time boys. C'mon-- there's no hockey, so you are all we've got.

Former Tower of Power bassist Victor Conte comes clean. Marion Jones denies it. And Craig Masback is, as usual, invisible. Of course, what could he say? As Charlie Pierce points out, "THG, the substance produced by the BALCO Laboratories in California and allegedly consumed by dozens of athletes, was neither illegal nor specifically banned by any professional sports league." Some of the substances involved-- HGH, for example, are and were banned, but there were no tests for them-- so we have Conte's word against Jones'. Incidently, it is not clear that HGH (a) provides any training benifit, or (b) is harmful. I don't know about a lot of the other stuff-- the pharmacology is not all that accessable to a lay person, and there don't seem to be very many reliable information sources out there about this sort of thing.

A moment of silence, please, to mark the death of Gunder Hagg, the last man to hold the world record for the mile before the four minute barrier was broken. He was living in a Malmo nursing home; it doesn't say if he was from there. Funny, although I've read a lot about Roger Bannister, I could never have told you who he took the record from, or even that the previous record holder was a Swede. Gundar Hagg, the Wally Pipp of track and field. Rest in peace, Gundar.