I have now written more than 100 articles for BrooWaha San Francisco (www.sf.broowaha.com) and all I can say is that I’m just getting started. I’m hooked on the Broo. I find myself thinking day and night about what I want to write next for the site.

I’m obsessed. My friends think I’m doing crank. My fiancée thinks I’m cheating on her. “What are you doing in front of that damn computer day and night?” she says. “Are you downloading porn?

In late February, I saw a posting for the new SF BrooWaha on Craigslist and it instantly caught my eye. I had never even heard of such a thing as a citizen newspaper. Already an avid blogger, I had no idea what it was or how it worked. But, once I found out and e-mailed back and forth with BrooWaha Founder Ariel, I took to the concept immediately.

What I like about BrooWaha is that it is TRULY a citizen newspaper. I wish it had existed when I was a journalism major at San Jose State a long time ago. In the early ‘80’s, long before the Internet existed, there just wasn’t anywhere that a fledgling writer could get his or her stuff published. And if there was, you were pretty much relegated to writing about things they assigned you. The kind of things no one else wanted to write about -- like PTA meetings, neighborhood watch patrols and kindergarten bake sales. Or, worst of all, you got to write obituaries. Nothing will kill you faster than having to write obituaries, believe me.

BrooWaha is a wonderful vehicle for many reasons, but one of the most important ones is that you get to write about those things that particularly interest you. Whatever you’re into, you can find an audience on BrooWaha.

And the system that Ariel has created is pure genius. And I’m not saying that just to kiss his ass. People read your stuff and comment on it. They rate you on interest, writing, fairness, etc. and you receive immediate feedback. Most of the comments I’ve gotten from fellow BrooWaha’ers have been very constructive and intelligently written.

I realize I’m not writing cutting-edge investigative stuff. Most of my articles are celebrity bashing pieces, local restaurant reviews, sports stories and interviews with old baseball players. I know people aren’t going to be clamoring for my next installment. But, for those who do want to read my articles, there’s a place that they can see them, and it’s BrooWaha. It’s the ultimate venue for free expression.

I also enjoy reading other people’s articles and I have been pleasantly surprised to see all of the really well-written pieces that have come through here. I’m also pleased to see that from time to time some articles get picked up by sites like Google and Yahoo, meaning they get a lot of traffic and additional viewers.

I wrote one story about Michael Vick and dog fighting, and it got a very high rating on Google, which has resulted in a lot of hits. One SF BrooWaha writer, M.B. Dixon, wrote an article that got picked up by Netscape and has received more than 6,000 hits to date! I’ve seen the some phenomenon occur again and again with LA and NY BrooWaha, which have been around longer and are more popular. If you’re looking for exposure for your writing, BrooWaha has proven that it can help.

I’m addicted to BrooWaha, I admit it. And unless my fiancée or my friends hold an intervention and try to wean me off this thing, I plan on writing for this site for a long, long time.

I’d like to thank the people who’ve been so supportive and given me some great feedback over the past few months, like Bill Friday, El G, Heaviside, SavageLettuce, Venditto and rjlight.

I love BrooWaha and I don’t care who knows it!

Last night we witnessed the complete and total meltdown of a relief pitcher. Armando Benitez, the controversial, unpredictable closer for the San Francisco Giants blew a game in a fashion so embarrassing that it hurt to watch. It reminded me of all the other horrible meltdowns in sports history, like the 1951 Brooklyn Dodgers; the Buffalo Bills in the Super Bowl and Greg Norman in big golf tournaments.

If Benitez can bounce back after such a devastating collapse, God bless him. But, I wouldn’t be surprised at all if his decline rapidly gains momentum from this point on.

With the Giants leading by one run in the bottom of the 12th inning against the New York Mets, Benitez (0-3, 4.13 ERA with 9 saves in 17.3 innings do far this season) walked the Mets’ leadoff hitter, the speedy Jose Reyes. Giving the first hitter a free pass is never a good move, obviously, but this situation was made even worse, because runners steal on Armando like they’re crossing the street. To make matters worse, Benitez then balked Reyes to second, and then two outs later, balked him home for the tying run. It was the first time since 1988 that a pitcher balked twice in the ninth inning or later.

Then, obviously rattled, Armando gave up a game-winning home run to Carlos Delgado. Game over, Mets win 5-4. While the Mets went crazy, Benitez walked off the mound with his head down. As Delgado crossed home plate, he threw his glove in disgust.

It was the fourth straight loss for the Giants, but the effect of this one will linger for the rest of this season, because it revealed to the rest of the league one huge vulnerability with this squad. If you can get into the late stages of the game and the contest is close, you can beat the Giants’ closer. He is easily rattled and has the propensity to blow up faster than Rosie O’Donnell at a buffet.

Armando is done, in my opinion. With all of the great young starting pitchers that the Giants have on their roster, it’s a complete waste and a losing proposition to have a liability like Benitez trying to close out games. Blowing leads and walking batters is not what closers are paid to do. It’s time to come up with a Plan B, Giants, and the B doesn’t stand for Benitez.

Every so often in the entertainment world, someone with no talent sneaks in under the radar and gains popularity for no logical reason, in my opinion. It doesn’t matter that they can’t sing, act or tell jokes, but somehow they’re in the right place at the right time and make it big. Certain rappers, bands and comedians fit neatly into this category. I have never understood how Insane Clown Posse, Vanilla Ice, Judy Tenuta or Emo Phillips, for example, ever sold a single album or CD.

Andrew Dice Clay is a poster child for this phenomenon. The fact that he’s been performing for more than 20 years makes me ill. He is the unfunniest individual on the planet.

I did standup myself for 12 years (I was pretty bad myself) so I know how tough a gig it is, but I have seen comedians here in San Francisco and down in LA at open mics, struggling just to get stage time, who are 20 times funnier than Andrew Dice Clay on their worst night. How this man has ever made a dime doing standup is one of the great mysteries of our time – kind of like the Big Foot and the Loch Ness Monster.

The fact that Comedy Central ranked him number 95 on their list of the 100 Greatest Stand-ups of All Time shows just how far our society has fallen. In 500 years, when our civilization has crumbled, historians will site Clay’s popularity as one of the early signs that led to the beginning of the end.

Clay started his career in 1984, doing nasty nursery rhymes and instructing men on how to abuse the opposite sex (like they needed training). In an interview back then, he cited his influences as Redd Foxx, George Carlin and Lenny Bruce, three comics who possess one quality Clay doesn’t – talent. It’s one thing to tell dirty jokes – Sam Kinnison, Bill Hicks and Richard Pryor (the greatest comedian of all time as far as I’m concerned) all worked blue and were very funny. But, Clay is dirty without the laughs. He’s abusive to women with no punch line. His routines are foul just for the sake of being foul. I’m so tired of hearing people defending by saying he’s a good family man. That’s like saying Hitler loved cats.

If it weren’t for the controversies he’s created over the years, the Diceman would never even be in the news. In 1989, Clay appeared on the MTV Video Music Awards where his raunchy act caused MTV to ban him from the network for life. When he hosted Saturday Night Live, Sinead O’Connor and Nora Dunn refused to appear. His movies have all bombed. The man’s only cinematic claim to fame is a disjointed, completely forgettable film named “The Adventures of Ford Fairlane” (1990). His Madison Square Garden performance film “Dice Rules” (1991) was banned in many cities and hundreds of theaters throughout the country refused to show it. He attacked deaf actress Marlee Matlin on his 1993 album, “The Day the Laughter Died, Part 2.” What a class act. Dropping F bombs is an easy way out when you don’t have material and Andrew Dice Clay has created a career around it.

His 1995 TV series, “Dice,” co-starring Cathy Moriarity, was unwatchable and came and went so fast few saw it. He did get a small film role in “One Night in McCool’s” (2001) featuring Matt Dillon and Michael Douglas. Now, he’s been reduced to performing the gambling circuit (Vegas, Atlantic City, Reno and a handful of Indian casinos), and is noticeably absent from TV and movies.

It appears as though the public has finally figured out what I’ve been saying for two decades – The Dice Man Stinketh. Hopefully he’ll fade away just as quickly as he reached the top. In other words, overnight.

Oh, yes, there’s nothing like a sweet, sunny Florida vacation to give you the relaxing and fun time you’re looking for. I just have a major fascination with a Florida vacation. I’m just like everyone else, I guess – just searching for that sensation that comes with getting to the Sunshine State, kicking back on the beach and having a good time. The people are great, the food is fantastic, the days are hot and the nights are cool. There’s just so much to do in Florida, especially during the summer months. Florida has it all, baby – boating, golf, concerts, sporting events, sightseeing, all kinds of water sports like snorkeling, and so much more. If you haven’t picked out a vacation spot for this summer yet, let me give you the news – Get to Florida for a Florida vacation!

John Famalaro, also known as the “Cold Storage Killer,” was a classmate of mine. We both attended St. Michael’s Prep, a very strict Catholic boarding school in the city of Silverado, Calif. In 1975, we were roommates and got to know each other fairly well. Although he was a strange and sometimes very arrogant guy, I never suspected for a moment that he would go on to commit one of the most heinous crimes in Orange County’s history.

Now he sits on death row in San Quentin, awaiting execution. Living in San Francisco, I drive by the prison often, and every time I do I think of John. I think about how he wasted his life and ruined so many others. I wonder how he must feel sitting in a cell waiting to be put to death.

With the California death penalty enforced the way it is today, Famalaro will most likely die of old age before being executed. I’ve heard from some of my fellow classmates that he has embraced his Catholicism and is trying to counsel other inmates. He has found God a little too late.

I am disgusted, yet also intrigued by John’s story. If I could speak to him, I would ask him so many things. What led him to commit this unspeakable crime? Why did he keep the body in a freezer for so long, taking it with him from Orange County to Arizona? Did he feel remorse after he committed the murder or was he just numb? And how does it feel to be living in a cage, knowing day after day that the State of California wants you dead? Sometimes I feel like I should write him a letter, thinking that I might feel better if I can get some answers. But, I never will and I know it.

Here is John Famalaro’s story:

On June 3, 1991, 23-year-old Denise Huber pulls over on the side of
the Corona Del Mar Freeway in Orange County, Calif. to mend a flat
tire. She disappears without a trace. Lt. Ron Smith with the
help of the Costa Mesa Police Department, along with family and friends, search desperately for the young Californian native as this disappearance is in stark contrast with her character. Yet, like so many missing persons cases, all leads run dry and the investigation into Denise Huber's disappearance goes cold.

In 1994, a local paint shop owner, Elaine Court, makes an
arrangement to purchase paint from Prescott, Arizona local John
Famalaro. Upon this visit, Court notices a Ryder Truck in the
driveway. Finding the truck to be mysterious, she contacts local
police and asks them to investigate. What begins as a routine
follow-up quickly turns into a case of homicide. Police converge
on the Famalaro home only to find that located in the back of the
truck is a freezer. Its contents...a body...later identified as
23-year-old Denise Huber.

Inside the house, detectives find more evidence the home had been
visited by murder. A box marked "X-Mas decorations" contains a
bloody hammer and nail puller. Guns and handcuffs are strewn
about the home. Inside a closet, detectives discover an LA
Sheriff's Patrol Shirt——all signs that Famalaro abducted Denise
by gaining her trust posing as a cop.

Detectives embark on a forensic mission to re-trace the footsteps
of a cold case killer. The first step in this journey is to
determine the manner in which Denise Huber died. Averaging
85-degree temperatures, Maricopa County rarely deals with frozen
bodies. They resort to an old fashion technique. A hairdryer is
used to successfully thaw the frozen corpse, taking special care
not to destroy the fingerprints.

Forensic anthropologist Laura Fulginetti reconstructs Huber's
skull to find that she was bludgeoned to death with both the
hammer and a crowbar found in Famalaro's home. Detectives also use
luminol, a chemical spray that makes body fluids glow, to
determine exactly where the scene of the crime took place.

In 1997, the trial against John Famalaro begins. Famalaro pleads
not guilty...but remains silent in his convictions of innocence.
After deliberating for less than three hours, Famalaro is convicted
of first-degree murder with a death penalty sentence. He
currently sits on death row at San Quentin Prison in California.