Under Their Thumb

It's been an odd week for me.

Yesterday, I began my day by traveling an hour from home into parts unknown in Jesusland. My mission was to take baby pictures. I know, it's very exciting.

The first stop involved two siblings. One of course, being a newborn. The other, a talkative three year old. We hit it off pretty well. I let the kids talk their gibberish, that I hardly ever can comprehend and then respond with:

"Oh yeah?"

or "Really?"

or "That's pretty cool."

As long as you acknowledge them, they appreciate it. For the most part. One, early on in my baby photography career, even began hugging my leg and calling me "Daddy", which mom went along with, but I digress.

It was a different story though with this young boy. We started off with small talk. He asked about my light stands and backdrop. He pointed out a monstrous mosquito on the wall, which I helped him annihilate. Then, out of nowhere, the demon came forth.

"Fuck you boh." (Boh being my attempt to convey the accent he purposely put on "boy" like he was imitating something he had heard before.)

"Oh yeah?", I replied, trying to play it off.

He then got in my face, or as close as a boy of his stature could, and poked at me repeatedly saying "Boh" over and over. It sounded a bit like Yosemite Sam.

"I'll break your ass boh."

"Really? I think it already is."

"Fuck you boh."

It was a battle I couldn't win. Mom was tending to the little one and wouldn't do more than give verbal reprimands. I was beginning to think that she had experienced this before anyway, but from a different source. He even retorted to her calls to cease the behavior.

"Fuck you bitch." He even repeated several more times with feeling that she was a female dog.

Reinforcements were called in, in the form of Grandma. His cursing stopped, but his attitude only increased. He proceeded to taunt me as I photographed his baby brother and when he was told to leave the room, he went to his room and trashed it a la Mark Wahlberg at a hotel during his days with The Funky Bunch.

Shame, shame.

Today, when I arrived home after another day on the road, I received a call, which I ignored. I then realized it was from a client from earlier in the day. She was a younger mother who lived with her parents. As we took the photos of the baby, I asked her to lean into a few for "Mommy and Me" photos, which is standard procedure. Even if they are hesitant, we usually pull it off, and everyone stays happy. Well, she was reluctant, but I convinced her to take a few.

Anyway, when I called this number back, I got her man, who wasn't present at the shoot. I'm assuming he was calling numbers on her phone to keep tabs, since he said he called because I was a missed call on her phone. He asked me why I made his girl get in the pictures. I told him it was standard, but he told me that he specifically asked her not to get in the photos since they were to get family pictures later. I told him he was under no obligation to pay for those pictures, but we take a wide variety to give folks a choice.

"But I told her not to and she said you made her."

Another losing battle.

Was he saying I did it for kicks? While her parents and elders were there? Is the whole world going insane?

Why can't everyone have a good time with me, like the guy that got out of the pen two weeks prior to seeing a shoot with his infant son?

I once heard a piece on NPR about how chimney sweeps in Russia are government issued. You can't use independent sweeps. The people there then fear that the men are spies for the government to see how they are at home and if they are using the system in any illegal way. I wish I could think of myself that way. People don't fear me though. They let it all hang out, but that's a different story.

Mr. Vonnegut's Dead (RIP 1922-2007)

I just found out Kurt Vonnegut died. I have to admit that I never have read one of his novels. The movie version of his "Breakfast of Champions" which starred Bruce Willis was underrated in my mind, but it still didn't push me to read him. I can't explain why. I never got around to it. I did walk away from the movie with a nice quote however: "Until you're dead, it's all life." As much as it is stating the obvious, it had meaning to me. I had endured the recent deaths of my brother and uncle, and actually watched them die before my eyes. It means enjoy it while you got it, as depressing as it gets at times.

Vonnegut knew the meaning of depression. His mother killed herself before he left for WWII. He attempted suicide in 1984, and (according to his AP obit) "later joked about how he botched the job."

I later came upon interviews with Kurt and short pieces he had written reflecting on the current state of things. My state of mind certainly jives with his.

From "Kurt Vonnegut's Stardust Memory" by Harvey Wasserman:

“Well,” says Vonnegut, “I just want to say that George W. Bush is the syphilis president.”

“The only difference between Bush and Hitler,” Vonnegut adds, “is that Hitler was elected.”

You gotta love it, well if you feel the same, or can simply appreciate an old man with a sense of humor.

That's what is great about him. As depressing as things get or can be, he kept his keen sense of humor. You have to in order to survive. That's been a philosophy of mine. There are so many funny moments in the sickest and saddest points of our lives. That's how I got through them. It's all about waiting to see what's around the next corner, what other sick jokes are in store for us.

One that comes to mind is that as my brother was on his way out, into the abyss, there were folks with my family at the hospital. One was a religious fanatic co-worker of my father. She even brought a friend. They convinced the twenty or so of us to form a ring and join hands. They said their prayer, but then began speaking in tongues. Even though it was the lowest point in my life, I began laughing under my breath. Is that what Matt would have wanted? The speaking in tongues, not the laughing. I'm confident he was sharing a chuckle with me at that point, as he looked on from the hereafter. It's things like that though that assist the treadmill of life. I knew that I should have stayed bawling knowing that Matt was gone, but I looked around at those that were bowing their heads sharing in our grief, thinking that it was ridiculous and that Matt would agree because for the most part, I knew him better than them.

Anyway, thanks for the lesson and the laughs Mr. Vonnegut. Maybe I'll go buy one of your books now.

Pump It Up

Another catchy design for my store.

If you don't get the graphic, do some reasearch.

As always, peep it out and buy some for the male diabetic in your life.

The Diabetic Revolution

A new product style in my store. Check out the goods and buy some for yourself or other needy diabetic folks.

Jesus Obama

Considering where our country is at this point and where it's headed, we may need a savior to save us from Bush the antichrist. Could Barack Obama be just that? The nature of his candidacy is of change and redemption from this path we are on. So the recent depiction of Obama as Christ by a college student in Chicago, entitled "Blessing" makes a bit of symbolic sense, but obviously is expected to ruffle some feathers. Folks should lighten up. It's art, right?


The man who represents the change that Bobby Kennedy represented in his candidacy in '68 has also inspired some interesting t-shirts that push the envelope a bit, but maybe not as much as Jesus Obama.

R.I.P. Calvert DeForest

AKA Larry "Bud" Melman of Late Show fame and the "Thanks phone dude" commercials.

My Irish Dancing Days Are Over

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

A Religious Message From the Local Dairy Council

I spotted this dairy tanker while in traffic in O'Fallon, Illinois. I wasn't able to get a photo of the side which had the message even larger and spread out.

You Still Owe My Pimp 2 Hamiltons For That 8 Gallons You Got

As seen at the QuikTrip on South Kingshighway in South St. Louis, MO.

Beaten with the Pulp

When I arrived home today from Jesusland, where I photographed the children, there was a group of little Latino boys playing in front of an apartment building across from the flat where we stay. There were newspapers and their wrappers strewn everywhere.

One of the boys was dipping a full rolled paper along the curb in the filthy water. The others were grabbing their rolls and beating each other with them. No one seemed to be getting hurt though, but I'm sure they were as dirty as the water in the street considering the newspapers were laying on the muddy lawns and in the street.

I have to admit I was a little annoyed because I knew that some of those papers were from our building, built up from lazy folks not picking them up, myself included. Then I realized that our property was clean of them, and it looked good. I got to the door to unlock it and noticed another paper laying in the grass by the curb on our side of the street. I called out to them, "Hey guys!"

They looked at me like they were in trouble.

"You missed one over here."

One scurried over, grabbed it, and ran back into the fray.

One less gray hair for me.

Wedding of the Week

The wife and I were mentioned as the Wedding of the Week story last week on the St. Louis Post Dispatch's StlToday.com site. Since their links go bad after a few weeks, I cloned it and put it here on my site.

It's weird having someone interview you and select quotes from what seemed like a normal conversation to assemble into a condensed version of events.

Buy Matt A Drink

I have redone the main page of Diabetoboy.com for the month of February for a campaign to raise donations for the Vasculitis Foundation in memory of my brother Matt. February 3rd would have been his 21st birthday, so I'd like to turn a depressing occasion into something positive.

The way it works is that traditionally on one's 21st, drinks are bought for them. Since that can't really be done for Matt, who is no longer with us, I am asking for small donations, the price of a drink, generally $3-7, to his cause to help research towards preventing and treating this disease. On the main page, click on the button to donate and that leads you to the secure page on the Vasculitis Foundation's site where you can indicate that the funds are in memory of Matt Varagona. They will be in contact with me to keep up with how our effort is going.

I am also in talks to have events at several local bars and restaurants and will post them on here when I find out more.

Thanks for your support.



Previous posts on Matt:

• February Looms Large
• What the Hell is Wegener's Granulomatosis and Why Should You Care?
• Grape(fruit-sized) Nuts

STAR (Email SPAM Poetry)

I received the following in my inbox today, which slipped through my bulk email folder. Some of these are so thought provoking.

STAR

Started, star catcher, style insider train wrecks wacky, weird.

Four gawker gabsmash gallery absurd gilded moose give.

Whore tall glass milk towleroad tvgasm squad, twangville vip.

Arriving at, disney sound bytes, surreal life, getsreal jeff.

Format annoyingly perky today will go head?

Question, absolute punk antimusic, art.

Bennetts ordinary lovethe, hills, are.

Rees, love hewitts pooch prozac bennetts.

Excellent picks another promotes, forgets her, brainmiss.

Started, star catcher, style insider train wrecks wacky, weird.


I love how it opens and closes with the same thought. What is a "tvgasm" though?

Best License Plate I've Seen

I hear a lot of folks say personalized plates are dumb because they make no sense, but isn't the fun in wondering? The obvious plates are fun too, like the mom of a high school classmate with a "666" plate. This was especially amusing considering it was a Catholic high school we attended. It also made me think of the fact that it is the only "666" plate in the state, so she must have felt special when it was available.

My plates say "DIABTO", which is of course in reference to my Diabetoboy moniker. It's fun to have folks guess at its meaning or ask me about them.

Before we hit the road to Jesusland last year, the Filipinos of the IRS and I spotted these plates in a grocery store parking lot.


I later saw the same vehicle in transit while bar hopping with friends one night. We tried to snap a photo to no avail, but I did remember this photo which I snapped on my phone upon the first sighting. Does it help that it belongs to an older handicapped woman? I think so.

Diabeto's End of the Year Extravaganza

So yeah, it's been about a month since last posting. We moved into our new digs and had to go on borrowed internet to check messages until a few days ago when it finished moving here. The move itself was rough considering the last day occurred during an ice storm. We went throughout the night moving into a place without power due to falling frozen tree limbs.

Now things are settled, so we hope. With the new year, change lies ahead for everyone. It really seems like there's been a push to tie up loose ends before the end of the year though. It's odd to hear that Saddam was executed and then see flags at half staff for the days following. The death of former President Ford threw the balance of the news off a bit, but it was nice to hear about a fine President instead of all of the crap that our current leader is doing or not doing.

Today, the last day of the year, we learn that another "milestone" has been hit in Iraq. Our 3000th soldier has been killed since the war began. I love the smell of freedom on the march. Meanwhile Bush weighs his options, since "staying the course" didn't work for 3 years of death and destruction. What happened to the Iraq Study Group's recommendations anyway? I realize those folks weren't military leaders and all of their suggestions may not have been feasible, but at least they were trying to find a solution. Their recommendations included diplomatic means which are foreign to our current administration. If all else fails, throw more boys into it and hope for the best, eh Georgie?

###

Photographing babies is a fun job, but it's downside is resembling that of previous positions. I'm driving way too much and being compensated too little for the work. I do get to go from trailers to $3 million mansions, but the entertainment value of that doesn't help my finances. I do get a kick out of kids exploding green poo and rolling around in it during the naked baby shots however, but I still get no bonus from those occurrences.


My insurance from this job still won't kick in for at least another two months. I attempted to get insurance on my own to fill in the blank period, but apparently I am uninsurable to every company because of my condition. Well, not exactly. I could pay $475 a month for coverage, but that's about a third of my income.

I have already spent the past few months without coverage, but stocked up on insulin pump supplies beforehand. Two days ago they ran out. Now for the first time in over 5 years, I am back to taking injections. It's weird to not have the pump connected to me at all times. I'm used to adjusting the position of it throughout the day, but now I feel naked.

If I stick with this job and get its insurance, it is not the most affordable. Do I stay for the needed medical insurance and let my income suffer, or once again jump ship to find greener pastures? It's a pain in my ass and even more so since I began shooting insulin into it again.

###

I'd like to wish everyone the best new year possible. I foresee more excitement and volatility in my life and in the world, so we shall see. Hasta luego.

Lynch the Landlord

I stole that title from the Dead Kennedys song of the same name. The lyrics speak volumes that we can identify with from our experiences in the past year.

I tell them 'turn on the water'
I tell 'em 'turn on the heat'
Tells me 'All you ever do is complain'
Then they search the place when I'm not here

But we can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord
Let's lynch the landlord
Let's lynch the landlord man

There's rats chewin' up the kitchen
Roaches up to my knees
Turn the oven on, it smells like Dachau, yeah
Til the rain pours thru the ceiling

But we can, you know we can
Let's lynch the landlord man

And now it comes to the time that after a year of battling the Land People, we must go. We are moving close by, but hopefully miles from the headaches. I have a feeling that renting is a pain in the ass for the most part anyway. We must tough it out for one more year till the wife can get stable employment after graduation.

I must say however, that I still cannot comprehend why the Land People chose to endure our nagging and bitching along with my refusal to pick up my dog's poo (because of their lack of cleanliness on a job site in the back yard involving shattered glass strewn throughout). I guess some folks really need the dough. And I'm sure as I've stated before that they will milk our deposit for whatever they can get. Hopefully my photos can fight that a bit. I think my argument is strong that if they were to complain about us in any way, we could prove blatant disregard for our health, safety, and quality of living.

New landlady take note.

I had planned on outing my crappy Land People at this point, but considering what I've learned from watching court programming, it'd be best to let it be. That's sad, because I wish I could warn any future tenants, even though I have a suspicion they'll be shacking up in our living quarters once we split.

I think our current lady needed new friends. She asked us quite a bit when we moved in to hang out with her and have bon fires, but we didn't have the time nor the interest. We thought landlords were for lording over the land, not being a pal. Since then, she has stomped around when here like a little child that happens to be in her fourth decade with an advanced degree, which makes even less sense. The other day, in fact, she did so for about 3 hours upstairs with the tenant she befriends up there. I battled the noise by blaring Johnny Cash and Cab Calloway. Sure, it was stooping to her level, but she has twenty years on me, so I think I can pull it off with more ease. And to boot, she has a maddening cackle that I insist on drowning out.

She told us she bent over backward for us. That's why I had to fight to get a new oven after she said the gas odor was because it was old. Well sure, but it also had 4 faulty valves according to the gas man. She laid a guilt trip about having to spend $800 on a new one, but we got the most basic model from Sears. I guess she was also bending over backwards when the bathtub faucet blew off and hit me in the foot, and she showed up drunk to fix it. And when the mice came in packs, and she said it was because I was dirty, she was just giving kind advice.

Watch out for these bastards. I'm sure these good for nothings are everywhere. This whole situation has driven us to be psychotic about living situations. If only we could have bought a house. Until then, we shall have further adventures.

Beware...take care.

Now Taking Pictures of Cloned Babies from Election Day

Forgive me father, it has been over a week since my last blog.

The thing is that I found new employment since ditching the automobile classified photography business. Now, instead of traveling around the area getting photos of cars, I have moved on to in-home photography of infants and toddlers. It still involves quite a bit of driving to get to customers' homes, but photographing children is more challenging and enjoyable than snapping pictures of cars, trucks, boats, and RV's.

I must say this is closer to my goal of actually having a job relating to my Bachelors Degree in Media Communications. That looked hopeless during my days in the Italian Retail Service.

In other news, I fufilled my duties of guarding and troubleshooting the electronic voting machines on Election Day. I understand now why this country has so many issues with the validity of elections. I felt very competent in my role, which I aced every examination for during training. It was very disconcerting though to see that anyone that applies to help with the elections is pretty much accepted. I know we all have a duty to serve in whatever capacity we can to be true patriots, but this is ridiculous. The written exam which determines whether or not one could go on to be in charge of these machines at a location was around 60 written questions. To pass, you only needed 60% correct. I think this helps explain why some precincts have a hard time reporting on time.

Not only were the tech positions filled this way, which I feel is a very important role throughout the day, the other poll workers don't seem to be scrutinized much. For the first hour and a half, during the biggest rush of our day at my site, one of the precincts had a woman with moderate Alzheimer's handling the looking up of names in the register. I don't blame her, because she was doing her best to help, but someone should have recognized her ability level sooner. After she was pulled from that post at 7:30 AM, she asked me what time it was. I told her and she was shocked that it was so late. She thought it was already 12 hours later, and that we were going to go home. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

I later hung out with this woman as she stood by the large machine that accepts the optical scan ballots. She helped folks slip their ballots in the shredder looking machine and proceeded to clap and cheer for them. This is how we replaced the fact that our city wasn't giving out "I Voted" stickers this year. A couple of people were really irked that she was standing right next to the machine, considering it an invasion of privacy. If they took it any further than mumbles under their breath, I planned to tell them that even if she wanted to see their votes, she wouldn't remember it later. She was a sweet woman, about 90 years old. She told me the same story 10 times about her family and her current living situation. We also chatted about how girls in schools these days like to have their breasts hanging out of their shirts and that she thinks that is reason enough for uniforms. "Everything's all about sex", she explained to me, "that's why they have so much AIDS in Africa."

Listening to my new elderly female friend, I realized something. She made sense a lot of the time, but then she would get confused and repeat herself, sometimes completely. Sometimes she made no sense at all. It summed up my experience that day. This system means well, I'm almost sure. The thing is that if the workers at the polls continue to be an aging crowd, not many will know what is going on. They all mean well. More emphasis should be put on recruiting of these temporary workers, especially on college campuses to get younger people involved that have experience with the technology that helps us vote. We can all learn something from eachother, no matter what age, race, or belief system. This is another example.

After I got home from the day at the polls, I passed out to the news that Claire McCaskill was trailing Jim Talent by over 10 points here in Missouri and our Amendment 2 that Michael J. Fox helped promote was losing as well. It didn't look good. Then a funny thing happened on the way to further Republican domination...

I woke up about 3 hours later to hear McCaskill giving her victory speech. Amendment 2 was leading by a slim margin with more votes to count. The Democrats had gained the upper hand in the House and were too close to call in the Senate, because of Montana and Virginia (which both later went blue to win the Senate). It was as if Santa had paid a visit during my slumber.

I know that this doesn't mean the world is saved from our downward spiral, but now there's a bit more hope. And it doesn't hurt that silly Republicans think the Dems will now go on baby killing sprees, clone armies of mutant children, impeach the evil Emperor Bush, tax every penny they make, spend, or hoard, and let Michael Moore live.

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Cardinals Fans Like Everyone...Except Matt Blunt

After the Cardinals won it all, the city had a fancy parade downtown and it ended at the new Busch Stadium. The wife and I, along with my parents, attended the gala event at the stadium, which featured the Budweiser clydesdales and local dignitaries like Mayor Fancis Slay along with the winning team of course. Mr. Mike Shannon hosted the festivities.



It was nice to be excited some more after the big win on Friday night, but nothing will ever meet or beat that. My favorite moment wasn't when Yadier Molina's home run against the Mets was played or when Albert Pujols spoke. Before the players were even introduced, the governor of Missouri, Matt Blunt was introduced, and he received the only resounding boo of the day. It was as loud as the cheers for Pujols and I loved it. We may be the best fans in baseball for how loud we are or how considerate we are (even cheering for the teams we beat when Tony LaRussa asked us to), but we aren't stupid.

Get your I HATE MATT BLUNT gear here.

The Return of the Mice

The last time I blogged about mice actually being in the place we live, besides the day I disposed of the moldy mice from March (now with video!), was at the end of that wretched month when I had reported 11 caught in about one month. The cause of those mice could be attributed to the gutting of a house to the rear of our building, but our landlady preferred to blame it on our cleanliness or lack thereof.

I had caught one more a few months after that which I didn't blog about. Number 12 came at an odd time. There are houses surrounding us being worked on, which could displace a mouse, but we had such good luck with our sonic pest repellants up to that point.

Number 12 and I (looking fat and Russian)Fast forward to this week and I have caught two more, bringing the grand total of caught mice to 14. Two houses adjacent to us are being completely renovated, so I'm pretty sure they were refugees from the Adjacent House Province. They were quite friendly, even peeking out during a gathering of friends last weekend. I cannot coexist with these creatures however, because we disagree on where to lay our waste. We considered letting them live until we move out of this wretched nutsack in one month, but it was not to be. The Victor traps and Peter Pan Crunchy got the best of them.

I discovered Number 14 today during my rounds to check my traps. This is one of the few I didn't hear go off. Maybe they move around more when I'm home. He seemed like an effortless case. I picked up the trap like I always do but it didn't give much. I pulled a tad more and took his fur off one side. He stuck to the floor. It wasn't a bloody mess though. I don't really understand what happened. It looks like a shadow of the crime scene.

I wish Robert Stack was still alive so he could look into the Unsolved Mysteries behind my mice and show the land people our innocence and their negligence once and for all. That theme song still gives me the creeps.

I'm sure I will have plenty of updates as this month passes and we leave the land people. They recently left us written notice that they will not renew our lease. That's a real shame.

Adrenaline is Real

I took the wife to a schoolhouse last night. It has been transformed into a music/event venue and happened to be showing Game 5 of the World Series on a 15 foot screen. I'm usually hesitant about trying new places without someone else vouching for it, but I had a good feeling about this.

The Lucas School House in Soulard is a quaint joint with leather seating abound. Their drinks were quite strong and tasty, which helped ease the building tension of the game between our Cardinals and the Detroit Tigers, who didn't seem to even bring their C-game, unless you consider the one game they won at the hands of the almighty Cheater, Kenny "The Gambler" Rogers.

As the innings went by, we were joined by my mother-in-law, Dan (my best man), and Shannon's friend Jeni and her friend Neil. Dan, the hippie that he is, tried reasoning with me that nothing was real, not even us at that point in time. I let him keep talking but I think it may have been the Caucasians. Dan frequently wonders what is real, but he was onto something last night. For the first time since I was a youngling (about 1.7 years), my home team was going to win the World Series, and in their new stadium to boot. Was it real?

I discussed with the others what our plan of action would be. Would we overturn cars and set fire to trash cans in our own city like the Red Sox fans did after beating us in 2004? It doesn't make much sense, but overturning a Yugo is enticing, only because it is possible.

As Adam Wainwright, our youngster closer, threw the final strike, the adrenaline in the crowd skyrocketed. I'm not a huge sports nut, at least comparing myself to the jock types I despised in my earlier years, but sometimes the good feelings take hold, and you just must let go. We did, and we couldn't breathe. My wife and I were afraid her heart condition from her childhood would get the best of her, but it didn't, of course, because this was euphoria.

The excitement poured into the streets as people screamed, honked, drove and marched through the streets to let the people without televisions and radios know what was up. the six of us hopped in Shannon's two-door car and drove into the madness of Downtown St. Louis. The traffic was barely moving and nobody cared. My mother-in-law was soliciting kisses from passers-by to share the love. Once we noticed a couple of fans abandoning their parking spot, everyone jumped out to hold back traffic so that I could maneuver my way into the spot.

I realized that we lost Dan somehow in the chaos. Sometimes he needs guidance, so I called him and tried to guide him to us as we arrived at the Stadium, which was about six blocks from our parking spot. As he made his way closer to us through the crowds, we managed to get into a still roaring Busch Stadium. It was an amazing sight that we took in from several rows up from third base. We danced and screamed in the forty degree weather that felt like seventy from our hearts pumping and the bit of alcohol left in us.



The wife and I were very ecstatic.

I still couldn't find Dan though. He kept calling and we'd try to figure out where he was. At one point it sounded like he said he was at third base, which scared me a bit, but knowing him, I headed that way. He wasn't on the field, but who knows if he though he was? After a back and forth of row numbers and seat numbers, I found him and brought him to the group.

Dan asked us if we wanted to streak on the field, but I wasn't sure if the adrenaline could keep me warm through that, and I wasn't sure if the perimeter of cops on the field would gas or mace me. He asked again if he should run out on the field, and we jokingly said sure.



Enter that package of bacon...I don't think so.

Two minutes later, Dan hopped over the short wall right past third and walked several feet out. A female usher motioned to an officer on the field, and he proceeded towards Dan. I honestly didn't know what to expect. He didn't make it that far. Dan held his hands up like there was some misunderstanding. At one point he even gave peace signs to the cop, but he was cuffed anyway. We just laughed hysterically in disbelief.

After I snapped out of it, I thought it may be a good idea to find out where he was going. I had never had to bail any friend out of jail before, but he was my best man, so I felt a duty to track him down once again.

We got mixed information from different workers at Busch. Most of the security had no idea where the security office was, which I found bizzare, so we had to find it on our own. I asked around there and they told me he was probably already taken to the city jail. Just then I got a call from Dan in his holding cell, still in the Stadium. He couldn't believe that was real. It was though. I told him to call me when he got word of what was to happen.

In the meantime, I drove Jeni and my mother-in-law back to their vehicles back in Soulard. As I started on home, Dan called again saying to pick him up before he was raped. A cop he knew from his grade school years let him loose. I headed back only to find that police cars blocked every street into Downtown leaving only a perimeter leading us back onto the highway. That was only after we had to creep along in the celebratory traffic in the streets.

About a half hour later, we reunited with Dan. He still couldn't understand. I couldn't comprehend the night either. Our boys won. And I was to look forward to 3 hours of sleep before training to supervise the electronic voting machines on Election Day.

Tiredness is real too.


--I realize I have some photos posted but none of Dan on the field. My camera batts died right before it happened. I'm working to get Jeni's photos to post. In the meantime, here's a crappy photo from my phone with Dan flanked by po-po's circled and pointed out for you.

UPDATE (11/1/06): A better photo of Dan (in gray fleece) on the field after being grabbed by a cop...