"we're talkin bout torture, and anybody with a soul knows that"

If you like it, post it on your blog, or pass it around in an email. Holder must hold BushCo accountable.

Download this song for free at thatguitarman.

A CalTrans sign on a freeway in my wonderful, but flat-fucking-broke state of California:


The officials at CalTrans thought it was funny the first time..now they just shut off the sign and change it back immediately.

I would find it funny every time..and I bet Randal would too. ;)

There are a bunch of lousy photos I took, I only brought one lens and it was the wrong one, here, on my Flickr page. Nothing good but I do love OB (Ocean Beach, CA) and specifically Newport Ave in OB. I also included a photo of my former boss Yuri, she owns the Sushi shop I worked at for years.

I also took some shots of the west coast's oldest working wooden roller coaster, the Giant Dipper in Mission Beach. I love that roller coaster and miss being able to ride it..the three blown discs prevent me from enjoying it now..damn it.

Lots of good bars in OB and I have spent many a night in all of them. ;) But, not this trip..the sista doesn't cotton to OB..bitch is a yuppie ya know.

The first bar of note is Pacific Shores..aka Pac Shores. Home to old folks during the day..young hipsters at night.

Next is The Sunshine Company, which has a huge palm growing through the middle of the second bar..its fucking huge!!!!

oh, and whilst in Sandy Eggo, I cut off all my long curly locks..I now look like Nurse Jackie, if you are familiar with that show on Showtime. ;) It's too fucking hot to wear my hair 24/7 in a ponytail for six straight months..I seem to be going bald at the temple's with the weight of all that long hair..that is now just a memory.

Hey..it grows back..right?

I will readily admit I stole the title from Tweety on Hardball this afternoon. The Big O and his new bud's The Professor and the lying sack of batshit Officer Crowley will be sitting down to a couple of brewski's this afternoon.

Crowley is such a liar and for that..I have nothing but contempt for him. The 911 call and the radio transmissions(transcripts at the link) bears out everything that The Professor said and nothing that Crowley said or put into his report.

If The Big O wants to spend his afternoon with an intelligent African-American Professor and a lying sack of shit white cop..it's up to him..but personally I couldn't stomach Crowley for even five-fucking-minutes. From The American Prospect:

The problem is that the police report written by Sgt. James Crowley states that "[Whalen] observed what appeared to be to black males with backpacks on the porch of Ware Street." Except Whalen said no such thing. Furthermore, the tapes are notable for what they don't contain--any audio that indicates Gates was shouting as Crowley claimed in his police report. The tapes do contain audio of Crowley saying Gates was being uncooperative and asking for more backup, reportedly saying "keep the cars coming."

Here's the thing: This is the second discrepancy from the police report, the first being that Gates claims he showed Crowley his Harvard ID and his driver's license, while the report says that he only showed his Harvard ID. The reason I find this odd is that Crowley seems to have believed it was Gates' residence--but how could he be sure if he hadn't seen Gates' Driver's License as he claims? Now, we also know that the claim that it was Whalen who identified Gates and his driver by their race was completely false. The Cambridge Police's explanation, that the report merely represents "a summary" of what happened seems inadequate--how useful could a factually inaccurate summary really be? And what--if anything else--is inaccurate but is asserted as fact in the police report?

Crowley is a racist and tried to cover his ass, plain and simple.

This guy taught classes on how to avoid racial profiling? WTF does that say about the Cambridge Police Department?

Nothing good folks..nothing good.

I swear to Buddha, I will never again stay anywhere that does not have INTERNET ACCESS!!!

I took a bunch of photos today of Ocean Beach CA...my home for many years. They are uploading to Flickr at the pace of a fucking snail right now.

I will post them tomorrow with commentary. I love and miss OB..as an Obecian (O-Bee-shun), it will always be my home town.

Did anyone miss me? I missed all of you freaks, believe me! ;)

Rickey was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame this past weekend. Before you non-sports people click off, read a little of the man that always talked in the third person about himself and loves the game so much, he was playing for a funky little non-MLB sanctioned team as recently as two years ago when most players are retired and golfing with friends.

Rickey is baseball's all time base stealer. He grew up on the poor side of Oakland. He was born on Christmas Day in 1958. He played twice for my beloved Padres, but that isn't why I adore Henderson. I love him because he loves the game of baseball as much or more than I do. It's not the money, its the game for Rickey. From the U-T writeup on his wonderful, moving, made-me-cry-like-a-baby, HOF speech:

COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. – Giving credit where it's overdue and probably unprecedented, Rickey Henderson entered the Hall of Fame by paying tribute to glazed doughnuts and hot chocolate, to 25-cent incentive bonuses and to the donkey Charlie Finley made an Oakland mascot.

And somehow, strangely enough, it all worked.

Baseball's supreme speed demon, the game's “most misunderstood player” in the estimation of former teammate Dave Stewart, consciously slowed his runaway tongue yesterday to deliver a curious, clever and surprisingly crafted induction speech.

No misprint. No kidding. Yes, that Rickey Henderson.

Only a few days after comparing speechmaking to “putting a tie too tight around my neck,” Henderson took his place at the lectern before thousands of spectators and 49 returning Hall of Famers and steadfastly refused to choke.

His free-form 14-minute address recounted how a youth coach had convinced him to get out of bed to play baseball by appearing at his door with doughnuts and hot chocolate; how a high school counselor had bribed him to stick with the sport; and how Reggie Jackson had haughtily withheld his autograph when Henderson was a young fan growing up in Oakland.

Maybe you had to be there to appreciate the timing, but a lot of the people who were there were howling.

His speech made me laugh and it made me cry. Rickey is the kind of person that few take the time to understand. He is an African-American that talks too fast, and like I said..always referred to himself in the third person. People who didn't 'get' Rickey called him egotistical and self-promoting.

Yeah, he was a little self-promoting, but I don't care...he was never really appreciated for what he could do on a baseball field, how patient he was in the batter's box. His deft skill at stealing a base off any pitcher he faced. From the UT article again:

Sometimes accused of selfishness and habitually guilty of self-indulgent showmanship during his playing career, Henderson approached his induction speech with the same care he showed in studying pitchers' pickoff moves. He rehearsed, revised and refined his address during two weeks as a celebrity student in the speech classes of Earl Robinson at Oakland's Laney College.

He was determined to make a statement that would not become garbled by Rickeyspeak. He showed, by words and deeds, how deeply he cares and how profoundly he wants to please.

No ballplayer has been better at irritating opposing teams and their fans. With his stylized snap-catches and his choreographed walk/home run trots, Henderson's conduct seemed calculated to infuriate; so much so that even his teammates advised him to throttle back a bit.

But Henderson always saw himself as a performer, not just an athlete. Excesses aside, he was electric. He was so gifted a running back, Stewart said, that Henderson might have been inducted in the Pro Football Hall of Fame had he picked that career path.

The dominant dream of Henderson's youth was to play for the Oakland Raiders, but he took heed of his mother's fear of injury and the financial inducements of Mrs. Tommie Wilkerson, a counselor at Oakland Technical High School who was determined that her school have enough players to field a team.

“She would pay me a quarter every time I would get a hit, when I would score or stole a base,” Henderson said. “After my first 10 games, I had 30 hits, 25 runs scored and 33 steals. Not bad money for a kid.”

Later, in a post-induction press conference, Henderson said the payments lasted about two years. Good thing, too. Had Mrs. Wilkerson been obligated to honor the same terms throughout Henderson's major-league career, she would have owed him $1,689 for his 3,055 hits, 2,295 runs scored and 1,406 stolen bases.

“When you think of me,” Rickey Henderson said, “I would like you to remember that kid from the inner city that played the game with all of his heart and never took the game for granted.

“My journey as a player is complete,” he said. “I am now in the class of the greatest players of all time. And at this moment, I am very, very humble.”

And he was humble Sunday, at exactly the right time in his career. Bless you Rickey, you gave me wonderful memories of baseball games past, of afternoons spent watching and waiting for you to steal that base and fluster the shit out of whatever opposing pitcher was on the mound.

I remember vividly hollering with my friends as you came to bat, Ricky Gets On!!!! And seeing you wink and nod at us before you stepped into the batter's box.. knowing full well that you would find a way to get on base and then... steal one.

Rickey played for the Padres at the end of his professional career. No other team would give him a chance to set that all-time steals record.

I am forever grateful to the Padres for that.