Hello all ye Irish and Irish-for-a-day St. Patrick's Day revellers! Well here it is -- your road map for tomorrow night -- it's our first annual "Sierra Nevada St. Pat's Tour de Cruz" Pub Crawl in Santa Cruz, CA! Come one, come all, tell a buddy, bring a friend!
Here's our route:
6:30pm - Britannia Arms (8017 Soquel Dr., Aptos)
7:30pm - Brady's Yacht Club (413 Seabright Ave)
8:30pm - 1-Double Oh-7 (1007 Soquel Ave)
9:30pm - Rosie McCann's (1220 Pacific Ave)
10:30pm - 99 Bottles (110 Walnut Ave)
11:30pm - Motiv (next door to Bad Ass Coffee on Pacific, a block down from Rosie's)
12:30pm - The Avenue (711 Pacific Ave)
It's going to be a merry bunch indeed! So bring your shellaleigh's and your drinkin' hats, and get ready to partake in the ORIGINAL "Green" beer, Sierra Nevada! And please, remember to be smart this St. Pat's and by all means PLEASE TAKE A CAB and GET A HOTEL ROOM if you must at the nearby Best Western All Suites on the Corner of Ocean and Soquel! We want all of ye comin' back for next year!
Cheers! - or as they say in Ireland, Slainte! (pronounced "Slon-Chuh!")

Hello All!

At this point I have found MySpace to truly be a waste of time, a causer of drama and nothing more than a way for businesses I could care less about and services I will never use to Spam the hell out of me. So on Thursday evening this week, March 19th, my MySpace page will go the way of the dinosaurs. HOWEVER, you CAN still reach me via my Facebook page (search for me using quinnhrgardner@hotmail.com) or on my LinkedIn page.

Otherwise, I'm OUT!

~Cheers!
--Quinn

http://s10.photobucket.com/albums/a145/qgardner/?action=view¤t=newsoxunis.jpg

Sox Unveil New Jerseys And Headgear


This article was originally posted here on SoxSpaceNews.com

Alright, so I just got back from Fenway, here's the run down on what went down. Fans were invited to Game On to be the first to see the new jerseys that the Sox will don in the 2009 season. It was basically set up like a fashion show with a Red Sox twist. The designers of the new uniforms introduced their first model, manager Terry Francona, sporting the new road gray jerseys with "BOSTON" written in blue font, similar to the jerseys worn by the Red Sox in the 70's and 80's.

Next to come down the runway was soon to be Hall of Fame inductee, Jim Rice. Rice was one of many to have worn a jersey similar to this in his time spent here in Boston and was one of the first to be seen wearing the updated version of the vintage road jersey. Coming down the runway following Jim Ed was former Red Sox second baseman and NESN commentator, Jerry Remy who also was wearing the new Red Sox road jersey.

After those three were introduced, a lucky fan selected at random wore a new home alternate jersey (which I don't have a picture of) but it looks like the red batting practice jerseys with blue font on the chest and back. Making their way down the runway next were two kids that were born with the right to call Red Sox slugger David Ortiz "dad". They two were wearing the new sport jackets introduced by the team.

And finally, Red Sox reliever Manny Delcarmen made his way down the runway donning the other alternate road jersey which was a blue jersey with bright red font as displayed in the picture. The designers of the jerseys explained to the crowd that the Red Sox are one of very few things in this world that can be identified by one simple logo that has no words on it. He mentioned the Nike "swoosh" symbol, then went on to talk about the "hanging socks" logo and how it was synonymous with Red Sox baseball. As a result, the team introduced the new hats that will be worn by the Red Sox occasionally during the 2009 season as shown in the picture.

My take? I love the old school road jerseys that Francona, Jim Rice and the Rem Dawg had on. The batting practice home alternate jersey doesn't look anything different from…well, the batting practice jersey. The blue road jersey with the red lettering looks similar to the Spring Training jerseys that the Red Sox wore this past spring down in Fort Myers so that was no big change either. When it came to the new hats, that will take some getting used to I'm sure but overall I'm really psyched that the Red Sox are going old school for more than one game in 2009 and beyond with the road gray jerseys with the blue lettering.

Hope this clears up any confusion that any of you may have been experiencing since you first heard that the Red Sox were "doing away" with the "B" logo and "getting rid" of the road jerseys of recent memory. From what I understand, the Red Sox will still wear the "B" logo hats and have the road jerseys of last year as well. Your thoughts?

Thanks to all who came out to the Monterey Beer Fest last Saturday and showed some love for the Sierra Nevada.



I can proudly say we boasted officially the longest line in the festival, up to 251 at one point. We also had one of the most kick ass locations in the fairgrounds, directly to the right of the main music stage.



All in all it was a killer day -- we blew through 3 kegs of Pale Ale, 3 kegs of Anniversary Ale (our new Fall seasonal), two cases of Summerfest and a case of Southern Hemisphere Harvest for the extra special Hop Heads.



Again, thanks for showing some major love for the Pioneer of American Craft beer -- and now one of the largest American owned and operated breweries, Sierra Nevada Brewing Co. from right here in California.



You guys rock!

A More Perfect Union
By Barack Obama

"We the people, in order to form a more perfect union."

Two hundred and twenty one years ago, in a hall that still stands across the street, a group of men gathered and, with these simple words, launched America’s improbable experiment in democracy. Farmers and scholars; statesmen and patriots who had traveled across an ocean to escape tyranny and persecution finally made real their declaration of independence at a Philadelphia convention that lasted through the spring of 1787.

The document they produced was eventually signed but ultimately unfinished. It was stained by this nation’s original sin of slavery, a question that divided the colonies and brought the convention to a stalemate until the founders chose to allow the slave trade to continue for at least twenty more years, and to leave any final resolution to future generations.

Of course, the answer to the slavery question was already embedded within our Constitution - a Constitution that had at its very core the ideal of equal citizenship under the law; a Constitution that promised its people liberty, and justice, and a union that could be and should be perfected over time.

And yet words on a parchment would not be enough to deliver slaves from bondage, or provide men and women of every color and creed their full rights and obligations as citizens of the United States. What would be needed were Americans in successive generations who were willing to do their part - through protests and struggle, on the streets and in the courts, through a civil war and civil disobedience and always at great risk - to narrow that gap between the promise of our ideals and the reality of their time.

This was one of the tasks we set forth at the beginning of this campaign - to continue the long march of those who came before us, a march for a more just, more equal, more free, more caring and more prosperous America. I chose to run for the presidency at this moment in history because I believe deeply that we cannot solve the challenges of our time unless we solve them together - unless we perfect our union by understanding that we may have different stories, but we hold common hopes; that we may not look the same and we may not have come from the same place, but we all want to move in the same direction - towards a better future for our children and our grandchildren.

This belief comes from my unyielding faith in the decency and generosity of the American people. But it also comes from my own American story.

I am the son of a black man from Kenya and a white woman from Kansas. I was raised with the help of a white grandfather who survived a Depression to serve in Patton’s Army during World War II and a white grandmother who worked on a bomber assembly line at Fort Leavenworth while he was overseas. I’ve gone to some of the best schools in America and lived in one of the world’s poorest nations. I am married to a black American who carries within her the blood of slaves and slaveowners - an inheritance we pass on to our two precious daughters. I have brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles and cousins, of every race and every hue, scattered across three continents, and for as long as I live, I will never forget that in no other country on Earth is my story even possible.

It’s a story that hasn’t made me the most conventional candidate. But it is a story that has seared into my genetic makeup the idea that this nation is more than the sum of its parts - that out of many, we are truly one.

Throughout the first year of this campaign, against all predictions to the contrary, we saw how hungry the American people were for this message of unity. Despite the temptation to view my candidacy through a purely racial lens, we won commanding victories in states with some of the whitest populations in the country. In South Carolina, where the Confederate Flag still flies, we built a powerful coalition of African Americans and white Americans.

This is not to say that race has not been an issue in the campaign. At various stages in the campaign, some commentators have deemed me either "too black" or "not black enough." We saw racial tensions bubble to the surface during the week before the South Carolina primary. The press has scoured every exit poll for the latest evidence of racial polarization, not just in terms of white and black, but black and brown as well.

And yet, it has only been in the last couple of weeks that the discussion of race in this campaign has taken a particularly divisive turn.

On one end of the spectrum, we’ve heard the implication that my candidacy is somehow an exercise in affirmative action; that it’s based solely on the desire of wide-eyed liberals to purchase racial reconciliation on the cheap. On the other end, we’ve heard my former pastor, Reverend Jeremiah Wright, use incendiary language to express views that have the potential not only to widen the racial divide, but views that denigrate both the greatness and the goodness of our nation; that rightly offend white and black alike.

I have already condemned, in unequivocal terms, the statements of Reverend Wright that have caused such controversy. For some, nagging questions remain. Did I know him to be an occasionally fierce critic of American domestic and foreign policy? Of course. Did I ever hear him make remarks that could be considered controversial while I sat in church? Yes. Did I strongly disagree with many of his political views? Absolutely - just as I’m sure many of you have heard remarks from your pastors, priests, or rabbis with which you strongly disagreed.

But the remarks that have caused this recent firestorm weren’t simply controversial. They weren’t simply a religious leader’s effort to speak out against perceived injustice. Instead, they expressed a profoundly distorted view of this country - a view that sees white racism as endemic, and that elevates what is wrong with America above all that we know is right with America; a view that sees the conflicts in the Middle East as rooted primarily in the actions of stalwart allies like Israel, instead of emanating from the perverse and hateful ideologies of radical Islam.

As such, Reverend Wright’s comments were not only wrong but divisive, divisive at a time when we need unity; racially charged at a time when we need to come together to solve a set of monumental problems - two wars, a terrorist threat, a falling economy, a chronic health care crisis and potentially devastating climate change; problems that are neither black or white or Latino or Asian, but rather problems that confront us all.

Given my background, my politics, and my professed values and ideals, there will no doubt be those for whom my statements of condemnation are not enough. Why associate myself with Reverend Wright in the first place, they may ask? Why not join another church? And I confess that if all that I knew of Reverend Wright were the snippets of those sermons that have run in an endless loop on the television and You Tube, or if Trinity United Church of Christ conformed to the caricatures being peddled by some commentators, there is no doubt that I would react in much the same way

But the truth is, that isn’t all that I know of the man. The man I met more than twenty years ago is a man who helped introduce me to my Christian faith, a man who spoke to me about our obligations to love one another; to care for the sick and lift up the poor. He is a man who served his country as a U.S. Marine; who has studied and lectured at some of the finest universities and seminaries in the country, and who for over thirty years led a church that serves the community by doing God’s work here on Earth - by housing the homeless, ministering to the needy, providing day care services and scholarships and prison ministries, and reaching out to those suffering from HIV/AIDS.

In my first book, Dreams From My Father, I described the experience of my first service at Trinity:

"People began to shout, to rise from their seats and clap and cry out, a forceful wind carrying the reverend’s voice up into the rafters....And in that single note - hope! - I heard something else; at the foot of that cross, inside the thousands of churches across the city, I imagined the stories of ordinary black people merging with the stories of David and Goliath, Moses and Pharaoh, the Christians in the lion’s den, Ezekiel’s field of dry bones. Those stories - of survival, and freedom, and hope - became our story, my story; the blood that had spilled was our blood, the tears our tears; until this black church, on this bright day, seemed once more a vessel carrying the story of a people into future generations and into a larger world. Our trials and triumphs became at once unique and universal, black and more than black; in chronicling our journey, the stories and songs gave us a means to reclaim memories that we didn’t need to feel shame about...memories that all people might study and cherish - and with which we could start to rebuild."

That has been my experience at Trinity. Like other predominantly black churches across the country, Trinity embodies the black community in its entirety - the doctor and the welfare mom, the model student and the former gang-banger. Like other black churches, Trinity’s services are full of raucous laughter and sometimes bawdy humor. They are full of dancing, clapping, screaming and shouting that may seem jarring to the untrained ear. The church contains in full the kindness and cruelty, the fierce intelligence and the shocking ignorance, the struggles and successes, the love and yes, the bitterness and bias that make up the black experience in America.

And this helps explain, perhaps, my relationship with Reverend Wright. As imperfect as he may be, he has been like family to me. He strengthened my faith, officiated my wedding, and baptized my children. Not once in my conversations with him have I heard him talk about any ethnic group in derogatory terms, or treat whites with whom he interacted with anything but courtesy and respect. He contains within him the contradictions - the good and the bad - of the community that he has served diligently for so many years.

I can no more disown him than I can disown the black community. I can no more disown him than I can my white grandmother - a woman who helped raise me, a woman who sacrificed again and again for me, a woman who loves me as much as she loves anything in this world, but a woman who once confessed her fear of black men who passed by her on the street, and who on more than one occasion has uttered racial or ethnic stereotypes that made me cringe.

These people are a part of me. And they are a part of America, this country that I love.

Some will see this as an attempt to justify or excuse comments that are simply inexcusable. I can assure you it is not. I suppose the politically safe thing would be to move on from this episode and just hope that it fades into the woodwork. We can dismiss Reverend Wright as a crank or a demagogue, just as some have dismissed Geraldine Ferraro, in the aftermath of her recent statements, as harboring some deep-seated racial bias.

But race is an issue that I believe this nation cannot afford to ignore right now. We would be making the same mistake that Reverend Wright made in his offending sermons about America - to simplify and stereotype and amplify the negative to the point that it distorts reality.

The fact is that the comments that have been made and the issues that have surfaced over the last few weeks reflect the complexities of race in this country that we’ve never really worked through - a part of our union that we have yet to perfect. And if we walk away now, if we simply retreat into our respective corners, we will never be able to come together and solve challenges like health care, or education, or the need to find good jobs for every American.

Understanding this reality requires a reminder of how we arrived at this point. As William Faulkner once wrote, "The past isn’t dead and buried. In fact, it isn’t even past." We do not need to recite here the history of racial injustice in this country. But we do need to remind ourselves that so many of the disparities that exist in the African-American community today can be directly traced to inequalities passed on from an earlier generation that suffered under the brutal legacy of slavery and Jim Crow.

Segregated schools were, and are, inferior schools; we still haven’t fixed them, fifty years after Brown v. Board of Education, and the inferior education they provided, then and now, helps explain the pervasive achievement gap between today’s black and white students.

Legalized discrimination - where blacks were prevented, often through violence, from owning property, or loans were not granted to African-American business owners, or black homeowners could not access FHA mortgages, or blacks were excluded from unions, or the police force, or fire departments - meant that black families could not amass any meaningful wealth to bequeath to future generations. That history helps explain the wealth and income gap between black and white, and the concentrated pockets of poverty that persists in so many of today’s urban and rural communities.

A lack of economic opportunity among black men, and the shame and frustration that came from not being able to provide for one’s family, contributed to the erosion of black families - a problem that welfare policies for many years may have worsened. And the lack of basic services in so many urban black neighborhoods - parks for kids to play in, police walking the beat, regular garbage pick-up and building code enforcement - all helped create a cycle of violence, blight and neglect that continue to haunt us.

This is the reality in which Reverend Wright and other African-Americans of his generation grew up. They came of age in the late fifties and early sixties, a time when segregation was still the law of the land and opportunity was systematically constricted. What’s remarkable is not how many failed in the face of discrimination, but rather how many men and women overcame the odds; how many were able to make a way out of no way for those like me who would come after them.

But for all those who scratched and clawed their way to get a piece of the American Dream, there were many who didn’t make it - those who were ultimately defeated, in one way or another, by discrimination. That legacy of defeat was passed on to future generations - those young men and increasingly young women who we see standing on street corners or languishing in our prisons, without hope or prospects for the future. Even for those blacks who did make it, questions of race, and racism, continue to define their worldview in fundamental ways. For the men and women of Reverend Wright’s generation, the memories of humiliation and doubt and fear have not gone away; nor has the anger and the bitterness of those years. That anger may not get expressed in public, in front of white co-workers or white friends. But it does find voice in the barbershop or around the kitchen table. At times, that anger is exploited by politicians, to gin up votes along racial lines, or to make up for a politician’s own failings.

And occasionally it finds voice in the church on Sunday morning, in the pulpit and in the pews. The fact that so many people are surprised to hear that anger in some of Reverend Wright’s sermons simply reminds us of the old truism that the most segregated hour in American life occurs on Sunday morning. That anger is not always productive; indeed, all too often it distracts attention from solving real problems; it keeps us from squarely facing our own complicity in our condition, and prevents the African-American community from forging the alliances it needs to bring about real change. But the anger is real; it is powerful; and to simply wish it away, to condemn it without understanding its roots, only serves to widen the chasm of misunderstanding that exists between the races.

In fact, a similar anger exists within segments of the white community. Most working- and middle-class white Americans don’t feel that they have been particularly privileged by their race. Their experience is the immigrant experience - as far as they’re concerned, no one’s handed them anything, they’ve built it from scratch. They’ve worked hard all their lives, many times only to see their jobs shipped overseas or their pension dumped after a lifetime of labor. They are anxious about their futures, and feel their dreams slipping away; in an era of stagnant wages and global competition, opportunity comes to be seen as a zero sum game, in which your dreams come at my expense. So when they are told to bus their children to a school across town; when they hear that an African American is getting an advantage in landing a good job or a spot in a good college because of an injustice that they themselves never committed; when they’re told that their fears about crime in urban neighborhoods are somehow prejudiced, resentment builds over time.

Like the anger within the black community, these resentments aren’t always expressed in polite company. But they have helped shape the political landscape for at least a generation. Anger over welfare and affirmative action helped forge the Reagan Coalition. Politicians routinely exploited fears of crime for their own electoral ends. Talk show hosts and conservative commentators built entire careers unmasking bogus claims of racism while dismissing legitimate discussions of racial injustice and inequality as mere political correctness or reverse racism.

Just as black anger often proved counterproductive, so have these white resentments distracted attention from the real culprits of the middle class squeeze - a corporate culture rife with inside dealing, questionable accounting practices, and short-term greed; a Washington dominated by lobbyists and special interests; economic policies that favor the few over the many. And yet, to wish away the resentments of white Americans, to label them as misguided or even racist, without recognizing they are grounded in legitimate concerns - this too widens the racial divide, and blocks the path to understanding.

This is where we are right now. It’s a racial stalemate we’ve been stuck in for years. Contrary to the claims of some of my critics, black and white, I have never been so naïve as to believe that we can get beyond our racial divisions in a single election cycle, or with a single candidacy - particularly a candidacy as imperfect as my own.

But I have asserted a firm conviction - a conviction rooted in my faith in God and my faith in the American people - that working together we can move beyond some of our old racial wounds, and that in fact we have no choice is we are to continue on the path of a more perfect union.

For the African-American community, that path means embracing the burdens of our past without becoming victims of our past. It means continuing to insist on a full measure of justice in every aspect of American life. But it also means binding our particular grievances - for better health care, and better schools, and better jobs - to the larger aspirations of all Americans -- the white woman struggling to break the glass ceiling, the white man whose been laid off, the immigrant trying to feed his family. And it means taking full responsibility for own lives - by demanding more from our fathers, and spending more time with our children, and reading to them, and teaching them that while they may face challenges and discrimination in their own lives, they must never succumb to despair or cynicism; they must always believe that they can write their own destiny.

Ironically, this quintessentially American - and yes, conservative - notion of self-help found frequent expression in Reverend Wright’s sermons. But what my former pastor too often failed to understand is that embarking on a program of self-help also requires a belief that society can change.

The profound mistake of Reverend Wright’s sermons is not that he spoke about racism in our society. It’s that he spoke as if our society was static; as if no progress has been made; as if this country - a country that has made it possible for one of his own members to run for the highest office in the land and build a coalition of white and black; Latino and Asian, rich and poor, young and old -- is still irrevocably bound to a tragic past. But what we know -- what we have seen - is that America can change. That is the true genius of this nation. What we have already achieved gives us hope - the audacity to hope - for what we can and must achieve tomorrow.

In the white community, the path to a more perfect union means acknowledging that what ails the African-American community does not just exist in the minds of black people; that the legacy of discrimination - and current incidents of discrimination, while less overt than in the past - are real and must be addressed. Not just with words, but with deeds - by investing in our schools and our communities; by enforcing our civil rights laws and ensuring fairness in our criminal justice system; by providing this generation with ladders of opportunity that were unavailable for previous generations. It requires all Americans to realize that your dreams do not have to come at the expense of my dreams; that investing in the health, welfare, and education of black and brown and white children will ultimately help all of America prosper.

In the end, then, what is called for is nothing more, and nothing less, than what all the world’s great religions demand - that we do unto others as we would have them do unto us. Let us be our brother’s keeper, Scripture tells us. Let us be our sister’s keeper. Let us find that common stake we all have in one another, and let our politics reflect that spirit as well.

For we have a choice in this country. We can accept a politics that breeds division, and conflict, and cynicism. We can tackle race only as spectacle - as we did in the OJ trial - or in the wake of tragedy, as we did in the aftermath of Katrina - or as fodder for the nightly news. We can play Reverend Wright’s sermons on every channel, every day and talk about them from now until the election, and make the only question in this campaign whether or not the American people think that I somehow believe or sympathize with his most offensive words. We can pounce on some gaffe by a Hillary supporter as evidence that she’s playing the race card, or we can speculate on whether white men will all flock to John McCain in the general election regardless of his policies.

We can do that.

But if we do, I can tell you that in the next election, we’ll be talking about some other distraction. And then another one. And then another one. And nothing will change.

That is one option. Or, at this moment, in this election, we can come together and say, "Not this time." This time we want to talk about the crumbling schools that are stealing the future of black children and white children and Asian children and Hispanic children and Native American children. This time we want to reject the cynicism that tells us that these kids can’t learn; that those kids who don’t look like us are somebody else’s problem. The children of America are not those kids, they are our kids, and we will not let them fall behind in a 21st century economy. Not this time.

This time we want to talk about how the lines in the Emergency Room are filled with whites and blacks and Hispanics who do not have health care; who don’t have the power on their own to overcome the special interests in Washington, but who can take them on if we do it together.

This time we want to talk about the shuttered mills that once provided a decent life for men and women of every race, and the homes for sale that once belonged to Americans from every religion, every region, every walk of life. This time we want to talk about the fact that the real problem is not that someone who doesn’t look like you might take your job; it’s that the corporation you work for will ship it overseas for nothing more than a profit.

This time we want to talk about the men and women of every color and creed who serve together, and fight together, and bleed together under the same proud flag. We want to talk about how to bring them home from a war that never should’ve been authorized and never should’ve been waged, and we want to talk about how we’ll show our patriotism by caring for them, and their families, and giving them the benefits they have earned.

I would not be running for President if I didn’t believe with all my heart that this is what the vast majority of Americans want for this country. This union may never be perfect, but generation after generation has shown that it can always be perfected. And today, whenever I find myself feeling doubtful or cynical about this possibility, what gives me the most hope is the next generation - the young people whose attitudes and beliefs and openness to change have already made history in this election.

There is one story in particularly that I’d like to leave you with today - a story I told when I had the great honor of speaking on Dr. King’s birthday at his home church, Ebenezer Baptist, in Atlanta.

There is a young, twenty-three year old white woman named Ashley Baia who organized for our campaign in Florence, South Carolina. She had been working to organize a mostly African-American community since the beginning of this campaign, and one day she was at a roundtable discussion where everyone went around telling their story and why they were there.

And Ashley said that when she was nine years old, her mother got cancer. And because she had to miss days of work, she was let go and lost her health care. They had to file for bankruptcy, and that’s when Ashley decided that she had to do something to help her mom.

She knew that food was one of their most expensive costs, and so Ashley convinced her mother that what she really liked and really wanted to eat more than anything else was mustard and relish sandwiches. Because that was the cheapest way to eat.

She did this for a year until her mom got better, and she told everyone at the roundtable that the reason she joined our campaign was so that she could help the millions of other children in the country who want and need to help their parents too.

Now Ashley might have made a different choice. Perhaps somebody told her along the way that the source of her mother’s problems were blacks who were on welfare and too lazy to work, or Hispanics who were coming into the country illegally. But she didn’t. She sought out allies in her fight against injustice.

Anyway, Ashley finishes her story and then goes around the room and asks everyone else why they’re supporting the campaign. They all have different stories and reasons. Many bring up a specific issue. And finally they come to this elderly black man who’s been sitting there quietly the entire time. And Ashley asks him why he’s there. And he does not bring up a specific issue. He does not say health care or the economy. He does not say education or the war. He does not say that he was there because of Barack Obama. He simply says to everyone in the room, "I am here because of Ashley."

"I’m here because of Ashley." By itself, that single moment of recognition between that young white girl and that old black man is not enough. It is not enough to give health care to the sick, or jobs to the jobless, or education to our children.

But it is where we start. It is where our union grows stronger. And as so many generations have come to realize over the course of the two-hundred and twenty one years since a band of patriots signed that document in Philadelphia, that is where the perfection begins.

Ladies and Germs ... BEHOLD!

I have created what is perhaps the greatest mix tape/playlist EVER!

It is true.

PLEASE, DEFINITELY Check out my MySpace page and scroll down to my playlist on the left hand side and read through the listing.

This is indeed the consummate background playlist for any party, study time, meditation or other listening time.

Behold. Suggestions for additions and subtractions will be accepted. But I believe this to be the penultimate work of sound.

"And the Gods turned to him and said ’Let Man create a joyful noise with which to bring us praise, and let him call it "Music" so that it may bring great joy to all the nations of the world like a Muse unto our deified ears.’ And thus music was created, and it was good." -- The Odyssey

(Text reprinted via Lou ... thanks, girl!)

Dec 25, 8:44 AM (ET)

By GREG BLUESTEIN

ATLANTA (AP) - James Brown, the dynamic, pompadoured "Godfather of Soul," whose rasping vocals and revolutionary rhythms made him a founder of rap, funk and disco as well, died early Monday, his agent said. He was 73.

Brown was hospitalized with pneumonia at Emory Crawford Long Hospital on Sunday and died around 1:45 a.m. Monday, said his agent, Frank Copsidas of Intrigue Music. Longtime friend Charles Bobbit was by his side, he said.

Copsidas said the cause of death was uncertain. "We really don't know at this point what he died of," he said.

Along with Elvis Presley, Bob Dylan and a handful of others, Brown was one of the major musical influences of the past 50 years. At least one generation idolized him, and sometimes openly copied him. His rapid-footed dancing inspired Mick Jagger and Michael Jackson among others. Songs such as David Bowie's "Fame," Prince's "Kiss," George Clinton's "Atomic Dog" and Sly and the Family Stone's "Sing a Simple Song" were clearly based on Brown's rhythms and vocal style.

If Brown's claim to the invention of soul can be challenged by fans of Ray Charles and Sam Cooke, then his rights to the genres of rap, disco and funk are beyond question. He was to rhythm and dance music what Dylan was to lyrics: the unchallenged popular innovator.

"James presented obviously the best grooves," rapper Chuck D of Public Enemy once told The Associated Press. "To this day, there has been no one near as funky. No one's coming even close."

His hit singles include such classics as "Out of Sight,""(Get Up I Feel Like Being a) Sex Machine,""I Got You (I Feel Good)" and "Say It Loud - I'm Black and I'm Proud," a landmark 1968 statement of racial pride.

"I clearly remember we were calling ourselves colored, and after the song, we were calling ourselves black," Brown said in a 2003 Associated Press interview. "The song showed even people to that day that lyrics and music and a song can change society."

He won a Grammy award for lifetime achievement in 1992, as well as Grammys in 1965 for "Papa's Got a Brand New Bag" (best R&B recording) and for "Living In America" in 1987 (best R&B vocal performance, male.) He was one of the initial artists inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1986, along with Presley, Chuck Berry and other founding fathers.

He triumphed despite an often unhappy personal life. Brown, who lived in Beech Island near the Georgia line, spent more than two years in a South Carolina prison for aggravated assault and failing to stop for a police officer. After his release on in 1991, Brown said he wanted to "try to straighten out" rock music.

From the 1950s, when Brown had his first R&B hit, "Please, Please, Please" in 1956, through the mid-1970s, Brown went on a frenzy of cross-country tours, concerts and new songs. He earned the nickname "The Hardest Working Man in Show Business" and often tried to prove it to his fans, said Jay Ross, his lawyer of 15 years.

Brown would routinely lose two or three pounds each time he performed and kept his furious concert schedule in his later years even as he fought prostate cancer, Ross said.

"He'd always give it his all to give his fans the type of show they expected," he said.

With his tight pants, shimmering feet, eye makeup and outrageous hair, Brown set the stage for younger stars such as Michael Jackson and Prince.

In 1986, he was inducted in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. And rap stars of recent years overwhelmingly have borrowed his lyrics with a digital technique called sampling.

Brown's work has been replayed by the Fat Boys, Ice-T, Public Enemy and a host of other rappers. "The music out there is only as good as my last record," Brown joked in a 1989 interview with Rolling Stone magazine.

"Disco is James Brown, hip-hop is James Brown, rap is James Brown; you know what I'm saying? You hear all the rappers, 90 percent of their music is me," he told the AP in 2003.

Born in poverty in Barnwell, S.C., in 1933, he was abandoned as a 4-year-old to the care of relatives and friends and grew up on the streets of Augusta, Ga., in an "ill-repute area," as he once called it. There he learned to wheel and deal.

"I wanted to be somebody," Brown said.

By the eighth grade in 1949, Brown had served 3 1/2 years in Alto Reform School near Toccoa, Ga., for breaking into cars.

While there, he met Bobby Byrd, whose family took Brown into their home. Byrd also took Brown into his group, the Gospel Starlighters. Soon they changed their name to the Famous Flames and their style to hard R&B.

In January 1956, King Records of Cincinnati signed the group, and four months later "Please, Please, Please" was in the R&B Top Ten.

Pete Allman, a radio personality in Las Vegas who had been friends with Brown for 15 years, credited Brown with jump-starting his career and motivating him personally and professionally.

"He was a very positive person. There was no question he was the hardest working man in show business," Allman said. "I remember Mr. Brown as someone who always motivated me, got me reading the Bible."

While most of Brown's life was glitz and glitter - he was the singing preacher in 1980's "The Blues Brothers" - he was plagued with charges of abusing drugs and alcohol and of hitting his third wife, Adrienne.

In September 1988, Brown, high on PCP and carrying a shotgun, entered an insurance seminar next to his Augusta office. Police said he asked seminar participants if they were using his private restroom.

Police chased Brown for a half-hour from Augusta into South Carolina and back to Georgia. The chase ended when police shot out the tires of his truck.

Brown received a six-year prison sentence. He spent 15 months in a South Carolina prison and 10 months in a work release program before being paroled in February 1991. In 2003, the South Carolina parole board granted him a pardon for his crimes in that state.

Soon after his release, Brown was on stage again with an audience that included millions of cable television viewers nationwide who watched the three-hour, pay-per-view concert at Wiltern Theatre in Los Angeles.

Adrienne Brown died in 1996 in Los Angeles at age 47. She took PCP and several prescription drugs while she had a bad heart and was weak from cosmetic surgery two days earlier, the coroner said.

More recently, he married his fourth wife, Tomi Raye Hynie, one of his backup singers. The couple had a son, James Jr.

Two years later, Brown spent a week in a private Columbia hospital, recovering from what his agent said was dependency on painkillers. Brown's attorney, Albert "Buddy" Dallas, said the singer was exhausted from six years of road shows.

Brown was performing to the end, and giving back to his community.

Three days before his death, he joined volunteers at his annual toy giveaway in Augusta, and he planned to perform on New Year's Eve at B.B. King Blues Club in New York.

"He was dramatic to the end - dying on Christmas Day," said the Rev. Jesse Jackson, a friend of Brown's since 1955. "Almost a dramatic, poetic moment. He'll be all over the news all over the world today. He would have it no other way."



Pour out a little liquor

About three weeks ago I did something I've wanted to do for years, and time and time again I just put it off. But now that I've got a baby on the way and, even though it's just a rental, I'm living in a house, so I decided it's time to get a security system. Not that Elk Grove is a bad area -- quite the contrary. It's typical suburban America. But South Sac (the Ghetto part of Sac -- for those of you not familiar with the area) is only 15 minutes away, close enough that warrants at least a little attention. So we got a security system.

Now I had been looking online, in magazines, asking neighbors, family members, etc. trying to figure out who and what system would be best for our needs. You want something safe and secure, but not something that's going to cost you $100 a month (it's not like I'm a friggin' star like Ricky Martin or Alfonso Ribeiro, right?). And in the way that when you learn a new word you begin to hear it everywhere, suddenly my television was FULL of security commercials.

I LOVE the unbelievable scenarios that home alarm system companies come up with. For example, I saw a commercial that shows a man leaving for work in this perfect neighborhood and his wife at the end of the driveway kissing him goodbye. As the husband is backing down the driveway, a jogger stops before his driveway to let him continue backing up while he pretends to tie his shoe. Then all hell breaks lose. The jogger stands up, flips up the hood on his sweatshirt (which was black, by the way) and runs full speed at the door of the house where the wife is all alone, and kicks it in with BOTH FEET. The door falls off the hinges and you see the terror on the face of the wife. But lucky enough for her, the house has a Brinks Security System and the alarm goes off while the badass jogger/burglar runs away. Brinks Security saves the day! The alarm company calls to check in and they ask, "Are you OK, we have noticed that an alarm went off at your home!" Her response: "I think someone tried to break into my house." No shit - my guests don't normally do a running kick at the door with both feet when they want to come inside.

I have no problem with alarm systems, that's not what I am getting at in this rant. If a burglar is going to break into a house during daylight hours in a neighborhood where the homes are relatively close to one another, then he's a moron. Secondly, burglars don't do running kicks with both feet because that is just retarded. That's done in movies for the effect, when in real life, a nice one footed kick would do the job. But I guess a boring, realistic break-in wouldn't sell alarm systems. It doesn't matter if you have an alarm system in that situation because it won't prevent the burglar from kicking down your door, but a nice pair of deadbolts would. That way, you could catch the burglar AND break his back.

And then there's the one's where the blond haired, blue eyed Hollywood model type creeps up to the house Tom & Jerry style, and just as he's about to smash a window with a crowbar sees the ADT sticker on the window and does a silent yet wildly dramatic "DAMMIT!" like he just found a walrus in his bathtub. Oh so precious ...

Makes me wonder if I just shoulda gotten the window stickers and yard sign and said screw it to the $200 installation ...

Okay, now it's been a couple years since I lived in Cincinnati. And I always fancied the REds as my second favorite team, and not just because I lived there for so long. But because they always seemed to get by and do okay despite the moronic, idiotic moves their owners and management made. And when the reds got new owners a year ago, I figured maybe the retarded moves would end ...

I was wrong.

Here now is a clip I just pulled from the CincinnatiReds.com News blog:

"Cincinnati completed an eight-player trade with the Nationals on Thursday afternoon, sending starting shortstop Felipe Lopez and right fielder Austin Kearns, as well as Minor League pitcher Ryan Wagner, to Washington in exchange for relievers Gary Majewski and Bill Bray, shortstop Royce Clayton, infielder Brendan Harris and pitcher Darryl Thompson.

The deal comes exactly a week after Reds general manager Wayne Krivsky acquired closer Eddie Guardado from the Mariners. "

Okay, so the Reds sent an All-Star Shortstop, and arguably one of the best fielders, hitters, all around players they have ever had (Austin Kearns) for WHOOOOO ?????

Those poor Reds. I really feel for you Cincinnati fans, I do. I mean c'mon - Johnny Damon, Nomar Garciaparra, Roger Clemens, Bill Mueller, BRONSON ARROYO?!?! I know ALL about getting screwed by your management. But this was just too much.

I must send my thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat poop in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet towel with every envelope that needs sealing.

Also, now I have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown) who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time.

I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the $15,000 that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.

I no longer eat KFC because their chickens are actually horrible mutant freaks with no eyes or feathers.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward an email to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes. (or repost a bulletin on MySpace)

Because of your concern I no longer drink Coca Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

I no longer can buy gasoline without taking a man along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm pumping gas.

I no longer drink Pepsi or Dr. Pepper since the people who make these products are atheists who refuse to put "Under God" on their cans.

I no longer use Saran wrap in the microwave because it causes cancer.

And thanks for letting me know I can't boil a cup water in the microwave anymore because it will blow up in my face...disfiguring me for life.

I no longer check the coin return on pay phones because I could be pricked with a needle infected with AIDS.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with a perfume sample and rob me.

I no longer receive packages from UPS or FedEx since they are actually Al Qaeda in disguise.

I no longer shop at Target since they are French and don't support our American troops or the Salvation Army.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica, Uganda, Singapore, and Uzbekistan.

I no longer have any sneakers -- but that will change once I receive my free replacement pair from Nike.

I no longer buy expensive cookies from Neiman Marcus since I now have their recipe.

Thanks to you, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my butt.

Thank you too for all the endless advice Andy Rooney has given us. I can live a better life now because he's told us how to fix everything.

And thanks to your great advice, I can't ever pick up $5.00 I dropped in the parking lot because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.


Oh, and don't forget this one either! I can no longer drive my car because I can't buy gas from certain gas companies!

If you don't repost this Bulletin and forward this to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhea will land on your head at 5:00 PM this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump. I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbor's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beautician...

Have a wonderful day....

If you ask Chuck Norris what time it is, he always says, "Two seconds till." After you ask, "Two seconds to what?" he roundhouse kicks you in the face.

Chuck Norris once roundhouse kicked someone so hard that his foot broke the speed of light, went back in time, and killed Amelia Earhart while she was flying over the Pacific Ocean.

Chuck Norris doesn't read books. He stares them down until he gets the information he wants.

Chuck Norris lost his virginity before his dad did.

Since 1940, the year Chuck Norris was born, roundhouse kick related deaths have increased 13,000 percent.

Chuck Norris is currently suing NBC, claiming Law and Order are trademarked names for his left and right legs.

Chuck Norris has recently changed his middle name to "F***ing."

When Chuck Norris sends in his taxes, he sends blank forms and includes only a picture of himself, crouched and ready to attack. Chuck Norris has not had to pay taxes ever.

There is no chin behind Chuck Norris' beard. There is only another fist.

There are two kinds of people in this world: people who suck, and Chuck Norris.

Crop circles are Chuck Norris's way of telling the world that sometimes corn needs to lie the f**k down.

There is no theory of evolution, just a list of creatures Chuck Norris allows to live.

When Chuck Norris goes to donate blood, he declines the syringe, and instead requests a hand gun and a bucket.

In an average living room there are 1,242 objects Chuck Norris could use to kill you, including the room itself.

Chuck Norris has two speeds: walk and kill.

Chuck Norris is the only man to ever defeat a brick wall in a game of tennis.

When Chuck Norris was born, the nurse said, "Holy crap! That's Chuck Norris!" Then she had had sex with him. At that point, she was the third girl he had slept with.

Chuck Norris can set ants on fire with a magnifying glass. At night.

It takes Chuck Norris 20 minutes to watch 60 Minutes.

Chuck Norris is not lactose intolerant, he just refuses to put up with lactose's s**t.

Chuck Norris can divide by zero.

When Chuck Norris does a pushup, he isn't lifting himself up; he's pushing the Earth down.

Rather than being birthed like a normal child, Chuck Norris instead decided to punch his way out of his mother's womb. Shortly thereafter he grew a beard.

Chuck Norris sold his soul to the devil for his rugged good looks and unparalleled martial arts ability. Shortly after the transaction was finalized, Chuck roundhouse kicked the devil in the face and took his soul back. The devil, who appreciates irony, couldn't stay mad and admitted he should have seen it coming. They now play poker every second Wednesday of the month.

Filming on location for Walker: Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris brought a stillborn baby lamb back to life by giving it a prolonged beard-rub. Shortly after the farm animal sprang back to life and a crowd had gathered, Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked the animal, breaking its neck, to remind the crew once more that the good Chuck giveth, and the good Chuck taketh away.

Chuck Norris does not sleep. He waits.

Chuck Norris is not hung like a horse... horses are hung like Chuck
Norris

There is no chin behind Chuck Norris' beard. There is only another fist.

When Chuck Norris plays Oregon Trail his family does not die from cholera or dysentery, but rather roundhouse kicks to the face. He also requires no wagon, since he carries the oxen, axels, and buffalo meat on his back. He always makes it to Oregon before you.

Chuck Norris recently had the idea to sell his urine as a canned beverage. We know this beverage as Red Bull.

If you can see Chuck Norris, he can see you. If you can't see Chuck Norris you may be only seconds away from death.

Chuck Norris can make a woman climax by simply pointing at her and saying "boo-yah.

Chuck Norris can mathematically make two wrongs equal a right.

When Chuck Norris' Wife burned the turkey one Thanksgiving, Chuck said, "Don't worry about it honey," and went into his backyard. He came back
five minutes later with a live turkey, ate it whole, and when he threw
it up a few seconds later it was fully cooked and came with cranberry sauce.

The quickest way to a man's heart is with Chuck Norris's fist.

Similar to a Russian Nesting Doll, if you were to break Chuck Norris open you would find another Chuck Norris inside, only smaller and angrier.

Chuck Norris died ten years ago, but the Grim Reaper can't get up the courage to tell him.

When Chuck Norris wants popcorn, he breathes on Nebraska.

Chuck Norris has a vacation home on the sun.

Chuck Norris uses red hot lava to moisturize his skin.

Chuck Norris Built Mount Everest with a bucket and spade.

Chuck Norris does not age. Every birthday, it's just another year added to his existence, which sucks for you.

Chuck Norris does not have chest hair; he has millions of highly venomous nematocysts. You have virtually no chance of surviving the venomous sting, unless treated immediately. The pain is so excruciating and overwhelming that you would most likely go into shock and collapse a split second before getting hit in the face with a roundhouse kick from Chuck himself.

If you get roundhouse kicked in the face by Chuck Norris in your dream, you DIE!

Chuck Norris can have his cake AND eat it too.

Chuck Norris was born in a log cabin that he built with his bare hands.

Ever heard the phrase kill two birds with one stone? Chuck Norris once killed four birds with half a stone. What's that? You say there's no such thing as half a stone? The four dead birds didn't think so either.

P is for Chuck Norris, as is every other letter of the alphabet, whether you like it or not.

Chuck Norris puts the FUN in Funeral.

Chuck Norris has never had a surprise birthday party. He can NEVER be surprised. EVER.

Chuck Norris does not love Raymond.

Chuck Norris can lick his own elbows. At the same time.

Chuck Norris doesn't breathe, he holds air hostage.

Chuck Norris wrote an autobiography....it was just a list of everyone he has killed.

Einstein's original Theory of Relativity was; if Chuck Norris kicks you, your relatives will feel it.

Bigfoot takes pictures of Chuck Norris.

As seen in Sidekicks, Chuck Norris can climb a rope with one hand, and one hand only.

Chuck Norris does not dance. He roundhouse kicks to the beat.

Chuck Norris can MAKE water run uphill.

Chuck Norris can hold Puff Daddy down.

The moon is actually a comet that was once on course to hit earth... then Chuck Norris roundhouse kicked it into orbit.

Chuck Norris can strike a match on a bar of soap.

Chuck Norris once played Russian roulette with a fully load gun and won.

The only reason the color pink still exists is because Chuck Norris is color blind.

Chuck Norris is allowed to talk about Fight Club.

Chuck Norris isn't afraid of Urban Legends, he is an Urban Legend.

Chuck Norris once played 18 holes of golf using a 12 inch strip of rebar and a sun dried tomato. He shot a 54.

On the Asian market, Chuck Norris' urine is worth $400 per fluid ounce.

See spot. See spot run. See spot get round house kicked in the face by Chuck Norris. See Spot cease to be.

If you were killed by Chuck Norris, your tombstone would read RIP, ripped into pieces.

Chuck Norris' smile once brought a puppy back to life.

Chuck Norris lost both his legs in a car accident....and still managed to walk it off.

Contrary to popular belief the Lottery numbers are not random. They are just the number of people Chuck Norris killed that given day.

The agent of Chuck Norris asked Chuck if he wanted to be in Brokeback Mountain. Chuck Norris' agent has been missing for almost 2 years now. Never ask Chuck Norris to be in a gay cowboy movie.

When Chuck Norris crosses the street, the cars have to look both ways.

When Chuck Norris picks his nose, he REALLY does find Gold.

Chuck Norris speaks in all caps.

Chuck Norris delivers more male with one thrust of his pelvis than the U.S. Postal Service and the Pony Express have combined for the last 146 years.

Chuck Norris wasn't born with feet, just boots.

Chuck Norris won a pissing contest against a Russian race horse.

When Chuck Norris throws a boomerang, the boomerang does not return because it is scared to come back.

Chuck Norris floats like a butterfly and stings like a tomahawk missile. At mach 3. In the face.

Chuck Norris IQ can be expressed simply as a sideways eight.

Chuck Norris is a stunt double for Optimus Prime.

Chuck Norris was once asked to repeat himself. The last thing that person ever heard was the whooshing sound of a roundhouse kick.

Chuck Norris can clap with one hand.

Once again my friends, Dr. Q Clavin, Baron of Bullshit, comes to you with a new installment of useless trivia. Enjoy!

- The original game of "Monopoly" was circular.

- Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia is the fear of long words.

- A snail can sleep for 3 years

- Did you know you share your birthday with at least 9 million other people in the world?

- The average human eats 8 spiders in their lifetime at night.

- More people are killed by donkeys annually than are killed in plane crashes.

- Women blink nearly twice as much as men.

- Only female mosquitoes bite.

- In the United States, a pound of potato chips cost two hundred times more than a pound of potatoes

- A raisin dropped in a glass of fresh champagne will bounce up and down continually from the bottom of the glass to the top.

- Barbie's measurements if she were life size: 39-23-33

- Cat's urine glows under a black light

- Charlie Brown's father was a barber.

- The longest U.S. highway is route 6 starting in Cape Cod, Massachusetts going through 14 states, and ending in Bishop, California.

- Mr. Snuffleupagas' first name was Alyoisus.

- Los Angeles's full name is "El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora la Reina de los Angeles de Porciuncula" and can be abbreviated to 3.63% of its size, "L.A."

- Tigers have striped skin, not just striped fur.

- Al Capone's business card said he was a used furniture dealer.

- Wilma Flintstone's maiden name was Wilma Slaghoopal, and Betty Rubble's Maiden name was Betty Jean Mcbricker.

- A pregnant goldfish is called a twit

- The Ramses brand condom is named after the great pharaoh Ramses II who fathered over 160 children ... So ya might wanna think twice before choosing this brand, eh?

- A goldfish has a memory span of three seconds. So does half the freshman class at Humboldt State.

- The plastic things on the end of shoelaces are called aglets.

- The little knob on top of a baseball cap is called a "notion."

- Maine is the toothpick capital of the world.

- In 1963, baseball pitcher Gaylord Perry remarked, "They'll put a man on the moon before I hit a home run." On July 20, 1969, a few hours after Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon, Gaylord Perry hit his first, and only, home run.

- There are more chickens than people in the world.

- Your fingernail has the same ingredients as fly poop.