"Where is R. Kelly when you need him?" - Bill Maher on HBO's "Real Time with Bill Maher", regarding Prussian Blue, a tween-aged musical duo who apparently have no connection to the outside world other than the teachings of their racist parents.

Your mission, should you choose to accept it....


I'm getting bored with my blog. So I've decided to seek the help of all you fantastic people.

Send me a picture of yourself holding a piece of paper telling me how you REALLY feel. It can say anything. "Fuck You Joe", "Bastitch Sucks", "My Balls Itch", anything.

You can host it yourself (tinypic.com or putfile.com rock for stuff like this) or you can send me the actual images at bastitch@niketalk.com

Either way, you'll end up on my blog for all to see.

It's your chance America.


By the way, if you're worried that people will see the picture, don't worry. No one reads my blog anyway.

http://bastitch.blogspot.com

Now that I think about it, this is pretty lame and attention whore-ish. Oh well, fuck it. Let's run with it.

At 5:04 on October 17th, 1989 I was leaning over getting ready to press record on the black family 13-channel VCR to record the 3rd game of the World Series. The VCR sat perched on top of our early 80's wooden Zenith television. You know, the kind that in the mid 90's served as the tv stand for your friend's new television? Well, yeah. It was odd because first the quake hit and I saw it on tv before I felt it myself. The reception got blurry and I let out a disappointed "uhh, what?" before the floor started shaking.

I hit up the nearest doorway as per cutomary Bay Area earthquake training at school and the few public service announcements during daytime television. My sisters got under the coffee table, have scared and half amused. After it was over, my sisters and I started laughing the way you laugh after getting off a roller coaster that scared the shit out of you. The fun was shortlived because my dad, who took the day off from work and the hour and half commute that he and my mom drove every workday, brought us all down to earth quickly reminding us that my mom was in rush hour traffic and we didn't know whether or not she was safe.



We stayed close to the television as the stream of news started coming in. Part of the Bay Bridge fell. The 880 Cypress Structure collapsed. The San Francisco Marina district was on fire. The entire Bay Area came to a complete halt. It wasn't until later that I understood the scope of the entire situation.

It turned out that my mom was indeed on the Oakland side of the Bay Bridge going East, only half a mile from the portion that collapsed. We didn't hear from her until later that night. I remember because it was already dark and we still didn't hear a thing. Phonelines were busier than ever with people trying to get a hold of their loved ones. I really didn't show my concern initially like my younger sister, who looked noticeably worried. She was only 6 back then. But when she finally did call, I was more than relieved.

My neighbors across the street weren't as lucky as we were. The father was one of the many that were crushed in the collapse of the Cypress structure, leaving two young children and a wife behind. It wasn't until days later that the mother was called to identify the body.

It was one of those things that I never want to experience again. Just all the uncertainty and fear drove me crazy. Anybody remember the episode of Full House when Stephanie was having problems with her dad going to work after the earthquake? Well, I saw that episode a couple months ago and it brought me all back to when I was 10, not really sure how to process everything that just had happened. It wasn't like now, where the people you love all have cell phones or the Internet and are just a press of a button away. We really had no clue what was going on.



It's been 16 years and the Bay Area has been spared from a major natural disaster since. But I have to admit that it wasn't until this 16th anniversary of the Loma Prieta that the tsunami in Southeast Asia and the recent hurricanes in the South became very "real" to me. I kind of separated myself from the events and my emotions were detatched. It was like a television show that was constantly on every news channel. You get a constant dose of something and you start to become tolerant, you know?

One odd byproduct of the Loma Prieta earthquake was the term "earthquake weather". Before October 17th, the weather was still relatively Summer-like. Typical California weather with fog during the early morning, only to burn away from the relentless power sun. But that day, it was an unusually cloudy and humid day. What could have been chalked up to mere coincidence or seen as an unrelated anomaly has become a way to kind of reflect back on that time.

There were a few moments this past baseball season that I'll never forget. I really have to publicly thank my boy Albert, who was kind enough to take me along to a handful of games with his second season ticket. For that, I am etenally thankful. I went to more games this season then I ever have. For that, you get my Matt Cain "Gamer" award.

The seats are awesome. Section 138, row 21, seats 3 and 4. The bleachers of SBC Park are a throwback to a different time in San Francisco Giants history. They're filled with many of the great fans that were scattered around Candlestick Park, the stadium that served as the Giants' home before PacBell/SBC was built. Now that many of the "good" seats are taken by corporate types and season ticket holders. I'm not complaining about those fans what so ever. They are one of the main reasons this beautiful ballpark even exists. But the people in the left field bleachers are definitely a unique breed and are more "my people" than the fans in other sections. Definitely hardcore fans.

There was a surreal moment on September 15, the first game in a series against the hated Los Angeles Dodgers. The Giants were down by a few runs and were threatening. On came on "Next Episode", Barry Bonds' music as he is announed to come up to bat. Everybody in the park stood up in anticipation. As the beat hits, everybody in the bleachers has their hands in the air and in unison are bouncing to the beat as Nate Dogg sings "Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah..". The anticipation and energy level is so high throughout the park.

During the at bat, Bonds yanks one down the line, well over the stands for what we think is a homerun. The crowd is going nuts and I'm jumping up and down yelling. It slowly quiets down and the cheers turn into a chorus of boos. It was ruled a foulball. I was so disappointed. The Giants went on to lose the game by 6, and it was all for naught.

But I'll be damn if it wasn't worth it. That's the beauty of being a fan of baseball and sports. You are on a mountain one second and be jerked to the bottom floor in half the time. We always have our disappointments, but unless you're a Yankees fan, that will make up for the majority of our time as a sports fan. It is seriously fun and recreation. It's hard to explain to anybody that isn't really a big fan. We ride through a rollercoaster of win and loses, high moments and low moments, but through it all we're honestly enjoying ourselves.

It's great being a fan.

The other day I was here in the office dribbling my basketball during some downtime.

I was watching tv at the same time, not really paying attention. The ball slipped a little bit and bounced off a file drawer, shooting out in a horizontal trajectory and hitting square on my right nut and grazing my left.

Now, I don't know when the last time you got hit in the nuts, but it was easily about 4 or 5 years since I've been hit so squarely. I've had a few grazes here and there, which are arguably worse than a direct shot, but nothing to substantial.

Well, if you're like me before this incident and you've forgotten what it's like, let me tell you: It hurts a whole lot worse than you remember. A lot worse.

The pain immediately shot up towards my kidneys and I fell to the floor. When I get hit in the nuts, I get the urge to crap my pants. And let me tell you, the impact was so hard that the demons of hell were "knocking on the door", ready to put me in a very embarrassing situation (Umm, honey? Can you come to my office and bring me some clean underwear and shorts? I've had an accident...).

It took a while for me to recover, too. Between the rolling around on the floor and the butt-clenching, I was abreaction as hell. Shit, I'm still embarrassed now.

Oh well. At least I didn't shit my pants.

Do you know what today is?

<3

I've been trying to teach myself how to use PhotoShop these last couple days. This here is literally my very first completed attempt to do anything. Jimmy's been giving me pointers. Props to Jimmy (Who just happened to be the master craftsman behind my orginal "Insert Witty Title" banner).



Right now, I suck. I'll probably always suck. But that's okay.

Wow. An obscure "Kids In The Hall" reference. My blog is now complete.