DiabetoBlog

The Birth of DMV

2008-10-07T22:52:00.003-05:00

Blogging has not been my priority as of late. That seems to have bothered some folks.

Reading those comments on my previous posting wishing for my death and stating "WOW 2 blogs in 3 months. You are fucking pathetic. Fuck you.", made me laugh and wonder who out there cares for me so much that they monitor my blog output. I appreciate it. I also encourage readers to check out "Anonymity opens up split personality zone", a great article I recently read about how some can be so uncouth on the Information Superhighway, especially considering they do not have to identify themselves.

As the world's economy crumbles and people lose themselves on the Internet, I am experiencing many new life events. As my wife and I moved into our new home this past week, our son, in the womb for over 35 weeks, decided it would be a swell time to get out into the world. As of yesterday morning, I am a home owner and a father. These are scary and exciting times.

We named our new family member Dylan Matthew after two of my heroes, Bob Dylan and my brother Matt. I don't expect my son to love Bob Dylan as much as I do, but rather to respect his two namesakes as two unique individuals that spoke their mind through poetry, song, humor, and sheer bluntness. I hope to raise my son to be an honest and upfront individual. It may cause one trouble, but in the end, it is a more respectable approach to take.

I appreciate political discourse, as long as it is intelligent. Tell me your position, but give me some meat with it. Help me understand your views, even if I disagree with each and every bullet point. I think it is more honorable to be able to back yourself up rather than make blanket statements. Some say avoid political and religious conversation. Why avoid any kind of tension? Get it all out there as long as you can give a basis to your belief system. Don't vote one way because your parents do or decide on a position based on a 30 second advertisement that may not have an ounce of truth. Don't say you won't be voting because of your options. There are more than left and right. There is more to a candidate than his or her position on gay marriage or abortion.

I'm not sure how many tangents I'm going on, but it all makes sense. As my son enters this world that is full of the most uncertainty I have seen in my life, I only hope that he can be strong, speak his mind, and make an impact. I don't expect it to be anything huge, but I want my son to be true, no matter how others feel about it or react to it. I don't see these as high expectations, but in this world of convenience and low expectations, who knows?

Dylan will grow up in changing times, whether we vote for it or not. We are at war on multiple fronts and our economy is entering a recession or depression or whatever label is convenient during tomorrow's news cycle. I fear the future and where we could end up, but I am hopeful and excited about what my son will see and experience. I will do my best to do my part and hope that he will do his, even if that simply means feeding me pureed sweet potatoes in my old age.

Jim Varagona for President in 2008

2008-08-25T10:46:00.006-05:00

Despite my support for the Democratic Party and its ideas, the concept of starting a grassroots campaign of my own for President was a no-brainer.

Please click here to watch a news piece about my campaign.

George Carlin 1937-2008

2008-06-23T01:15:00.002-05:00

I just saw that George Carlin, comedian extraordinaire has died. I must note that it is 1:15 AM CDT on June 23, 2008, and the N.Y. Times has his obit date on the 24th. How does that work if it already is published??

I find a quote on his web site fitting for the moment: "I'm always reassured when someone is delivering a eulogy and I realize I'm listening to it."

You must respect someone that takes full advantage of free speech. He challenged our thoughts on language, politics, and religion to the extent that the U.S. Supreme Court had to get involved and that people continue to misquote him in forwarded emails, which I always reply (to all) back with links to his web site and Snopes's section on him.

Although most know him for his HBO specials, he'll always have a special place in my heart as Rufus in the Bill & Ted movies, as Cardinal Ignatius Glick in Kevin Smith's Dogma, and his strangest role, that as the conductor and narrator of Shiny Time Station, the Thomas the Tank Engine program on PBS, a role he shared with Ringo Starr and Alec Baldwin. I'm not making that up.

Read and watch his stuff. You don't have to agree with him, but he makes you think and laugh.

An excerpt from his Seven Dirty Words:

Shit, Piss, Fuck, Cunt, Cocksucker, Motherfucker, and Tits, wow. Tits doesn't even belong on the list, you know. It's such a friendly sounding word. It sounds like a nickname. 'Hey, Tits, come here. Tits, meet Toots, Toots, Tits, Tits, Toots.' It sounds like a snack doesn't it? Yes, I know, it is, right. But I don't mean the sexist snack, I mean, New Nabisco Tits. The new Cheese Tits, and Corn Tits and Pizza Tits, Sesame Tits Onion Tits, Tater Tits, Yeah. Betcha can't eat just one. That's true I usually switch off . But I mean that word does not belong on the list.
Actually, none of the words belong on the list, but you can understand why some of them are there. I am not completely insensitive to people's feelings. You know, I can dig why some of those words got on the list...like cocksucker and motherfucker. Those are...those are heavy-weight words. There's a lot going on there, man. Besides the literal translation and the emotional feeling. They're just busy words. There's a lot of syllables to contend with. And those K's. Those are aggressive sounds, they jump out at you. Cocksucker Motherfucker Cocksucker. It's like an assault, on you. So I can dig that.
And we mentioned shit earlier, of course. Two of the other 4-letter Anglo-Saxon words are Piss and Cunt, which go together of course. But forget about that. A little accidental humor there. Piss and Cunt. The reason Piss and
Cunt are on the list is that a long time ago certain ladies said 'Those are the two I am not going to say. I don't mind Fuck and Shit, but P and C are out. P and C are out.' Which led to such stupid sentences as 'OK, you fuckers, I am
going to tinkle now.'
And of course the word Fuck. The word Fuck, I don't really...well, this is some more accidental humor, but I don't really want to get into that now. Because I think it takes too long. But I do mean that. I mean, I think the word fuck is an important word. It's the beginning of life, and, yet it's a word we use to hurt one other, quite often. And uh, people much wiser than I have said, I'd rather have my son watch a film with two people making love than two people trying to kill one other. And I of course agree. I wish I know who said it first, and I agree with that. But I would like to take it a step further. I would like to substitute the word fuck, for the word kill in all those movie cliches we grew up with. 'Okay Sheriff, we're gonna fuck ya now. But we're gonna fuck ya slow.' So maybe next year I'll have a whole fuckin' rap on that word. I hope so.

Now that my friends, is genuinely American. And we've lost a hero.

Barackstar

2008-06-11T11:09:00.002-05:00

I've been ingesting too much caffeine as of late. I can't sleep, but at least I am being productive. I've made 2 new Obama-inspired designs for my store. The first takes note of his rock star status amongst his supporters by putting him in recognizable war paint. The second is based on a moment that recently occured between Barack and Michelle Obama. Some call it a fist bump, similar to Howie Mandel's on Deal or No Deal, others a hand bump, which to me sounds painful, and still others on Fox News insist it to be a "terrorist fist jab". Eventhough I didn't particularly go for Talladega Nights (see Stranger Than Fiction for good Will Ferrell), I couldn't resist seeing Barack saying "Shake and Bake" to his wife.

As always, click on the photo to see the merch, and tell your liberal friends.

Obamarama

2008-06-07T22:11:00.003-05:00

Now that we know Barack will be the nominee, it's time I make my push. I studied up on his background to fend off cretins with racist intentions. A good overview can be seen in his A&E Biography (below), which explains his interesting childhood and his rise to political fame.

Another item I've found of use is the Obama section at Snopes.com, which can refute the forwarded emails and such that claim he is an extremist Muslim in disguise. I have more fear of the WMD that John McCain has stashed in his cheek.

What's he hiding in there?

I have posted before about Obama related t-shirts, but recently I have made some of my own Barack-star merch to help the Mack Daddy with some votes. [Click on each image to see available merchandise.]

No Bull...Shannon

2008-05-28T13:32:00.005-05:00

I miss Bull every once in awhile. Night Court wasn't that great of a show in my opinion, but it had its characters. To combat the BS in the world, I added this design to a variety of products at the Diabetoboy Productions Company Store.

Wear it proudly.

My Friend Joins the Ranks of Kidder, Downey, & Heche

2008-05-27T21:21:00.005-05:00

It used to be more commonplace to hear of celebrities found wandering in delusion like when Robert Downey Jr. was found asleep in a neighbor's house that he wandered into under the influence in 1996. He was in a club with Anne Heche, Margot Kidder, and even Martin Lawrence for similar episodes.

The genius behind TV Funhouse on SNL, Robert Smigel, satirized this phenomenon well back in 2006 with the short "Kidder, Downey, & Heche--Private Trespassing Investigators" (try this link, but due to copyrights, it may not last long and you may have to seek it out). I've always wondered how people can get to such a point...until a couple of weeks ago.

My wife was working the graveyard shift and I hadn't spent much time with my friend and best man, Dan, lately, so I invited him over for some beers. I only drank a few in a couple of hours. I thought the same for Dan, but he apparently had done some prepping for our low-key man night. I think I witnessed him drink three beers. He did however smoke a bit of the doobage, of which I did not partake in, but it really didn't seem like enough to drive a man to what I would witness.

After what seemed like a few tokes, he lost his bag and began searching my yard in the dark for it. It certainly was a bummer. Days later, I realized my puppy found the bag, which didn't have much besides stems left in it anyway. I convinced Dan to give up, that maybe he smoked it all and the celophane evaporated.

We came inside and listened to some music, but within a half hour he was asking to crash on my couch. I obliged and hit the hay shortly after around 1 AM.

Around 8 AM, my wife arrived home asking what happened to Dan.

"Well, he had a bit too much and passed out on the couch."

"His shoes are on the floor and his phones on the table, but he's not on the couch," she told me.

"Maybe he's outside smoking."

"But both doors are locked."

Puzzled, I looked around. Knowing this was my friend that wandered onto the field after the Cardinals won the Series in '06, I considered every possibility. I looked in closets and under the bed. No Dan.

I saw that the basement door was open, so I thought maybe he escaped through there, but the doors to the outside were locked as well. And why would he go far without his shoes? I looked around every nook and cranny of our dingy city basement to no avail.

We sat in our front room to ponder the situation. I then heard footsteps above me in my landlady's unit. It was a tad early for them. Half jokingly, I suggested that he got upstairs and they discovered him.

The footsteps got faster and went back and forth. My wife and I followed the commotion with our eyes and heads like curious puppy dogs. There was some fast running down the stairs and then Dan appeared at my front door.

In disbelief, I could only keep saying "What the fuck?!" and "You have to leave."

He claimed that they were cool about it, but also thought we were involved with this as some sort of joke. I thought the same of him, but I know better.

He left after we kept pushing, then we frantically thought about how to handle our neighbors. Do I call? Do I text? Do I play it off or consider this a serious problem that will be taken care of? What were they thinking at the time after discovering a strange yet unassuming hippy asleep on their couch?

I texted her to meet me on the porch to chat. I walked out back where they have a screened in porch and looked up at my landlady and her boyfriend. They looked like two pissed off parents after you get home late from a night of partying. Then the busted into laughing. I nervously joined in.

When he awoke, seeing their faces, he asked "Where am I?" Luckily they were nice and explained what they figured was going on. They considered lying to him and making him believe he was states away...Laramie, Wyoming...yeah, that's the ticket. Around 3 that morning, our boxer, Sadie was at their door to the basement and it got the attention of their dog who began wimpering. The landlady simply told Sadie to go back to bed, but didn't realize that my dog was there to tell her that a hippy had wandered into her unit. He must've quietly sleptwalked onto their couch, unnoticed until their 8 AM discovery.

My wife and I laughed with them for awhile about this, which was strange enough, but even moreso considering how early it was for us. I couldn't go back to sleep, so we walked the dogs and avoided the homeless.

Dan's been calling, but I am without words. How did Robert Downey Jr.'s friends handle him after he was found asleep in some kid's bed that he wandered into?

Riding in Cars with Diabolical Rapists

2008-02-29T00:39:00.003-06:00

Before tossing out an unread newspaper a week or two ago, I browsed through, making sure I didn't miss out on a celebrity scandal, a relative's death, or a new way that the President has devised to screw this country. While I didn't find anything like that, one headline did catch my eye: Rapist Gets Life Plus 25 Years. Granted, it is kind of vague but you wonder what kind of brutality could lead to such a sentence, so I read on.

Rapist gets life plus 25 years
By Robert Patrick
ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
02/10/2008

St. Louis — A man who brutally raped a woman in her Dogtown home and beat her with a baseball bat — then called her boyfriend to gloat— was sentenced Friday evening to life plus 25 years in prison.

James Thomas Fujimoto, 26, broke into the home of the woman, then 23, in the 6300 block of Berthold Avenue on Sept. 1, 2002, struck her repeatedly in the head with a bat, then sodomized and raped her for three hours. At one point he said, "Tell me you love me," Assistant Circuit Attorney Mary Pat Benninger told St. Louis Circuit Judge Philip Heagney.

After Fujimoto left the woman's apartment, he called her boyfriend. "He wanted him to see it," Benninger said. "He wanted him to know what he'd done."

Fujimoto pleaded guilty last month to forcible rape, forcible sodomy, assault and robbery charges on the day his trial was supposed to begin.

The attack was so violent that the woman had to have about one-third of her face reconstructed. She still suffers vertigo from crushed ear canals, officials said, and has since moved.

Benninger called Fujimoto a predator and a sadist and said he was excited by violence and fueled by control. He had stalked the victim and was also stalking other women, she said, and was "beyond rehabilitation."

Fujimoto apologized for the "horrible thing" he'd done and told Heagney that he had broken into the woman's apartment to burglarize it, not to rape her.

Fujimoto was arrested in 2005 after a DNA sample from the crime scene matched a sample collected from him as he was being paroled from prison on other charges.

I immediately recognized the name. I went to high school with this nut job for 3 years. I sat at the same lunch table as this cocky S.O.B. with this the chess team and computer club, neither of which I was a member of, yet they were one of the few groups I felt comfortable around. He didn't fit in with them either, but if how I felt about him was any indication, he was too annoying for any others to deal with him. He wasn't complete reject though. He tried to have his way with the ladies, and I'm sure he did at times.

Did anyone see this coming though? I certainly didn't think too much of him, but hardly ever do you consider people around you to be capable of such psychotic episodes. I mean, I now know of someone that is in prison for life for some heinous things.

When I saw Jim's name though, I thought back to around 2005, when I was working as a fertilizer merchandiser, such a respectable profession. I was having lunch at a nearby Burger King with a coworker. As we left, I noticed Jim on a pay phone outside, so I mumbled "Hey Jim" as I passed him. He screamed back some name that wasn't my own, but that got us talking about high school.

Now I try not to hold how folks were in high school against him, so I was congenial with the guy. He told me that he didn't have a car and that his sick grandmother was not answering the phone. He proceeded to ask me for a ride home, which was about 15 minutes away. Since my job didn't necessarily require my presence, I agreed. He told me he'd give me some gas money once we got there. My coworker didn't have much of a choice and tagged along.

I don't remember too much of the conversation. I'm sure it was your typical small talk about the good ol' days. Who do you still talk to? Have you heard about or have you seen so-and-so? And of course, he still rubbed me the wrong way.

When we arrived at his destination, he left his orange windbreaker in my car and ran inside. He left the front entrance open and left us waiting. We proceeded to wait for at least 10 minutes. After some discussion with my coworker, we decided to take off. We couldn't figure out what was going on. He obviously wasn't in a hurry to give me gas money and if something was wrong with grandma, I would assume he would run back out to us for assistance.

After reading the article, which deals with an incident that happened before this occassion, I wonder if that was his house, if there was a grandma, and even if that windbreaker was his, which I gave away to a friend of mine.

I researched further on his crime.

Man pleads guilty to brutal rape in Dogtown
By Robert Patrick
ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
01/08/2008

St. Louis — James Thomas Fujimoto, 26, admitted Monday that he was responsible for the violent rape and baseball-bat beating of a woman in her Dogtown neighborhood home in 2002.

Fujimoto, of St. Louis County, acknowledged that he broke into her home in the 6300 block of Berthold Avenue on Sept. 1, 2002.

He beat the then-23-year-old woman in the head with an aluminum baseball bat, then sodomized and repeatedly raped her for three hours.

Fujimoto's trial was supposed to begin Monday, but he pleaded guilty of forcible rape, forcible sodomy, first-degree assault and first-degree robbery rather than face a jury.

Assistant Circuit Attorney Mary Pat Benninger told Circuit Judge Philip Heagney that she plans to ask for two consecutive life terms for the crime.

Fujimoto had the victim try to bathe away any physical evidence and then raped her again, Benninger said in court. He stole money from her piggy bank and took the keys to her car before leaving.

Fujimoto was not the first man arrested in connection with the crime. A drifter found near the crime scene confessed to the attack but was released after his DNA did not match semen found at the scene.

Fujimoto was arrested in 2005 based on a DNA match. His DNA was in the Missouri database because of a recently changed state law that expanded DNA taking to all convicted felons in Missouri, not just the violent ones.

He was serving time on second-degree burglary and attempted burglary convictions from 1999. He also has been convicted of tampering with a motor vehicle in Franklin County, and fraudulent use of a credit device in St. Louis County.

Fujimoto, who dropped out of school in the 11th grade but later got his high school equivalency certificate and attended some college classes, still faces a stealing charge in St. Louis County.

The victim sat about 10 feet from him during Monday's plea hearing, at times staring at him and at times crying. The attack was so violent that she had to have about one-third of her face reconstructed, and she still suffers vertigo from crushed ear canals, officials said.

She has since moved.

So to make it creepier, he was originally arrested for this incident the year I gave him that ride and probably not too long after, considering that was during the summer that I did him the favor. You never know with people, but you should probably follow that intuition. I didn't have the intuition that he was a brutal rapist, but that he was generally a loser, and perhaps that should have been good enough.

When I broke this story to those I went to school with, I received quite a few messages from shocked females, some even stating that they had crushes on him back in the day. It's fortunate that they left it at that, but makes me wonder what else he may have done out there.

In Memoriam

2008-02-21T17:26:00.002-06:00

8 years ago on this day, my brother Matt passed away.

Remember to cherish those you have while they're here and even when they're gone.

Facebook member? Join our cause.

Are We Going Mad?

2008-02-16T04:28:00.004-06:00

I've been out of comission for the past several days with the flu, so I've taken to catching up on some movie watching. Meanwhile, another school shooting has occured, this time only one state away from me in Illinois at Northern Illinois University. Yawn. We're so used to this in America.

Another thingthat I'm sadly used to is the argument that more guns would solve this problem. The police had record response time in this recent incident, yet Second Amendment advocates say if students could have concealed weapons on campus, they could have ended it sooner. So because people go insane and do these dispicable acts, we are to justify arming others and provoke further incidents?

Why do we have gun rights in America anyway? The second Amendment in the Bill of Rights states: A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

So let every white man that owns property have firearms then. What's that? Woman and other races must have equal rights as well. I suppose so. As time goes on, we do have the freedom to change things as we see fit for the betterment of our people, which is why we as Americans slowly did away with slavery, segregation, and keeping anyone that wasn't white or a man from voting. That's progress--and genuinely American!

I live in a city that year after year is in the top ten for violent crime which helped us win the tops for America's Most Dangerous City in 2002 and 2006. To keep us up there, we need more guns. And we need them in the hands of more people, including desperate individuals that could slip through a background check or into the decent folks hands that pass them along through the black market to those that cannot get them legally on their own. I hope you sense my sarcasm here, but I doubt that for you hard core 2nd Amendment kids.

There's a time and a place for that kids, and it's called College.

What is the Wild Wild West, Alex?

I realize we have the right to defend ourselves and those that died didn't have the opportunity, or the glock, to. Say you let the other student carry concealed weapons. What about all of those high school shootings? Or even the grade school shootings? They may be underage, but don't they have a right to be defended. So let's arm the teachers! Try explaining that to the parents when something goes wrong. And that's saying everything's a-okay on those college campuses, which I scoff at.

Here's a novel concept. Do away with handguns and automatic weapons altogether. Hell, I'd want to do away with firearms altogether, but we'll take baby steps, you "hunters" you. In a place where 67.9% of murders were caused by firearms, think of the dramatic drop. Granted some will stash theirs away. It will be another Prohibition of sorts, but with strict penalties, we shall overcome. In 2006, 14,990 were murdered in the U.S. More than half of that number is from handguns (7,795), which could be deemed completely unnecessary. What's the point of handguns again? Ah yes, to defend ourselves--from others that are defending themselves? Total firearm deaths in the U.S. reached 10,177, which we can hopefully beat in the coming years. We are the land of opportunity and dreams.

The only civilized country that is in our league, and in fact can beat our numbers, is Brazil. They do however have better alternative fuel sources there, so I think it balances out. While Brazilians won't agree to banning gun sales outright, mainly due to fear of others still armed, stricter gun control laws and buyback programs have lowered their firearm murder rate by at least 8%.

Unfortunately, money speaks in our country, especially through the gun lobbyists. Fear works well here too, which may forever make folks feel like they need to be armed. Maybe we can work to eliminate that need instead of snowballing one of the more primitive aspects of our society.

Lead Me Not Into Temptation

2007-12-18T21:39:00.000-06:00

I've been pushing ink lately. It certainly beats baby photography. It keeps me closer to home and doesn't involve monotonous driving.

Nearby my place of work is a massive Wally Mart, which I recently stopped at to grab some gear to fight the winter weather. While looking for the supplies, I passed someone that looked eerily familiar. He was a bit worn since the last time I saw him about ten years ago, but I knew who it was. It was none other than Michael McGrath, my favorite molester priest, "the most sued former priest in St. Louis", and also considered "the most dangerous St. Louis priest". Needless to say I was in the presence of a local celebrity.

It felt good to see that he looked pretty rough. It is safe to say he's packed on a few and his sneer looks more crooked than ever.

that sneer

After I passed the sick excuse for a human being, I thought about going back and confronting him. It actually made me recall the homeless man that molested my dogter. Are worthless people like these even worth confronting? He certainly hasn't suffered much because of his behavior. He may be the most sued former priest here, but he's yet to serve time or pay up as far as I know. That's where the Catholic Church comes in to save the day.

I only wish he'd suffer a worse fate than obesity and aging. And I'm not even a victim or related to a victim of his. I only came close and that was close enough to piss me off. May his ills grow worse in the new year.

In other news dealing with abusive priests, the San Diego diocese is asking priests to donate a month's salary to go towards the recent $198.1 million sexual abuse settlement. That dwarfs in comparison to the $600+ million settlement the Los Angeles diocese made in July, the largest ever by a diocese so far. The sad thing is that the San Diego Diocese is reaching out to its church goers and asking them to contribute to righting their wrongs.

The donation request is part of a new campaign called "Embracing Our Mission"
and will be used to help "cover the expense involved in compassionate outreach
to our brothers and sisters who suffered sexual abuse within the family of the
church," the memo said.

They could at least have their own Bingo Night in America or something to rile up the troops.

The priests have also been taking things out on the nuns. I'm the last guy to stand up for the nuns, but the L.A. Archdiocese sold a convent that was still being occupied and had been for 40 years in order to raise funds for their record settlement.

Sister Angela has it right when she said "what hurts the most is what the money will be used for, to help pay for the pedophile priests. We have to sacrifice our home for that?”

How can Catholics support this nonsense? I know the priests must accept responsibility and make these settlements, but their methods are a bit ridiculous. Then again, I'm not sure how I'd raise hundreds of millions of dollars either...except for making a blockbuster motion picture. That may be their next move. Pay close attention to the producer credits of the movies you see at the multiplex in the future. It might include a Father or two.

Happy Birthday Pete Parisi (an update)

2007-12-04T11:19:00.000-06:00

When I took up the cause to get Pete Parisi a star on the St. Louis Walk of Fame, I intended to do what I set out to do. Some said it wouldn't be possible considering Parisi doesn't have much of a following or an influence outside of the St. Louis area. When Thomas Crone, a former professor of mine at Webster University, brought this up on the 52nd City blog, I responded with this:

Yes, I realize this is a stretch, but as I have mentioned in various other forums, the idea of a star for P.E.P. was brought up a while back by Jeff Daniel of the Post. I'll put up that article by tomorrow in the links section of my WWM site. He also stated that some other honor could be bestowed upon Pete, such as an exhibit through the MO Historical Society. I think a petition drive is necessary to show the recognition and influence of the man.

Since I posted some vids on YouTube that I obtained while working on my documentary about Parisi, I have gotten quite a response from people from St. Louis, formerly from St. Louis, or those that have simply stumbled upon the mad genius of Pete. His national influence may not be there, but by comparing him to other known names like Michael Moore, Tom Green, and the Jerry Springer show, you cannot argue with him being ahead of his time. People across St. Louis and beyond watched this spectacle which later became a mainstream style and sense of humor.

So even if this doesn't work, it reminds people about a common ground they all shared on Friday and Saturday nights for 15 years in our area. And maybe we could push our efforts towards a P.E.P. statue, complete with cigar.

Jeff Daniel made some important points in his piece. He compares the mix of humorous and frightening elements of WWM to that of David Lynch, the director of Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive, and TV's Twin Peaks. He says that unfortunately, as Parisi drifted into the afterlife in January of 2002, he was drifting into irrelevance.

As for the afterlife, may St. Louie Pete and St. Peter have a good conversation at the pearly gates. As for irrelevance, we owe it to Parisi to eliminate that possibility.

"The appreciation I get from people is the only pay I've ever received for this show," the king of cable access once said. That appreciation should continue even if Parisi cannot.

Is it too much to suggest that the Missouri Historical Society acquire the entire "World Wide Magazine" catalog? Under president Robert Archibald, the Forest Park-based institution espouses a philosophy that history be more than just the famous names and important events of our recorded
past.

I agree wholeheartedly with most of what Mr. Daniel wrote in his article. He goes on to say that WWM was reality television before reality television. Parisi was giving his own version of our history, what was current at the time, such as the episode entirely revolving around the Pope's visit to St. Louis in January of 1999, or revisiting our past; I remember one of the first episodes of WWM I saw was with Pete driving around in his cab and he pointed out where the old Sportsmans Park once stood at the corner of Grand Boulevard and Dodier Street on the north side of the city.

People that were national figures or were on their way to becoming just that appeared on WWM, such as Jerry Mathers of Leave it to Beaver fame, Rudy Ray More AKA Dolemite, and then Governor of Missouri John Ashcroft, who went on to be U.S. Attorney General. That also includes Fred Willard, famous for various television roles and appearances in Christopher Guest's films, such as Best in Show, who in 1990 hosted a program called "Access America", which profiled the country's more notable public access programs. Needless to say, a WWM clip made it onto the show, which lead to Willard visiting St. Louis and appearing on WWM. Parisi received a television for his show making it on there, eventhough it didn't win best in show (heh heh). The TV became a prized posession of Pete's.

Back when Pete was program director at KADI-FM 96.3 in St. Louis in 1979, Elvis Costello came to the Kiel Opera House to perform. Billboard magazine credits Parisi with informing the Costello camp that KSHE, the station sponsoring the concert, had just started playing Elvis shortly before the concert date, while their station had been playing him faithfully during his career. To this, Costello shot back at the concert by dedicating his newer single "Radio, Radio" to the promoting station, K-SHE 95. I'm sure they were pleased with lines like "And the radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools; tryin' to anaesthetise the way that you feel." This helped add fuel to an ongoing fued between the two stations and gave credence to the lyrics of that powerful song.

So I stand by Parisi definitely having a local impact, and at least a minimal national one. Take a look at the comments of folks that have signed the petition to get him a star. Too bad Nielsen doesn't track public access viewers. Pete may not have had a great impact outside of our area, but I think what he did preceded a lot of what became popular after him, yet he was considered so alternative. He deserves enormous respect for that. I will send a letter to the nominations committee of the St. Louis Walk of Fame, but I will still leave up the petition to drum up more support.

One more note...if the show is to be preserved, the master tapes must be acquired from Parisi's then girlfriend Linda Vaughan. She has posession of them, and since I have heard nothing to the contrary, I can only assume they are collecting dust and degrading instead of being transferred to a digital format. Maybe the MO Historical Society or someone with clout could pony up to her.

If you enjoyed World Wide Magazine, Pete announcing at the SBAC wrestling matches before his show, or his time at KADI, make sure he doesn't drift into irrelevance. Trade videos with others, post them on YouTube, contact the MO Historical Society, or whatever you see fit. P.E.P. deserves that.

So Happy 60th Birthday Peter Elias Parisi, from one of your 50,000 hoosiers.

Where a Kid Can Be a Kid

2007-10-26T22:20:00.000-05:00

I don't like to rip off others' blogs, but this Pope made a nice discovery.

Oh how I miss my youth spent at Showbiz Pizza Place with Billy Bob and the rest of the Rockafire gang. Why, oh why did the evil cousin Chuck E. Cheese overthrow this great haven for the children??

Anyway, I came upon this local blogger that came upon a YouTuber that apparently owns the old animatronics from ShowBiz and programs them to new music. Fantastico!

The Beatles' "Free As a Bird"

Oasis' "Champagne Supernova"

"Ms. New Booty" and more vids to select from...

-An interesting history of ShowBiz and the Rockafire Explosion on WikiPedia.

-YouTube user Chris Thrash's full selection of videos.

My Dogter, The Victim

2007-09-05T23:40:00.000-05:00

After an easy day at work last week, the wife and I decided to take our dogter for a walk and pick up dinner while we were out. Gray skies loomed overhead though in a physical and metaphorical sense.

We arrived at our local St. Louis Bread Co. (Panera Bread to non-St. Louisans--yes, it is ours) with a light drizzle falling. My wife went inside to order the eats. I took Sadie, our boxer, over to some sidewalk seating to wait. A rough looking homeless man was at the table adjacent to ours.

"That's a boxer, right?"

"Yep."

At that point, I was actually quite impressed that he recognized her breed, considering most people think she is a pit bull for some reason. He asked me to bring her over, to which I did. He pet her and seemed so pleased. I was happy to make an unfortunate person's day for a minute even. He explained how he had a full bred boxer as a child. Her name was Sadie too. He kept saying how good looking my Sadie was.

My wife came out while waiting for her pager to go off signalling the food was ready. The man told us we should breed Sadie, but we said she was fixed. He kept saying he didn't understand no matter how many times and different ways we tried to explain it. She needed a companion, he kept saying. She needs a man.

She was perfect though. The right color and everything.

The rain started to come down. We moved under the little bit of shelter available outside the front entrance. My wife went inside to check on the grub.

The man followed Sadie and I and pet her as we stood in the rain, which was quickly appearing to be a monsoon. She sit and let him do so. It felt good to put a smile on his face. He did ask for money, but I explained we didn't carry cash on our walks, which was true. He seemed to take it okay and said he knew we were good folks and would give to him if we could.

My wife started coming outside with dinner, but the rain was starting to come down sideways, so we moved into the lobby area of the establishment. Yes, we had our dog, but these were special circumstances. Once again, the homeless man followed. He had a seat towards the rear of the area while we stood closer to the door.

We watched the winds collapse umbrellas on three different people. It didn't look like we'd be moving anytime soon. We thought about calling my mother-in-law who lives closeby, but that was nixed because we didn't have pocket space to bring a phone.

He called Sadie to him to pet her and I smiled at him. His voice was rough. It had a Black Jesus quality to it.

She stuck her butt right out at him, waiting for him to pet it. The homeless man obliged and rubbed her beautiful coat. So perfect. He took one look at her positioning and told us, "She's horny, see."

"No, she just is friendly and wants attention," I replied.

A woman walked through the lobby. She glanced down at Sadie and the man and made a gruesome face. Confused, I smiled back. She ran into the rain, turning back at us and screaming something unintelligible. I looked down at the two new friends and the man was rubbbing my dogter's genitals. There was full motion that made it easily identifiable, yet unbelievable. I was in shock. He had reached third base with her, with us present.

If someone were to present the situation as a hypothetical, I'd say I'd stomp on his crotch, kick him in the face, and tell him off. The shock of the situation overcame us though. I yanked Sadie away and stared into the storm. Never would my wife run out into something like that, but she agreed and we did.

We screamed as we ran through the rains across the busy street. We had to run what had just happened by eachother to confirm it. I felt horrible and disgusted. I felt guilt for not annihilating the animal that I thought I was just being friendly to by letting him pet my dog.

It all made sense. He kept saying she was perfect and needed a companion. I think he already had an agenda. Having no home and not being able to afford a prostitute, what's a guy like that to do? I would never come to the conclusion of getting his jollies from a dog in front of its owners, but now I can.

We raced home throught the storm, which was still close to full force. We felt disgusting and wondered what Sadie was thinking. Once we arrived home we put our wet dinner to the side and gave Sadie a hot bath to rid her of any of that man's germs. I thought about what exactly he was doing back there. Did he stick to one entry point? How long was he doing that before we caught on? Does this make me a horrible father?

It's been a while since this happened, but it still affects me when I look at my dog or go near that part of the neighborhood where this occured. My wife doesn't want to discuss it and is considering leaving the neighborhood, which we couldn't imagine ourselves leaving until this incident. So when walking you best friend, be weary of where folks are petting, and stay away from those that may be needing some sexual healing.

My dogter, the victim

This Day in Diabeto History: 10 Years Ago

2007-08-31T09:28:00.000-05:00

10 years ago today, Princess Diana died. I had no attachment towards her, but for some reason, the event brought out a lot of what other crap was going on in my life. I watched the 24 hour coverage of the tragedy after returning home from a trip to Vintage Vinyl with friends. I did overhear a worker say something like "Did you hear about Princess Diana's car crash? Apparently her boyfriend's dead and she's looking pretty bad." And by the time we got to my house, pretty bad went to pretty dead.

I was transfixed by the news coverage for some reason. Yes, maybe I am the guy that slows down to look at an accident. It's because of my concern for the folks involved. I don't really know why, but I grabbed a notebook and started scribbling away, even with company around me in my parents' basement. It probably had to do with intense reading of Jim Carroll and Jim Morrison poetry at the time.

For the next 2 or 3 years, I filled notebooks of this stuff. Sometimes it doesn't seem too bad. It at least helps archive my mindstate during some tumultuous high school years. What I wrote from that span around Di's death is below. I may post more at a later time.

i. Labor Day Weekend

Yesterday Diana died
I’m a petty, preteen eighth grader.
Irish girls give mean head
in the midst of seratonin shortages.
Needy muscular distrophy patients begging
in the night, Princess Di—deceased, and the bleached diabetic needs sleep. Sidney Omarr is idolized... under pitch black martian skies; playboy Egyptians crushed.
Jealousy is heavy in the oxygen, crotchless underwear jokes give belly laughs, the Princess of Wales is dead.

ii. The Weekend After

Mr. Omarr can kiss my ass in hell,
the A.C. can’t return my splendor.
But anyway, my mother in Calcutta passed—synchronicity reigns the night.
Replacement spectacles can misrepresent emotions, another loved one rides into the sunset.
Underbellies of sasquatches frighten my inner child—
I’m a lad in a fetal position—whining and waling—
someone come and rescue me,
someone grab my hand,
I need to feel the touch of human flesh.
[Did you hear Diana died?]
I strive for a happiness I once knew... there’s a black hole sucking at my Paxil.
Forgive Diabeto for being so selfish; his passion for a returning paradise is no longer at an underground status.
Next in the series of three, the stars point to the Pope or myself.
Cocks and pimples stare at me... singeing the hairs on my anal passage.
The Irish mumble and I remain silent.
What future lies ahead for endocrine patients?

Give Pete Parisi a Star on the St. Louis Walk of Fame

2007-08-03T11:27:00.000-05:00

A while back, I believe it was Jeff Daniel of the St. Louis Post-Dispatch who suggested that Pete Parisi of World Wide Magazine get a star on the St. Louis Walk of Fame. He also mentioned that there be an exhibit of World Wide Magazine, St. Louis's most popular public access program which ran from 1986-2002.

In the past year, I have posted several videos from the program onto YouTube. There has been a great response. I get several emails a week from folks looking for more or just saying thanks. To do more, I have launched my own World Wide Magazine fan page. In stead of entering "www" before my site name at diabetoboy.com, enter "wwm" for obvious reasons. It isn't much right now, but I will add more. It includes a player with all of the videos I uploaded and some more from others. There is a links section with a list of various articles about things WWM related. That way things are lumped together for you so you don't have to search them out like I have in the past. If you have anything else to add, please contact me at jim@diabetoboy.com.

Most importantly, on the main page at wwm.diabetoboy.com, is a link to sign a petition to get Pete his own star on the local Walk of Fame in University City. For 15 years he gave the St. Louis hoosiers, which I am a part of, something to do on Friday nights. It's time to recognize.

an example

Hasta La Vista Babies

2007-07-21T17:40:00.000-05:00

Well, my time as a baby photographer has come to an end. I realize I may jump from job to job a bit too much, but I have my reasons. Driving 500+ miles every week with little compensation was my biggest beef. It gives you a lot of time to think about life and gas prices.

It also was getting to be against my morals and ethics to continue. I was working for a company that considers itself one of the largest in home baby and family photography companies in the country. They do not screen employees at all for drugs or anything else fishy in their background. In fact, it is the only job I've had without a pre-employment drug screen. If only the parents knew this. There are carpet cleaning companies in the area that boast that their employees that enter your home have been thoroughly checked, yet folks that get near your babies are not held to those standards.

Furthermore, the business practices were a bit shady. For as large as they claimed to be, there was no printed employee handbook or standards to go by. Rules were made up as we went along and policies changed week to week. It really made me feel comfortable with the company I was representing. This was on top of sales pitches based on lies, and I don't use that term lightly. I know sales can be dirty, but I was selling sitting plans for visits that would be completely free if the customer approached the company for them. It was pitched as a deal they couldn't pass up, because we would charge an expensive sitting fee otherwise, but by discussing this with other employees in different parts of the company, we realized that was a sham. The future sitting plans were pure profit and by selling those, we helped the company pay our salary without that money being tied to anything else. Genius, but ruthless. I felt horrible selling with this knowledge, but we all have to make a living. Sometimes I avoided the selling, which made me look bad to those in charge, but I made my money from taking the photos anyway, so I wasn't too concerned.

Funny thing is, I was called on my lies by some customers, and what do you do in such a situation? A father called me "a fucking liar" for telling him that I had no idea what our prices were and I liked just doing my job as a photographer. That line sounds like a load of crap anyway, but it was fed to me, and he called me on it. "How can you work for a company and have no idea what they sell your product for?," he asked. I had no response, but to "have a nice day".

It's a drain knowing more and more of the dark side of a company you represent; a company you work for without much gas compensation, with no paid vacation or holidays, yet still pushes you further to not tell the customer much, because that would scare them away before the salespeople get to them.

When those henchmen arrive, we get more of their money through packages that are pitched from the most expensive down to wet their appetites. Again, genius, but sick. Even the lowest priced packages are too much for even me, but these are their kids, right? I had to consider the places I was working in. I was shooting in trailers, in rundown ghetto housing and apartments, and in places without ceilings and with huge insect problems. We were going after their money? I understand that those people make the choice to spend, but how can one feel completely comfortable knowing that you're helping contribute to that lifestyle. Instead of spending hundreds of dollars on photos, go to Wal-Mart, spend $10 for 85 pictures, and put the rest towards fixing that leaky ceiling, having the Orkin man swing by, or getting some much needed dental work.

To illustrate my point, I shall elaborate. This goes for the family that had baby roaches crawling through their trailer, most noticeably in the kitchen, all over the stovetop surrounding the thawing pounds of raw meat. (See image below) In addition, the young daughter ate a Happy Meal, which she dumped on the floor first and proceeded to munch on. It was as if they were trying to rub it in, but no one said anything about the critters. I simply cancelled the rest of my day to shower myself and hope for no further contamination.

click to enlarge, but you should get the idea

This goes for the family with the dad that casually showed us his ankle bracelet monitor, which was to keep him from doing bad things. Or the house without a lamp with a shade and a drop ceiling without drop tiles, with the insulation hanging down and water dripping onto my equipment and paperwork.

I certainly do not discriminate. I never judged folks until I soaked them in first. There are lots of fine people out there in bad situations, hell, lots of good kids out there in bad situations, like having to sleep with rodents, insects, or no air conditioning in ninety degree heat. As I have said before in this blog, I felt like a government spy of sorts, but I couldn't do much about it but take it all in.

Despite the company being a joke, I enjoyed taking pictures and being around the babies. Driving takes its toll on you though. It gives you time to ponder how messed up things are, and that can get to be depressing.

Dirty Work

2007-07-01T16:08:00.000-05:00

On a recent walk in the park with my wife and dogter, Sadie, something interesting occurred that I must share.

Just as with any other walk, Sadie had to make her BM. We waited by patiently as she made her waste and I proceeded to pick it up, like a good citizen. Sadie began walking strangely, like a dog does when it has some poo that wouldn't come off. Sometimes this is followed by the dog doing a fun trick in which it sits and uses its front paws to drag its butt across the most handy surface, which sometimes is the carpet.

Sadie doesn't really do that though. She just walk funny with her back legs squatting like she's being held down by a substantial weight in the rear.

I must note that more often than not with our dogter, it isn't poo on her butt, but my wife's long blonde hair that are hanging halfway out of Sadie's rear. And yes, sometimes I put a plastic bag over my hand to pull them out.

This time though, the wife noticed that something was hanging. I did my fatherly duty and used my protected hand to pull at what most likely was hair. The problem is that it kept flowing out. When I had removed the entire item, we realized just what it was. It was a giant spaghetti noodle coated in poo particles. And to Sadie's relief, I had removed it from her butt hole.

Snagged

2007-06-20T00:29:00.000-05:00

Today I had a shoot in quite possibly the smallest trailer I've been in. I pride myself in being able to pull it off though. It amazes the locals like one of those David Copperfield specials or the old Circus of the Stars shows.

I set up in a kitchen bordering the living space. It went from tile to carpet. As I shot the baby, my shorts kept snagging on the floor as I went back and forth from kneeling to standing. I paid no mind to it as I progressed. When the shoot had commenced though, I began to pack up and noticed the culprit.

It was a giant, nasty, pointed toenail embedded in the carpet.

More fun with toenails!

Under Their Thumb

2007-05-12T00:49:00.000-05:00

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)

2007-04-12T00:04:00.000-05:00

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

2007-04-09T23:07:00.000-05:00

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

2007-04-09T23:01:00.000-05:00

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

Jesus Obama

2007-04-03T11:55:00.000-05:00

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

2007-03-22T01:31:00.000-05:00

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

My Irish Dancing Days Are Over

2007-03-16T23:43:00.000-05:00

Happy St. Patrick's Day.

A Religious Message From the Local Dairy Council

2007-03-01T19:50:00.000-06:00

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

2007-03-01T19:31:00.000-06:00

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

Beaten with the Pulp

2007-02-22T18:37:00.000-06:00

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

2007-02-02T21:44:00.000-06:00

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

2007-02-02T21:29:00.000-06:00

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:

STAR (Email SPAM Poetry)

2007-01-15T13:12:00.000-06:00

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

2007-01-07T19:59:00.000-06:00

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

2006-12-31T14:08:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-28T23:25:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-12T23:44:00.000-06:00

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 fulfilled 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

2006-11-01T20:46:00.000-06:00

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

2006-11-01T19:12:00.000-06:00

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

2006-10-28T19:36:00.000-05:00

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...

Responding to Responses

2006-10-24T11:31:00.000-05:00

Man, don't you hate when you go two weeks between blogs. My last posting about my personal opinion about embryonic stem cell research really touched some nerves. While I appreciate Maire's opinion, I have to say that her two main points didn't do much for me or fellow diabeto, Mr. Momarsh.

The violence against women argument doesn't do much for me. For an argument coming from feminist groups, it doesn't say much about females if you say that they are completely susceptible to offers to buy their eggs. Why is it so wrong for offers like that to be made on the backs of our alternative weekly papers or on college campuses? People do desperate things for money, but at the same time, it must be their own responsibility to research the pros and cons of the procedure. It only makes sense for something that pays $2,000-$10,000 to look into things. And besides, this legislation bans buying or selling eggs for the purpose of obtaining cells.

I agree that SCNT is cloning. My argument is that feeding it to the general public in 30 second ads doesn't give them much background, and as much as listing a web address is giving background information, I don't think a lot of people actually take the time to read those partisan informational sources and consequently any opposing or bipartisan sources. I think when folks hear cloning, they think of Dolly in human form. Now, Dolly was conceived through SCNT, but the process is not taken any further than the blastocyst stage when extracting embryonic stem cells, which I don't think is really explained thoroughly by either side too much. By creating a blastocyst from my adult stem cells and an unfertilized egg, the idea is that it is an extension of me to heal me.

I must also emphasize that SCNT is a very small part of the current initiative being voted on in Missouri. The process hasn't progressed very far anyway to be a viable option anytime soon. The main point in my mind is to make use of the cells in embryos that are thrown out from fertility clinics and from abortion. Keep in mind that this is all legal already, but not federally funded. The most important passage from the initiative states it will "prohibit state or local governments from preventing or discouraging lawful stem cell research, therapies and cures". I would think that by making this an amendment to the state's constitution, it would help clarify the issue. While Maire states that the researchers she works with do not like the idea of this as an amendment, I have seen plenty of researchers on the other side as well, which only show how divisive this issue is.

The issue will continue to spark debate well after it is voted on because I am sure other states will follow with similar measures. It would be helpful to list more factual information in the ads and to inform anyone involved in any related process of the full scope of what is involved.

On a larger scale, I wish there was a check and balance system in political advertising to lessen the back and forth of he said, she said. There should be a bipartisan board made up of equal numbers of folks from the various parties, including the "others", that review each ad before it is run and release it to the public only after its claims are verified. I realize there are groups now that have ad watches in effect, but it should have to be done before the ads are aired instead of questioning them after folks are basing decisions on the information in those ads. I think it would cut down on campaign spending and wasting by negating the need to respond to every ad by the other side and simply state your case instead.

That's a dream though. Politics don't work that way in America, and it's a shame.

For Those Against Stem Cell Research

2006-10-10T08:22:00.000-05:00

For those that question stem cell research, tell your family, friends, and co-workers with diseases that could benefit, that their quality of life means nothing to you. No babies are being killed for these cells. They come from otherwise "discarded" embryos.

The current Conservative administration has not outlawed abortion, so it will occur. I don't think more women will abort for the purpose of furthering stem cell research, so until someone repeals Roe V. Wade, why not make something good of something you find despicable.

And yet other cells come from embryos stored by couples at fertility clinics. Once they get pregnant, or reach a desired goal, the rest of their stored embryos are thrown out at some point. So until someone decides to save all of these discarded embryos and make a commune of discarded humans from them, I say help find cures from the cells, which were taken from the woman with her consent, so don't throw in a violence towards women debate here.

Opponents of my opinion have said that you can get the same benefit from adult stem cells, but adult stem cells can't transform into any cell, which embryonic cells have the ability to do, no matter what part of the body they're from.

As far as cloning goes, I have yet to see any scientific document from an American scientific publication that states this will lead to the cloning of humans. Now there is SCNT (Somatic Cell Nuclear Transfer), which is labeled as cloning by the opponents (the link is to what I consider to be a funny, yet blunt domain for the opponents...http://www.nocloning.org/). It is therapeautic cloning, which differenciates from reproductive cloning, what people generally think of when it comes to cloning.

In SCNT, the nucleus of an unfertilized egg is replaced with the nucleus of an adult somatic cell. The egg evolves into a blastocyst, which is one of the earliest stages of an embryo, with about 100-200 cells. Compare that to an adult human with over 10 trillion cells. Once at that stage, the stem cells are taken and may be transplanted back to the patient with no danger of rejection, since they are an identical match. Maybe in that case, the adult stem cells could provide the same benefit, by creating embryonic stem cells.

Reproductive cloning would involve taking that blastocyst and continuing to help it along until it can exist outside of the body, but the chances of a healthy embryo coming from SCNT are still small.

I'm sure everyone knows of somebody that has died with a disease that could be helped with this research. And cures may not happen right away. What in science does without years of research? Whose to say that those folks and those with those diseases now do not deserve a better quality of life? If you are against that, then you are inhumane.

I myself have Diabetes and know others with it as well. It would be great to live without multiple shots in a day or a device connected to my body at all times in order to live. It would be great to not have to bleed everyday to better control my blood sugar. A life without messing up one insulin calculation and suffering with a seizure or being nauseated for days sounds really nice. And I'm sure Michael J. Fox would love to simply sit still. And Christopher Reeve would have enjoyed walking again or simply to live another day, but since you are humane people, we must deny people what may be available to us through science.

That makes as much sense as a war in a country that had nothing to do with killing our people and only takes more of our people's lives, especially considering that our tax money could be going towards saving lives instead of killing our boys and innocent Iraqis, not to mention it has more factual evedience backing it than the reasoning for that war. It's a shame that the President used the only veto of his tenure to prevent more lines of cells to be backed by federal funding. It only shows his continued ignorance. This whole debate may be based on an idea that doesn't have many years of research behind it, but the possibilities are backed by fact. This would require a bit of hope on our part, but as Michael J. Fox said when in St. Louis on October 5, "You can't quantify hope. And I'll come down on the side of hope every time."

Missouri, the state I have lived in all of my life, will be voting on this issue. This is from the St. Louis Post-Dispatch:

All eyes will be on Missouri for the Nov. 7 vote, the first of its kind in
the nation. Some say the outcome could provide clues on national voter sentiment
on a contentious political divide, perhaps spawning similar referendums in other
states. To this point, the legislative battle has largely been confined to
Congress and state general assemblies. In the case of Illinois and a handful of
other states, lawmakers have backed embryonic stem-cell research with state
funding.

The measure seeks to ensure that any forms of stem-cell research that are
legal under federal law also would be legal in Missouri.But voters are being
asked to do more than simply preserve the status quo. The measure would negate
the state Legislature's ability to ban certain forms of controversial research,
such as those involving cloning technology.

Once again, it's this cloning technology that scares people away, but I urge folks to look beyond the word "cloning" to see that it isn't bringing cloned humans into the world. Cloning technology is used in the world today to bring people like me our insulin. A lot of biotechnology today involves "cloning technology", but this involves human cells, so it creates the idea of creating humans. When used in SCNT, I believe an extension of the person is being used to save them. For it is their own adult stem cells that are being used in the process to prevent rejection. And while some would say that the blastocyst is a child being murdered, I would say you've gone too far. It's amazing that the anti-abortion movement doesn't stand up for the lives of those with these diseases, those fighting in wars, and those innocents our country kills in war. It's a bit of a double standard if you ask me.

(What's So Wrong 'Bout) 10 Year Erections

2006-09-26T19:26:00.000-05:00

The Associated Press reported today that a former handyman from Rhode Island, "Chick" Lennon, is "suffering" from a 10 year erection due to a malfunctioning penile implant. A superior judge dismissed his case after a previous award of $750,000 in 1994, which was reduced to $400,000. It was found that since the now defunct manufacturer can't be held liable, that its insurance company can't either.

Several points here...

Of course he is a former handyman. Can you imagine having a man with an erection putting in a light fixture at your home? That would just be creepy.
I once knew of a fellow that had a pump type thing implanted in him. There were two sides to pump up, but at some point one blew out. Half of an erection has to be a real downer. How do you explain that to the ladies? "You're only half attractive honey"??
Having a constant erection can't be that embarrassing. In fact it should be enough to drop the nickname "Chick". Sometimes guys have issues with their penises that use them to their advantage. Ron Jeremy, for instance, is ugly, but has a large member, so he got into porn, and is now set for life I'm sure. John Wayne Bobbitt had his male organ cut of by then wife, Lorena, and thrown out of the window of her car (see image below).It was later re-attached and he made a fine career in...porn. So having an odd penis mainly leads to porn, but it could be worse...you could make a living taking pictures of cars for peanuts.

Guys complain if they can't get an erection or if they have one for more than 4 hours and even have the audacity to sue for having one that lasts for 10 years. Look Chick, worse things are happening in this world than your petrified penis. I'm sure theirs boys overseas that have had theirs blown off extremists with roadside bombs that hate our free penises. Be grateful for what you have, even if that may be hard for you. And to those that only stay erect for minutes at a time, look at the upside.

Kevin Smith, the Indian Call Center Worker, Not the Director

2006-09-18T23:15:00.000-05:00

I've been getting swamped with financial companies wanting to help me with debt and school loans. We don't have caller ID and do not plan on it anytime soon. In the meantime, I've had to come up with some creative ways to get rid of the bastards.

A couple of days ago, I received a call about my school loans from a fellow that sounded like Fisher Stevens in the Short Cicuit movies (see video clip example below).

The following is a transcript to the best of my memory:

DIABETOBOY: Hello....Hello.

FISHER STEVENS TYPE: Hello. Is this James?

D: Yes it is.

FST: Yes sir, my name is Kevin Smith, and I am calling you on behalf of [unintelligible] in regards to your student loans.

D: Wait a second. You're Kevin Smith.

Kevin Smith, Auteur!

KEVIN SMITH!: Sir. I am calling about your student loans and we would like to help you...

D: Man, I saw Clerks II the day it came out. You make some good films man. What got you doing this?

KS: Sir, we would like to help you with your student loans.

D: So, why are you doing this though. I'm sure you're making money from the movies still. You are still making movies, right?

KS: Yes sir. I like movies--

D: No, are you still making them? Because I like your movies.

KS: Sir--

D: Man, Kevin Smith, the famous director. This is f*cked up.

KS: But sir I would like to help you with your student loans.

D: Naw, it's cool Kev. I got 'em taken care of. Keep up the good work though.

KS: [unintelligible]

CLICK.

Poor guy. He was trying so hard, but I just couldn't deal with it. At least I didn't pass gas into the phone as I sometimes do, or simply go off. He could at least wait until the Clerks sequel hit DVD before he resorted to such gimmicks. I mean I thought the flick was solid.

On a side note...yesterday an Indian female called about the same loan assistance. Her name was Heather Smith.

Goodbye Mr. Rogers (Hello Back to the Future Moments)

2006-09-14T20:56:00.000-05:00

My mother called me early on Saturday to inform me that Mr. Rogers had passed away. I'm not talking about THE Mr. Rogers that most of us love from our childhood. In my neighborhood growing up, we had a lot of kiddie drama. We were always having it out with some family or kid. For a while, it was the Rogers family. When I was much younger, my mom was friends with their mom, Terry, and my brother, Matt, and I hung out at their place with their boys, mainly the 2 out of the 4 that were closest to our age, Mike, born in 1980 like me, and Jeff, who was two years older than Matt, who was born in 1986.

Anyway, at some point, we all just went to war, which basically entailed screaming insults and playing pranks on each other. It got the whole neighborhood of kids involved, so it was very productive.

As we grew up though, things calmed down. Matt started bringing Mike and Jeff around our place and I became good pals with Mike. We hung out fairly often for about a 2 year span, shooting hoops, going to Six Flags, and just doing what kids do. I told him the rhythm of his name was really cool..."Mike Rogers". He had an odd inflection in his voice, especially when he said "putz", one of his trademark terms that I have yet to hear someone else use in their regular vocabulary.

In early November of 1996, Mike, Jeff, Matt, and I went down the block to our preschool reunion at Union Nursery School. We obviously weren't in the same classes, but shared that institution nonetheless. It wasn't a real reunion, per se, more like we went in the still fairly large gymnasium of our former preschool, looked at some photos on posterboard, and signed another large posterboard of alumni throughout the years.

It was the last time I was to see Mike or Jeff alive.

On November 24th, a Sunday, my family and friends threw me a surprise birthday party. Those are always memorable moments in one's life, but for myself it became moreso. My party wound down in the early evening. Around 8pm, my brother and parents saw a quick teaser for the 10 o'clock news. Apparently two boys were killed in a single car accident in Webster Groves, which was maybe 2 miles from our home. My parents thought they heard the names as "Michael and Jeffrey Rogers".

My mother came and told me. My only reaction was to get them to investigate further. You see this was before the time of simply loooking on the news station's web site. She called the Webster Groves Police Department and they couldn't shed much light on it. My parents then took a walk down the street to the Rogers's place in the cold, misty, rainy night. They came back to my brother and I to tell us that the family's van was there, but Mike's car was not (he had just turned 16 in September and gotten his car and license at that time). We could only wait for the news.

When the news came on, it was a quick blurb of a story, but confirmed our worst fears with a flash of their photos. I had experienced the first emotional loss of my life. I sat in my room listening to Weezer's blue album, which I had gotten earlier in the day as a birthday gift, to maybe ease my mind, but all I could do was bawl uncontrollably.

The next day's Post-Dispatch had a front page article giving more detail to the tragedy. Our friends were riding in Mike's car, following the rest of the family home, who were riding in the van. They were on their way home from church of all things. Somehow Mike lost control of his vehicle on the mist covered I-44 and went down an embankment, where his car rolled over and up against a tree. The two boys were instantly crushed to death. Their father went looking for them after they didn't get home. He saw emergency vehicles while retracing the route and knew instantly. He approached emergency personnel and told them that those were his boys.

a more detailed article from the 11/26 St. Louis Post-Dispatch [click on photo to enlarge]

After reading the article, I told my mom that I couldn't go to school. I even called my friend, Adam, who had met Mike, to tell him I wasn't coming. My mother ended up pushing me to go. I had bouts of crying in the day, even in front of my religion class with Father McGrath after he asked me how I was in front of the class (generally, not knowing what had happened at all).

I only went to the visitation, which was on my real birthday, two days later, after my mother assured us that, given the circumstances of the accident, it would not be open-casket. As soon as we walked in their church's lobby area where the wake was, I could see that her assurance was no good. They only looked like fragments of who they were. I couldn't bare to look longer than it took me to know that it was them. We went to see their mom, Terry. My parents told her that it was my birthday that day. They said I was apprehensive about getting my license now. We embraced. I grabbed her tight, in order to ease her pain and mine, and she said to me, "Go get that license or my boys will haunt you." It sounds bad, but she meant it in a playful way to help me realize that you can't let anything hold you back from day to day life.

The next day, before the funeral, I made my father take me to the DMV to get my license. I barely passed, but I did, so that my friends wouldn't haunt me. I did feel as though they actually were in the car with me for the first year or so. It was very off-putting. When I would drive down the stretch of I-44 where they lost their lives, I would get away from the shoulder and speed by, so not to envision their demise.

Less than 4 years later, my brother, Matt, died from Wegener's Granulomatosis, a rare vascular auto-immune disease. I suddenly began placing that moment in February of 2000, which was the most traumatic time of my life, with the other episode in November of 1996, when I lost two young people I knew, and thought that I was way too young, myself, to be experiencing so much crap. It is a quick way to make you grow up or mess with how you reach adulthood.

As I bunched those experiences together, I thought of the 4th of July in 1996, when Mike, Jeff, Matt and I sat on a wall in the Rogers' alley, which intersected with our block. We watched the fireworks display, being put on at the VP Fair or Fair St. Louis, miles away in downtown St. Louis. Their dad, Don, came out and sat with us. It was one of the few times I heard him say more than a few words, and now I can't even recall what he said, but it was one of those simple times that made me feel like I knew him more and respected him. Looking back, it was also just one of those good times that you remember from your childhood.

When Mike and Jeff died, I remebered that day, and they began to fade. As time went on, it was that memory that helped me remember them though. When Matt died, he began to fade in that memory too. Just thinking of that day, I felt like it was a conspiracy of them against me. Shortly after Matt passed away, I was told that Don had cancer and was given a couple of years to live. I thought of that day even more, realizing the implications. Here was this memory of mine, with myself, three other young people, and one older person. The other young folks were all deceased and now the older would pass on soon enough. I didn't feel like I would die necessarily, but when you can think of moments involving yourself and multiple other people, and all of those other people are dead, it is a pretty odd feeling. It reminded me of in Back to the Future when Marty has a photo of him with his brother and sister, and after he interferes with his parents meeting, he and his siblings begin to fade from the photo. It's not exactly the same premise, but the thought always comes to mind.

After hearing the news of Don's illness, I felt like the family had been dealt too many bad hands. Through it all though, Terry especially, kept a positive attitude, thinking that there was a plan for them. This was and is an incredble feat considering Terry is blind, and has been since birth. Her boys helped her a lot through the years and she lost two of them. After 1996, the family took in little Jeanetta, who as she grows up, brings happiness and a light to a beaten group of people. Needing to do something, I wrote to Oprah to give a Florida vacation to the Rogers family. Unfortunately, Miss Winfrey didn't respond.

I will say that I feel horrible that I haven't visited with Terry much since her boys passed away. Even though I've now been on that side of loss, I still am uneasy about all of this. My mom, however, has remained a good friend of their family.

So Mr. Rogers is gone now. He lived far beyond his doctors' prognosis, but the cancer took hold. He had a stroke a couple of days before and never recovered. How much can a family take? Terry has the resilience to get back up and live. I only hope she can remain an inspiration for her two remaining boys, David and T.J., and her daughter, Jeanetta. I will be thinking of them.

I am not so sure I could make it through a time like that, but then again, people said the same thing directly to me after my brother died, even in more direct terms. On occassion, life throws us some crap, and you never really know how much you're going to get and how you're going to take it.

"How Dare you, Mr. President..."

2006-09-12T14:12:00.000-05:00

As a follow up to my post from yesterday (9/11 To Me, and the American Crutch of Stupidity and Convenience), I am posting some materials that have come out in the past day that also reflect my feelings.

Last night, on Countdown with Keith Olbermann, Keith addressed the administration with obvious emotion. I'm sure it will be labeled as part of the conspiracy of the liberal media, but if you'd like to label it that way, at least you have a Republican controlled government. Here is the video from last night (and transcript):

Howard Zinn, writer of A People's History of the United States, offered this commentary about a week ago about current events:

War is not a solution for terrorism ...By Howard
Zinn
THERE IS SOMETHING important to be learned from the recent experience of the United States and Israel in the Middle East: that massive military attacks, inevitably indiscriminate, are not only morally reprehensible, but useless in achieving the stated aims of those who carry them out.
The United States, in three years of war, which began with shock-and-awe bombardment and goes on with day-to-day violence and chaos, has been an utter failure in its claimed objective of bringing democracy and stability to Iraq. The Israeli invasion and bombing of Lebanon has not brought security to Israel; indeed it has increased the number of its enemies, whether in Hezbollah or Hamas or among Arabs who belong to neither of those groups.
I remember John Hersey's novel, ``The War Lover," in which a macho
American pilot, who loves to drop bombs on people and also to boast about his
sexual conquests, turns out to be impotent. President Bush, strutting in his flight jacket on an aircraft carrier and announcing victory in Iraq, has turned out to be much like the Hersey character, his words equally boastful, his military machine impotent.
The history of wars fought since the end of World War II reveals the futility of large-scale violence. The United States and the Soviet Union, despite their enormous firepower, were unable to defeat resistance movements in small, weak nations -- the United States in Vietnam, the Soviet Union in Afghanistan -- and were forced to withdraw.
Even the ``victories" of great military powers turn out to be elusive. Presumably, after attacking and invading Afghanistan, the president was able to declare that the Taliban were defeated. But more than four years later, Afghanistan is rife with violence, and the Taliban are active in much of the country.
The two most powerful nations after World War II, the United States and the Soviet Union, with all their military might, have not been able to control events in countries that they considered to be in their sphere of influence -- the Soviet Union in Eastern Europe and the United States in Latin America.
Beyond the futility of armed force, and ultimately more important, is the fact that war in our time inevitably results in the indiscriminate killing of large numbers of people. To put it more bluntly, war is terrorism. That is why a ``war on terrorism" is a contradiction in terms. Wars waged by nations, whether by the United States or Israel, are a hundred times more deadly for innocent people than the attacks by terrorists, vicious as they are.
The repeated excuse, given by both Pentagon spokespersons and Israeli officials, for dropping bombs where ordinary people live is that terrorists hide among civilians. Therefore the killing of innocent people (in Iraq, in Lebanon) is called accidental, whereas the deaths caused by terrorists (on 9/11, by Hezbollah rockets) are deliberate.
This is a false distinction, quickly refuted with a bit of thought. If a bomb is deliberately dropped on a house or a vehicle on the grounds that a ``suspected terrorist" is inside (note the frequent use of the word suspected as evidence of the uncertainty surrounding targets), the resulting deaths of women and children may not be intentional. But neither are they accidental. The proper description is ``inevitable."
So if an action will inevitably kill innocent people, it is as immoral as a deliberate attack on civilians. And when you consider that the number of innocent people dying inevitably in ``accidental" events has been far, far greater than all the deaths deliberately caused by terrorists, one must reject war as a solution for terrorism.
For instance, more than a million civilians in Vietnam were killed by US bombs, presumably by ``accident." Add up all the terrorist attacks throughout the world in the 20th century and they do not equal that awful toll.
If reacting to terrorist attacks by war is inevitably immoral, then we must look for ways other than war to end terrorism, including the terrorism of war. And if military retaliation for terrorism is not only immoral but futile, then political leaders, however cold-blooded their calculations, may have to reconsider their policies.

I only hope that others feel this passionately during these times and challenge what we are fed as the truth.

9/11 To Me, and the American Crutch of Stupidity and Convenience

2006-09-11T10:56:00.000-05:00

5 years ago today, my father, who normally would be at work, had the day off. He woke me up by telling me that we were under attack. He told me that planes had crashed into the Twin Towers and the Pentagon. I jumped out of bed to watch it on television.

Shortly after I turned on the television, the south tower collapsed. Of course, I don't have to go into detail. Everybody's seen the destruction and chaos from that day. Many compared it to something we had only seen in movies, because there was no precedent for it, especially in our country, the land of the free, home of the brave.

As much as I couldn't turn away from the footage that day, I still had classes to attend. I questioned whether or not to attend my Elvis class. Obviously, this was more important than Elvis. Who knew if we had more to fear that day? I did go to my Elvis class, and we watched "King Creole", but you could tell that we were all somewhere else. During our couple of breaks, the students wandered in a common area, watching the non-stop coverage on screens spread throughout the building.

I had another class on Political Philosophy that night. How fitting. We discussed whether or not we should be there. It was decided that we would go over the current class material, then discuss the events, and leave after an abbreviated class. When I left, I went right back to the TV. In fact I had snagged my mom's pocket TV as I ran out the door to school. I stood outside, waiting for a ride, and watched the coverage, flipping from network to network. I watched the planes disappearing into the buildings again and again. At one point on FOX, they had showed some of the jumpers, which was criticized, but it was real and happening.

That period of time put me in a daze. It had only been a little over a year since my brother had passed away. We didn't lose him to a disaster like this, but I kept thinking of the loss of anyone associated with the folks on those planes and in those buildings.

It made sense to go after the bad guys in Afghanistan, but how much progress has been made. A recent AP report states: "Despite about 20,000 U.S. forces fighting al-Qaida and Taliban fighters in Afghanistan, and about the same number of NATO troops, and billions in aid, a resurgent Taliban resistance has shaken the country, while corruption has stymied development." While we brought "freedom and democracy" to those people, which I dispute, we certainly have not brought stability.

And why Iraq? Bush and Cheney have been saying in recent interviews that it is central to the war on terror, but it was completely preemptive, especially considering all intelligence stating Iraq had WMDs was proven false. Apparently since Saddam had tried before, that was enough to go after him next, even though not much evidence of WMD production exists after the first Gulf War. We instead now have spent hundreds of billions (Congress has approved $432 billion to date for Iraq) and lost over 2,600 men of our own, not to mention hundreds of dead contractors, hundreds of foreign soldiers, and thousands of dead civilians. That's the price you pay for freedom, I guess, even when you're fighting people with no connection to those that instigated war in the first place.

Even though the other two in the "Axis of Evil", Iran and North Korea, pose more of a real threat to us now, we have no man power to do anything about it. Suddenly sanctions and diplomacy sound a bit better, but that D-word won't be had with nations that harbor terrorists. It's been said before, but a terrorist to one nation is a freedom fighter to another. Our leaders even portray ourselves as "fighting for freedom", a very dumbed down catchy slogan that doesn't really give much detail. It's good enough for those that have to work over 40 hours a week (with sometimes low wages) to feed their families, eat fast food because it's fast and convenient (but a killer), and vote (when we feel like it) based on 30-second TV spots that a lot of the time are paid for by interest groups and have little factual basis. If it's fast and simple, it's more convenient, and we'll take it. No one questions reasoning much anymore.

I'm not one to agree with or quote Andy Rooney much; old men with bushy eyebrows and hair growing in tufts from their ears have that effect on me. This past Sunday on 60 Minutes though, he said something that everyone and their mother should barrage each other with forwarded emails over (kidding, maybe).

"The disaster on September 11th...was manmade. Death by design. Some people who hated Americans set out to kill a lot of us and they succeeded.
Americans are puzzled over why so many people in the world hate us.
We seem so nice to ourselves. They do hate us though. We know that and we're trying to protect ourselves with more weapons. We have to do it I suppose but it might be better if we figured out how to behave as a nation in a way that wouldn't make so many people in the world want to kill us."

I doubt that will happen anytime soon, but it's a great idea, and really simple if you think about it. It's just outside the box for a lot of people that think bombing the shit out of people will make them greet us as liberators and bring peace to the world.

John and Yoko put it well...

A Belated 'Russian' Update

2006-09-07T22:24:00.000-05:00

One of the pages on my site (diabetoboy.com) is actually The Plight of The Mad Russian. For those that do not know, in St. Louis, The Mad Russian, or Vladimir Noskov, has been a radio DJ, a frequent oddball on the legendary public access television show World Wide Magazine, and nationally he has appeared on the Howard Stern Show several times to do humorous interviews.

The Mad Russian and Howard Stern

I first met Vladimir back in 2002 to interview him for a student documentary I was doing for school. The video, later named "P.E.P.", covered the life and times of Pete Parisi, the genius creator of the aforementioned World Wide Magazine. I have kept in touch with Vladimir off and on since our meeting.

Mad Russian on WWM interviewing Ill. Sen. Carol Moseley Braun

Last August, Vladimir was jailed and faced deportation to the Ukraine, his "home" country that he left almost thirty years ago. He was put in the slammer for being drunk and disorderly at Blueberry Hill, a popular restaurant in The Loop district, but his possible deportation stemmed from a marijuana charge from the early 1980s.

I set up the Plight page to give updates to this story, which seemed to drag on forever. At the end of this past July though, The Mad Russian was finally allowed to stay for good. His pot charge (possession with intent to distribute) from California in 1984 was downgraded to a non-deportable offense, and the Feds backed off.

Today I got around to updating the page, hopefully for the last time. I wish The Mad Russian well and hope he watches his alcohol consumption.

2 Guys from the STL...Vladimir and Nelly

I'm Giving Myself Extra Insulin Tonight...1 Year of DiabetoBlog

2006-08-30T22:45:00.001-05:00

I actually missed my 1 year of DiabetoBlog by 6 days ("McGrath Didn't Molest Me...Thank God" on 8/24/2005), but I've been busy taking pictures of cars and trying to find my way out of that business. To celebrate, I will cover all the bases tonight, and touch on a few from the past.

###

Dirty Priest On the Loose

One of my favorite molester priests was released from jail this morning. Bryan Kuchar, who I mentioned in that McGrath blog linked to above, was a deacon at St. Joan of Arc, my grade school, while I went there for 1 year. My sister even had a Catholic school girl skirt autographed by him. The priests, especially the younger ones, took on almost a celebrity like popularity with us back then, which makes it easy for me to see how kids could get lured in.

The Archdiocese of St. Louis is shacking him up for a while until the Vatican tells them what to do with him. I suggest they put him to work teaching Sunday school after he makes his rounds in the neighborhood handing out leaflets that state he is a sex offender. I hope his god has a sense of humor. I'd like to see Kuchar go on television in place of his lawyer and swear to his god that he did nothing immoral. He was laicized, or dismissed from the priesthood, last February, along with the king of molesting priests, Michael McGrath, so it is interesting that the Archdiocese still takes responsibility over him like a mother to a child. I wonder what church's homecoming is funding his hotel stay.

SNAP (the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests) was trying to get him locked up after his release and is actively seeking past victims that have yet to come forward. If that doesn't work, they could probably more easily pin some kind of terrorism charges on him, because I know of this great prison in Abu Ghraib.

###

More Fun with Ceiling Fans

Back in April, I mentioned that my wife and I battled it out with our upstairs neighbor through our ceiling fans. Our land lady installed at least 3 fans in this 2 family flat that use the same type of remote, so when you control one, you control them all. When we mentioned this to her, she giggled it off and said next time she puts fans in, she won't make that mistake. I asked them to look into there being codes on the units to differentiate, but we have been put on the back burner indefinitely, so that they may build a fortress in our backyard to live in.

A few nights ago, after a long break in the fighting, suddenly our bedroom fan came under fire. I was relaxing in bed, reading about Counterculture Throught the Ages, when the fan turned off. The wife exclaimed "Oh shit!", realizing what was to ensue.

After a few back and forth volleys, the gal upstairs turns both fan and light off, which makes even less sense. Please just simply flip the switch if you want neither. Don't turn both off, leaving us with nothing, and hence even more to fight over.

Our neighbor was very persistent with the battle. To emphasize my anger I flashed the lights quite a few times. This did bring on a calm period at one point. We settled back into our bed and the insurgency regained its force. I was not willing to let her win this. The air doesn't circulate in our room very well due to a badly placed vent, so we need our fan...damn it.

I told my wife to leave it to me and that I wouldn't let her down. As I continued reading, I kept up with each flip of the lights and fan. I had it down to a science. Even after an hour of reading, after I set down my book, I kept up, half asleep, by memorizing the 4 button presses to regain the fan setting we enjoy.

This carried on for probably another hour, with bouts of sleep for myself in between the volleys, which were slowing down.

And then, it happened. I won. I woke up 6 hours later with my fan at its correct setting. I was the victor. And as stupid as it sounds, it felt amazing.

###

Poopy Update

As an update to my last post, we waited two more days for our lawn to be cut. That was also after another call asking me to pick up my dog's "dung". Silly rabbit. If only they kept up with things. I did pick it up, and it finally was cut.

An annoying pile of trash, crap, junk, or whatever term you see fit was also cleaned up...well, kind of. Here are the before and after photos...

Before

After

As you can see, it looks a bit better, and we have to be excited about even slight improvement, like having a kid that doesn't go in his pants in public as often as before. My only issue is that I still managed to find a grocery bag's worth of broken glass in all of that crap, just by dusting the surface. I have to look out for my dog here, because dogs are curious creatures. Imagine if a toy of hers hit that pile of nonsense and she began to paw at it. This is what she could have encountered...

My advice is to never rent, and if you do, take lots of photos and document everything, even through blogging. Renting is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're going to get. Sometimes there could even be mice in them or broken glass and you have to end up in litigation.

Driving with My Brake Lights On

2006-08-19T22:19:00.000-05:00

You may think from the title that this will be about some cautious time in my life and I am metaphorically "driving with my brake lights on".

Just take it literally.

For the past 5 days, my brake lights have been on while driving. Since I noticed and my neighbor also pointed it out to me, I have been disconnecting my battery at every destination or leaving my vehicle running. I'm sure it looks interesting to people when before entering my car, I go under the hood for a second and then jump in and start it. I did notice a funny look on the face of an elderly woman pumping gas next to me at a gas station. Then again, that was also after I told the pump, "No I will not go see the fucking attendant" when it told me to do just that. I prepaid $15 and it stopped at 4 cents past that. I'm assuming they were going to make me pay for that, but it was their pump that stopped 4 cents too late, and I wasn't told to stop it on my own.

Yeah, yeah, I've been a bit testy lately, but I'll get to that later.

I'm hesitant to fix my own car or even investigate the many issues that the DiabetoMobile has. My 1990 Honda Accord has 215,000 miles on it. I have had quite a few mini-problems along the way, but the engine hasn't failed yet and that is what matters.

The mini-problems like this one become a little more scary when I have a job that requires me to drive so much. Imagine driving over a hundred miles every day with your brake lights on the whole time. It presents an odd situation. Either folks are so discombobulated by you riding the brakes, even while accelerating, that they simply go around you, or you get the hard-asses that ride your bumper and honk like that will magically fix everything. The funniest was a guy driving a DirectTV truck. Why would you make yourself look like such an idiot if you are representing a company, and if I really wanted to, I could easily identify you and your vehicle and make a complaint?

After a bit of online research, I figured out that it had to do with my brake switch. Most likely, it was defective. I contacted Babyface Pinoy from the now defunct Filipino Mafia, because he helps me maintain my foreign vehicle, which isn't to say that only foreigners can do that, but he is good at that, and he isn't a foreigner, but an American because he was born in this fine country run by messed up people. That was a run on sentence. Anyway, he couldn't help because he's a busy family man I'm sure, so I was left to fend for myself.

Since I am poor, my mother came over to assist me with a flashlight and cash. That could be taken the wrong way, so please don't take it that way. First she brought over a brand new shiny brake switch. After I actually stuck my face into the mess under my steering column, I realized the problem was much simpler and cheaper. A small piece that engages the brake switch, which disengages the lights, was crumbled and in effect, not doing its job. I think I saw it the other day, and for some reason thought it was a piece of a crayon that made its way into my car, so I tossed it. The fellow at AutoZone told me it was a dealer part. I asked if I should just rig it up, which he grinned at and confirmed that I had the right idea.

I tried a few bolts when I got home to my vehicle, but they were too small, but it can be rigged, oh yes, it can be rigged. It can wait till manana though, and then I can keep my battery hooked up.

###

And now to what makes me testy. When I was downsized, I addressed my landlady in a blog, stating that I wouldn't pick up my dog/daughter's poop anymore until the lawn was mowed. Shortly after, it was mowed, although I am sure the two were not connected. That was after about a month of it not being done though.

Once again, it has been over a month without it being touched, but this time the 4 foot high weeds were at least pulled earlier this week. I left a message on her voicemail and her man showed up instead. He told me that the lawn looked fine, yet it grows over my feet. He told me they didn't have to notify us that workers were coming in our yard everyday to work on a mother-in-law house behind our home. We asked why so much work on that and none on our unit. He replied that they are moving into the 3rd unit very soon. When we said that we never agreed to this nonsense, he scoffed at us and said, "If you want to spend money on a lawyer, go right ahead."

I later received a call from him saying that someone would be by to mow the lawn the next day. Strange how one says there's no problem, but does something to rectify that non-problem. He also adds that I need to pick up my dog's mess everyday, which his lady friend told us every week or two would be sufficient. If they really kept up with our joint, I'd consider it, but we are from from that point.

So I picked up all the poo, and lo and behold, it is 5 days later and the lawn still hasn't been mowed. The new poop shall stay and torment the workers in our yard. They leave trash back there anyway, so it's how we fight back.

Renting is no good. As much as I have read that tenants have rights, they really don't. A tenant can't end a lease if the landlord goes against it, but in the reverse case, it is a no brainer, you're out to the curb.

Twice our gal came in without notification, which is illegal. We confronted her on it, which she neither confirmed or denied. She did however complain that supplies she left behind on those occasions were tampered with by myself. Oh well. Maybe if I didn't have to have a bathtub faucet head fly at my foot the first time I attempted to shower, things would be different. Or maybe if after we asked for little things like a light in the rear and a working lock on our back door, we didn't get an eye roll and no response, things would be different. It is amazing what a call to the city and 13 code violations can do to get things done. Unfortunately, there are no more definite code violations, just annoyances, so they know that is their loophole.

A couple of months ago, I accidentally busted the water line to the ice maker as I moved the fridge to clean up mouse crap. They fixed it, but later sent us an invoice for $65. We asked nicely to take it out of our deposit, to which we were told they'd talk it over. No response was given until 2 months later when we get a new bill stating if it isn't paid in 15 days, a 24.99% APR will be applied. First, I never signed anything stating an interest could incur and I never signed an invoice giving a price at all. She has to take it from the deposit, but figures we were stoopid in the first place, so hey, why not try to push this one over.

I know when it comes time to recover the deposit, the courts will be the only way. Wouldn't it just be easier to treat people how you would like to be treated instead of like pond scum? I could say more, but I will save it for later.

Diabeto the Hermit

2006-08-05T18:25:00.000-05:00

I've been laying low as of late. After the power came back on, the DSL at our flat was turned off because we're too poor. We are now attempting to reconnect through Earthlink and leave AT&T hanging. In the meantime, I am mooching off my parents' connection.

I have been working for the past few weeks for one of those publications that helps you sell your vehicles. My job is as a "field photographer", which means I drive around and take pictures of cars. Why this job still exists in the age of the internet and digital cameras, I have no idea, but it pays for now. And I told this to a customer not long ago, that he could simply take the photo on the digital camera he told me he had and upload it to internet that he also confirmed he had, to which he responded, "But this is so damned convenient!"

I called a customer in a location 35 miles from me, most likely the land of the Lord, to confirm his address, which wasn't showing up on MapQuest (a godsend for this job). To clarify, I was already in his vicinity and calling, figuring that the street name would bring me close enough. The address listed was 1939, but on this particular street the addresses only went up to 959. Trust me I drove around to check. So I call this guy and say I am by 959 so-and-so street and ask where his location is. He tells me again "It's 1939. Wait I'll go outside to check again for ya. (PAUSE) Yep it's real big out here under the sign with the name of the place, the phone number, and the address...1939. You can't miss it."

I ask for landmarks because this just didn't make any sense. He tells me to go back to the main road in town and find a BP and an auto repair joint. I should turn in between the two and it's a block away past some railroad tracks.

I follow his directions. Sure enough there was a BP and an auto repair shop at the beginning of the street I was on, but quite a few blocks back. I drove past the tracks and see the truck I was to shoot. This was the first building on this street with an address of 100. Right away I see his mistake. There was a big sign with the name of the place and its address, and underneath it was written "Since 1939".

I deal with the public for the entertainment value.

---======----

My daughter, Sadie, was really sick about a week ago. Whenever she moved, she would yelp. It was sad to watch. She was moping around. Days went by before she ate or drank on her own will. I resorted to giving her water through a syringe...a needleless one. We spent two separate nights at the animal hospital with the vets troubleshooting her. Guesswork costs a lot, especially for us po' folks. She has been on two separate drugs and had x-rays done that showed nothing.

We are pretty sure she has Aseptic (Sterile) Meningitis, which two of her brothers also have been diagnosed with. Apparently it will flare up from time to time, but can be kept under control with Prednisone. She takes after me with all the diseases and medication.

---======----

In February, I blogged about mice in our flat. We caught 9 in a 2 day span, to which our landlady told me that "the key to urban living is to keep a clean place". I bagged 4 of the nine and labeled them for her at the time. She kept them in our basement by her work bench. I decided to lay them to rest today in a dumpster, since they have molded over a few times within their Zip-Loc bags, and she wasn't too concerned about moving them. I took some video which I hope to post soon, when our internet situation improves. In the meantime, check out this other cool mice video.

UPDATE (11/1/06): The disposal of the moldy mice...

Let There Be Light...and A/C

2006-07-22T18:13:00.000-05:00

The power was restored to our apartment around 9:30 this morning. I am grateful that we had a cool place to stay (with my parents), but nothing beats being at your own home. It just sucks cleaning up remnants of food that I didn't save earlier on. Leftover peas, zucchini soup, and barbecued chicken stink to high heaven after sitting in a luke warm fridge for a few days. The peas were fuzzy too. I flushed most of the potent liquids down the toilet because that's what I was raised to do when you don't have a garbage disposal. The water pressure was sub par with the faucets sputtering before kicking in completely. I know that has nothing to do with electricity, but it shows how messed up things are around here. There was a massive water main break less than two miles from here, but I doubt that is the culprit.

Oh well. It's good to be home.

*And as a response to a comment on my last post, my 200+ mile route for work involves weaving through the St. Louis Metropolitan area and beyond. We reside in St. Louis city, the epicenter of the chaos that ensued after the storm.

Ridin' the Storm Out

2006-07-21T15:28:00.000-05:00

These are strange times in St. Louis.

On Wednesday, I had finished a 200+ mile route for my new job right before the storm hit. I really just noticed the sky of black moving my way overhead when I made it to the office in West St. Louis County. I still had to finish some paperwork and make copies before I could leave. The only person left in the office was my supervisor, who was staying to collect my work. The strong winds came in pretty fast, but I still thought we had time to get out of there. Not even ten minutes after I arrived, the power shut down. I laughed and paced, because that's how I cope. We waited for the elecricity to return, so we could finish the work. It did, but just enough to tease us. I kept looking outside at the business park I was in. Parts of trees and random trash were flying by. It was very amusing.

I don't feel comfortable with severe weather in the county. For some reason, the city avoids serious damage and tornadic activity a lot more than the county around here. Anyway, the building I was in was talking. It was creaking and whistling to the point that I thought there was a good chance of my first tornado. My supervisor gave me a candle that smelled nice. I would have rather been at home though. My dog was there alone in a kennel awaiting my arrival. The supe had to make calls to find out procedure for what to do if the building were to blow away. We were told to go hang out in an office with windows. Seriously. Their reasoning was that the walls of that office were still made of cinder blocks unlike the rest of the building. I didn't buy it, but I was simply going with the flow. It was only my fourth day on this job, so I wanted to make a good impression.

Then the rains finally came. I watched through the narrow windows at the cloud formations moving by fairly quickly and the sheets of precipitation dumping out. It was obvious the power wouldn't come back anytime soon. The supe called the higher ups and communicated that we were going to run for it. It takes fine management skills to decide to leave once the rain hits. We did though. The walk to my car 30 feet from the door was enough to soak me.

The drive home was interesting. I had no idea what lay ahead or behind me. The rain in my path though, was enough to cut visibility down considerably. Half of the cars on the highway had their flashers on. Since I don't trust my own driving, especially in weather such as that, I followed suit. Some of the vehicles swayed in the wind. I could feel the wind pushing my car, but it just added an element of fun to the drive. Most of the cars were keeping a safe speed and distance, so I didn't have to worry. The shoulder did contain a few results of those that weren't being so careful.

About halfway through my drive, the rain calmed down a tad. The sky turned a bright orange from the sun setting and the storm exiting. Fittingly, "Ridin' the Storm Out" by REO Speedwagon came on the radio, so I cranked it up. I am always a fan of mood music, even though I hate REO.

When I got home, the blocks leading up to it were riddled with tree branches and sometimes entire trees. I noticed two streets blocked off entirely by single trees. Of course, considering my luck as of late, our power was out when I reached the homestead, and at this point two nights later, it still is out. Interestingly enough, people three doors down and on somehow have their power. Ameren, the utility company here, gave themselves a 3-5 day window to clean this mess up, but a storm earlier today just added more to their statistics. As I write this, 500,000 homes are without power in this area.

I took Sadie, my boxer, for a walk through the neighborhood since she had been cooped up in the kennel thoughout the madness. Trees blocked our path several times. At the corner of our block, a man's shed had been torn to pieces and thrown all over the street. This was certainly the worst storm damage I have ever seen first hand. And it is easily the longest I have ever gone without electricity.

The first night, I tried toughing it out with the windows open to the breeze of the 90 degree night air. Sadie and I made it though the night while the wife worked the graveyard shift, but we smelled like blooming onions by daybreak and had a fine layer of greasy sweat on us. My wife made the decision for us to move in with my folks and that's where I will rest my head again tonight. At least we aren't camping out on our porch like some people.

Today when I tried venturing out for work, disabled traffic signals made for long waits at intersections. I drove past 4 gas stations before I could find one with power. This is insane. The storm today helped the heat wave dissipate for a bit while we wait on all of these shortages and outages.

The National Guard is in town now to knock on doors to check on folks and give out water and cookies. I guess that beats suicide bombers and living in the deserts of the Mid East. Witnessing giant camoflaged vehicles parading through the city was a strange sight for me. I saw two caravans as I drove around today. The boys were decked out in full uniform. That makes this official disaster control. It makes me feel special. I only wish we were staying in our darkened apartment so the Guard would offer us goodies and a chance to stay in an air conditioned building that they refer to as "cooling centers" in these parts.

So the question of choice in St. Louis has gone from "Where did you go to High School?" to "Do you have power?"

Strange times indeed.

Diabetoboy in New Hampshire

2006-07-15T20:45:00.000-05:00

Through the magic of the internet, a director of an art gallery in New Hampshire got a hold of my piece, "Diseased Sensations", and it is now part of an exhibition at the Thorne-Sagendorph Art Gallery at Keene State College in Keene, New Hampshire. I found what I believe to be their press release, which states, "Jim Varagona’s Diseased Sensations unflinchingly portrays the student filmmaker’s everyday life with Type 1 diabetes." It is always nice to hear big words used with your name such as the unflinching portrayal I made.

To view the piece, click here to go to Post-VideoArt.com.

I also blogged about this piece back on November 13 of last year.

Iraq War Blues

2006-07-12T21:43:00.000-05:00

The following is a song I wrote last year about the war in Iraq, which will never end. I just dug it up and thought I'd share it. It is obviously influenced by Bob Dylan, Woody Guthrie, and Johnny Cash.

The Iraq War Blues
A couple of years ago
and a few days before
someone got the idea to go to war
freedom for these men
by killin' some of those men
who do we kill first?
women and children

All these bombs flyin' through the air
some of 'em goin' to we don't know where
all because he hate me
who? I don't know
why? I ain't sure
shock and awe 'em
that'll be the cure

We'll send our boys over to here and there
to fight an enemy that's everywhere
Iraqis, Afghanis,
Shi'ite..I don't know
mission accomplished
let's take it real slow
people are dyin'
but our way's the way to go

Fahrenheit nine one one
everybody grab a gun
and some duct tape
and a can opener
code yellow
code orange
code red
get it through your head
a Dick and a Bush are callin' the shots
We're in good hands
like Allstate

We'll they're doin' it now
and they'll do it again
the fleecing of America
plucking from our mother hen
so send some more of our boys over
and send some bodybags back
just don't take pictures of their coffins

I'm gettin' tired now
I'm gonna not vote
I love my country

copyright 2005-2006 Jim Varagona

Additional Links

Get Your War On
Cindy Sheehan's "Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Soldiers" (7/11/06)...my favorite passage: "The criminal tradition of the enormous profiteering that went on in WWI and all the other wars is going on today in the war crime of Iraq. The Halliburtons, Bechtels, Blackwater Secutities, KBR's, Standard Oils are raking in the billions at a clip that would make Barberry Coast pirate ship Captains' heads spin. The no-bid profiteers are cronies and/or former companies of the vice president and most of the Bush regime. I don't know how the blood-monied devils can look at their own children or grandchildren and not be ashamed and appalled that their insatiable greed killed someone else's flesh and blood!"
Keep up with the casualty count on our side and theirs on AntiWar.com

Spending Time With My Daughter

2006-07-11T23:09:00.000-05:00

My daughter Sadie has really been getting on my case lately since I have been unemployed. She always wants to play ball or have me throw pieces of overcooked waffles at her face. The other day, she sat on me until we did something amazingly fun.

Considering how lazy I am, I taught her how to drive, so she could take me around town for job interviews, getting bon-bons at the grocery store, and filling up the tank. I still haven't perfected having her pump gas though.

I hate that she insists on listening to Top 40 radio. I can only take so much of Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie". Soon she will appreciate the likes of Johnny Cash. Mark my words.

Come Out of Your Hole, Michael McGrath

2006-07-07T00:06:00.000-05:00

The story that never ends and one of the topics that originally pushed me to blog (see DiabetoBlog #1: McGrath Didn't Molest Me...Thank God) is back again with more predictable, yet insane news. From today's STLToday.com:

New lawsuit alleges abuse by often-sued former priest
By Robert Patrick
ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
07/06/2006

The most-sued former priest in St. Louis was sued again Thursday by a man who says he was abused 30 years ago as an altar boy and student at St. Ferdinand Church in Florissant. The 20th lawsuit against Michael McGrath alleges that he fondled the boy, identified only as "John Doe GJ," at least once on an outing sometime between 1976 and 1978. At the time, McGrath was an associate pastor and teacher, and the boy was 10 or 11 years old, the suit says. The man, now around 40 years old and living in Missouri, did not remember what happened until sometime in the past year, said lawyer Ken Chackes. In a prepared statement, the man said that he felt as if his life had "flat-lined," as if he had been "held back."

The suit says that the St. Louis Archdiocese knew or should have known that McGrath had a "dangerous propensity to abuse children" and that the church should have better supervised McGrath. McGrath was ordained in 1975, removed from public ministry in 1997 and laicized in 2005. He served in parishes and schools in St. Louis, St. Louis County and St. Charles County, the archdiocese said. McGrath's lawyer, J. Martin Hadican, said Thursday morning that he could not comment on the lawsuit's allegations. Archdiocese spokesman Tony Huenneke said that the archdiocese had settled or mediated one complaint and 15 lawsuits against McGrath for a total of $793,600. Huenneke said the archdiocese would not have settled the cases if officials did not believe the accusations to be credible.

This is crazy. So this occurence comes from an accuser that "did not remember what happened until sometime in the past year", which is a bit fishy unless you go for the idea of repressed memories. Still, I think this case bears fruit simply because we are dealing with "The most-sued former priest in St. Louis".

Mike, you got to be happy with the ring of that.

It's good that the Archdiocese believes the accusations to be credible and isn't putting up a defense of lies to protect one of their boys...well, he used to be (McGrath was dismissed from the priesthood in February of last year). I still echo my sentiment from my very first blog by asking "where does the settlement money come from?" The close to $800,000 used simply to "settle" with McGrath's many other accusers had to come from somewhere, and considering the fund raising of the Catholic Church, the whole situation makes me feel uneasy.

Speaking of feeling uneasy, my wife was watching the news with me earlier when we learned of this new development.

Notice what his shirt says ("He Knows When You Are Sleeping").

McGrath's crooked sneer flashed on the screen and she asked me sarcastically, "Are you sure he didn't do anything to you?"

It's only been about 9 years since I've seen that piece of filth, so I think the image of such a traumatic event would be burnt in my mind. I'm sure if I was haunted by such a thing that I would find suitable punishment for the man, besides settling for money from his former employer.

The former molesting priest apparently still resides in Richmond Heights (at 1433 Hawthorne Place), which is in the St. Louis Metropolitan area. I'm surprised no one has tracked him down for an interview, to picket in front of his house, or to drag him out and give him lashings.

And what kind of a man defends these idiots? J. Martin Hadican is no stranger to defending holy sex offenders. I easily found reference to him defending none other than Bryan Kuchar, the other molesting priest I came in contact with in my life during a year in grade school at St. Joan of Arc in St. Louis, while he was a transitional deacon, basically one step from being a priest. Kuchar was sentenced to 3 years in jail in November of 2003.

It's a shame that the statute of limitations lets McGrath sit back and relax. There should be a provision that states after so many lawsuits for something so dispicable, you can just throw the guy in jail for a while. If he takes issue with that, I welcome him to speak up for himself, instead of hiding behind his attorney's words. Come out of your hole, you inglorious bastard!

McGrath's timeline on Snap's (Survivor Network For Those Abused By Priests) Midwest Website

UPDATE 6/20/2007: I just watched Deliver Us From Evil, an excellent documentary focusing on a dirty priest. It gives an insightful and disturbing look into the mindset of one of these men.

Jorblessness and the Measure of Success

2006-07-03T01:47:00.000-05:00

I received two passionate responses to "Things Have Changed", a posting in which I dwelled upon the success of NBA players younger than I and compared it to where I am now in my life. I thank Jeremy and Sergio for being consistent readers and for looking out for the Diabeto.

I didn't mean for it to seem like my measure of success is solely based on money. Those b-ballers and shot callers aren't the greatest people on earth, even the best athletes. Considering my plight though, and looking at things from my side of the fence, it would be nice to have some cash, and those boys seem to get it easy.

The posting also dealt with the flow of life, how things can be a certain way for a while, then suddenly change. It certainly keeps things interesting, but can also be a pain in the ass.

I cannot ask for sympathy. Several job leads have come my way, which I have passed upon simply because they were too similar to my last situation. I'd rather keep looking because the taste in my mouth is still pretty friggin' bitter. The "Ramp Down" effect, as the leaked memo from my former employer referred to it as, took me down hard. I don't understand why companies need to change the wording of these things so much when they could just say, "We're downsizing to keep the greenbacks coming", or "Instead of skimming from the bottom of our seniority, we're skimming pond scum...and you're it."

As Sergio suggested, mooching meals works well and keeps the wife fed and happy. She has found employment, but unfortunately the checks won't be seen for weeks, given the time she entered the pay cycle and the stage of the moon at that point.

I am certain that this is all for the better. When you have to create a fictional world of mobsters and intrigue to cover the boring nature of a job as a glorified stockboy, it's probably better off to cut loose. That isn't to say the job didn't have any intrigue, but I'm not so sure that "Secrets of the Retail Servicing World" could bump the ratings juggernaut of "Internet Predators Caught".

It is disturbing to me though, that my charismatic self could be shaved off of the donkey, leaving behind men that torture innocent animals by stomping on them and dragging their feet, leaving behind a bloody mess.

And that's the truth.

The NEW Diabetoboy.com

2006-07-02T13:06:00.000-05:00

I took into account comments that I've gathered since establishing the diabetoboy.com web site. I eliminated the frames, including the annoying welcome banner that followed you everywhere. Now by going to Diabetoboy.com, there is a simple image map to click on that acts as a menu for the site.

I also just replaced the guestbook with something a tad fancier, so if you entered something previously, it is now gone...sorry kids. This is your opportunity though to add something new and fresh as I did.

Until further notice, news will simply be posted through this blog now, because keeping up with the news page was just annoying. I plan to make more changes with time, but I think things look a bit better. Feel free to comment in the guestbook on the changes or just to de-virginize yourself in my guestbook.

Things Have Changed

2006-06-29T13:02:00.000-05:00

"People are crazy and times are strange
I'm locked in tight, I'm out of range
I used to care, but things have changed."

--Bob Dylan, Things Have Changed

Bobby is right, times are strange. And it's odd how I can gauge that. Last night, the annual draft for the NBA occured. That is when the general managers and other head honcho's for the 30 teams in the National Basketball Association get together to pick players from college teams and other international organizations to better their own teams.

For some reason, even though I am not always the biggest fan of watching basketball on TV, I get a great kick out of the business of it. That goes for a lot of sports. In fact, when I play the video game versions, I spend more time on the business aspect of thins than playing the actual games.

I began watching the NBA draft in 1992, for 2 primary reasons--Shaquille O'neal and Anthony Peeler. Shaquille was touted as an animal athelete. He was 7 feet and 1 inch tall and around 300 pounds of man. The Orlando Magic drafted him with the first pick, which they earned through a lottery of the worst teams. He was to be their savior. Shaq did take them to the NBA Finals during the 1995-96 season, but left them in the following offseason for the L.A. Lakers.

During that 1992 NBA Draft, the Lakers selected Anthony Peeler with the 15th pick. Peeler was from the University of Missouri, and the first big pick from my area since Anthony Bonner went to the Sacramento Kings as the 23rd pick in the 1990 Draft. It was exciting since this type of thing didn't happen often. Peeler's career hasn't amounted to much, except for him being a solid player to have off the bench. He did lead the league in three point field goal percentage during the 2003-04 season with the Washington Wizards.

We know where Shaq's career has gone. He just nabbed his 4th NBA title ring with the Miami Heat, the team he left the Lakers for in 2004 after some public feuding with Kobe Bryant.

Since that amazing draft in 1992 that reeled me into the drama of the business of sports, professional basketball in particular, I have watched it every year, at least the first round, since. Keep in mind, I am not the jocky, sporty type of guy. I fit into a more dorky, nerdy mold, if any.

During my high school years, this annual observance involved my good friend, Picklehead, who shared the same passion as I did. We even incorporated the video games, by creating many of the drafted players and trying them out on their new teams. After I graduated, I still watched, but with less enthusiastic parties, that laughed at me for my enjoyment of the business and not the sport itself.

It still was a ritual for me that lasted until this year. It wasn't because the prospects for the draft weren't as good, which they weren't. It wasn't that I didn't have anyone to share my love for it with, which I haven't in a while. My wife thinks it is silly, as much as some of my previous friends have.

Things have changed though.

I have moved out of my parents' place, becoming more independent, but with that, poorer and without cable. Now I am married and currently jobless.

I did have the internet to keep up to date on the happenings of the Draft, but it wasn't the same. Seeing names appearing on my screen wasn't like watching it all unfold with predictions from commentators and interviews with the draftees, who are now all younger than me, and once their name is announced, much richer than I will ever be.

That's how this country works though. In a way, it is still a beautiful thing. Within seconds, one can become a millionaire, based on athletic prowess, or some other talent, which probably doesn't deserve a pile of money. We pay to see their show for us, though, whether it be professional basketball or some rock star playing a guitar on a stage of pyrotechnics, because it's an escape from the nonsense of our daily lives. We can't bash them for that, because we fund their lives.

I think I'll go shoot some hoops now...shit...can't, I have a job interview.

The Angry Rant of a Downsized Diabeto

2006-06-24T20:43:00.000-05:00

Since I am angry, there are things I must address. My analyst says it would be healthy and wise.

To my landlady:

The grass is 3 weeks grown again. Tiny little trees are sprouting that Bob Ross would be proud of--god rest his soul. I refuse to pick up my dog's dung anymore until it is cut, especially considering the insects that now inhabit the wilderness that is the backyard I put rent money towards. They got a healthy lunch in the form of my shins and calves.

In other news, a month and a day after my nuptials, the Don informs me that a week from yesterday will be my last with the company. The official word is that someone had to be downsized. The unofficial word is that, well, I guess my thoughts on that will wait until I separate from the company.

I did think though, as an observation, that downsizing usually skimmed from the bottom of the totem pole. Considering where I am on the ladder of seniority, that theory certainly wouldn't work here. It makes one wonder who to believe and trust.

Since, being put it this lonely and awkward position by a company I put a good 9 months in for, I have no choice but to dissolve the Italian Retail Service, including the honorary Pinoy wing. This will take effect immediately.

Now what do I do during my lame duck week with the company? It feels strange putting forth effort for an organization that deemed me unfit, or too pooped to pop for them. Speaking of that, why is it that it is respectable for employees to give employers two weeks notice, but the employees are not given such respect? Rodney Dangerfield hit the nail on the head with a big ol' Ludell sledgehammer.

Why must business be such a dirty thing? Why must drama and politics infiltrate every aspect of life? I know money has a lot to do with this, because profits are the bottom line. One guy goes, more money is saved. Riddle me this though...what happens to his money while the fat cats add more greenbacks to their bubbly money baths? I'm sure there are plenty more sob stories of those that were spared, but thinking of myself for a moment, I'm trying to start a new life here as a married man, and this is a hell of a fungus ridden foot to start it off on. To continue the analogy, whose gonna be my BOOM!--Tough Actin' TINACTIN?

Save me John Madden.

This also makes me wonder, what do rich people dream about? Apparently our President has plenty of time to dream. It must be alot easier in positions of power, in which your decisions have no effect on your place in life, except maybe bringing you closer to all of those virgins in heaven. I only hope that if the virgins exist, that they are packs of angry nuns. And they'll give them physicals too. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Like it was for Corky on Life Goes On,

Ob-la-di, Ob-la-da, Life Goes On, whoa, la-la-la-la, Life Goes On.

Death TV

2006-06-17T12:44:00.000-05:00

About a week and a half ago, one of our F-16s in Iraq unloaded two 500 pound bombs into the building that sheltered the leader of Al-Qaeda in Iraq, Abu Mussab al-Zarqawi. Our government's news conferences displayed photos of his corpse like a trophy for what we accomplished. It was much like what we did for Saddam's boys, Uday and Qusay, after we annihilated them.

Yep, he's dead.

Yep, them too.

And we see this on the national news too. I wonder how parents explain that to their inquisitive children.

I mean I like that bad guys are dead. Yay. And I guess since our government is known to lie to us a bit, it is good that they have proof that they accomplished something, but it is still a bit weird.

And why is it that when you are watching the national evening news, bombings, murders, and other brutal, bloody events overseas are shown uncensored, even when innocents are involved? Here, our local news may be filled with murders and accidents, but they at least they use a tarp and body bags, especially when a doctor throws himself and his boys from a balcony to protest his rocky marriage, from Alton, Illinois, by the way.

I don't know what kind of precedents we are starting here. I mean I know we live in a sick world, but there is some gray area created here that I cannot figure out. Why is it okay to show the dead of others and not our own? If we do it out of respect, why not give them respect? If we act like it is so horrible that terrrorists show off the kidnapped and murdered, why do we show off their dead and allow our soldiers to have photos of torturing their people?

What a world, what a world.

Speaking of the dead, a woman from St. Peters, Missouri, which isn't too far from me in the STL, beat her dead chihuahua's breeder with the corpse of the dog. Apparently at 5:30 in the morning, she broke into the woman's home to get a new dog, since hers died so soon.

The breeder wrestled the woman out of her house to the front porch, where the woman then hit the breeder over the head numerous times with the dead puppy, the St. Louis Post-Dispatch reported, citing police.

This is what someone should have had a camera ready for and aired on TV. I'm sick of pointless war and terrorism.

Buy a Badonkadonk

2006-06-16T22:45:00.000-05:00

Times are a bit too busy for blogging, what with the being married and servicing so much retail, but I'm trying my best to put finger to the key.

Anyway, I was bored and browsing Amazon earlier today. It's amazing what folks get away with, but still very amusing. Check out this tank someone's selling. A real Badonkadonk tank for $20K, or is it?! I really enjoyed the comments below the description.

You too can find bizzare items for sale (?) on Amazon, like this inflatable party sheep. I wonder how many usable orifices it has, or if that's the kind of gag sheep it is.

A nice throwback item is the family size pack of stink bombs. There's nothing better than strategically placing those around the office or at school. I never did it though, because I was poultry dung as a child.

Glancing at some of these items led me to this Amazon user's guide, which has links to more listings that got through the cracks, like pennies and nickels from 2003. He also lists my favorite real item, Anti-Monkey Butt Powder.

Feel free to comment with more links if you find them.

Blog of a Married Diabeto--a review of the nuptials and honeymoon

2006-06-07T20:49:00.000-05:00

The happy Diabeto's, now in married flavor!

To answer the first question people have naturally been asking me, it feels exactly the same. That's not to say none of what has happened in the last 3 weeks has not been special. The past 5 years have pretty much been a trial marriage with my Russian grandmother, so this is simply the formalizing of it all. Before, we were happy together, like The Turtles' tune, and now we are happily married.

An amazingly flush Diabeto and the Brothers Pinoy

I'd like to thank everyone that shared the occasion with us and those that wished us well. Even the Filipinos and that dirty old man I work with graced us with their presence. Special thanks to the Don for his gift of a set of stainless steel Knorks. We are forever indebted to him.

The ceremony was held at The Jewel Box in Forest Park, here in St. Louis. The weather cooperated and things went swimmingly. Best man Dan Roth managed to keep the rings in his posession until it was time for them to be exchanged. We were so appreciative of this feat achieved by our hippy friend.

At the reception, Dan was a real hit with his speech, during which he quoted Bob Dylan by using his line "How many roads must a man walk down, before you call him a man?" and said I must've walked down my last road. He also said something about my bride and I sailing away into the horizon, which makes me wonder if he got the brown acid. He also did a great rendition of Patsy Cline's "Crazy" with my sister's friend Cara, whcih makes one wonder further (click to watch the video).

My new sister-in-law, Amy, gave a heart wrenching toast, which quoted my first words to her..."I'm bleeding." When I went to pick her older sister up for our first date, she approached me at my vehicle to tell me that if I hurt her sister, she would kick my ass. All I could say was "I'm bleeding," because I just rushed out of the house with a bad shave.

Photos from the wedding and reception will be available for viewing at Collages.net until 7/27. The event name is VARAGONA and the password is 9478. Enjoy.

My babushka and I went on our honeymoon to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. It's great to forget about what time of the day it is, what day of the week it is, and who you are, all without having horribly much to drink. The only drawback is that I get patchy burns in the sun. You'd think my Italian blood would put me more on par with my Pinoy brethren, but my midsection ended up looking more like Gorbachev's head.

We did go parasailing, but have yet to develop the photos. That is probably for the best, considering I was whining like Woody Allen, because the knot didn't look secure and we were over water that I couldn't see through, except for the masses of jellyfish, that I later found out were an order whose sting couldn't hurt humans.

The best part of the honeymoon was that we accidentally went during Bike Week, which happens every Memorial Day weekend. First the Harley boys and girls come through town and take over. We missed them. Then the sport bikers come through, which is mainly made up of young black men. Behind 80% of those men on their bikes, was a large assed black female, with variations of decoration on their buttocks, ranging from fishnet to thong to a lightly draped short skirt. We sure did get a kick out of all of the cottage cheese we got to see. Although I did not get a photo of the real thing, the following t-shirt on sale there, illustrates this amazing sight.

And then it was back to the rat race of the IRS and our new married life. We'll always have those asses though.

Just Married

2006-05-25T14:17:00.000-05:00

I was married on Sunday to my gal of 5 years, Shannon. Can't you tell from the look on her face that she wanted me? We'll be away for awhile, so stay tuned for my return after the first week on June.

Weird Scenes Inside the Depot

2006-05-15T23:08:00.000-05:00

Work has been odd lately. I really can't tell if I like it or despise it. The IRS is a demanding group. The Don has begun referring to me as Lieutenant, which is flattering, but at the same time, puts a lot of pressure on me.

"Keep the Filipinos in line," he tells me. "They're creating payroll issues with hours. You're gonna have to gaffle 'em."

Did I sign up for this?

No, but my Italian heritage gave me this life, and I must accept it. Even if I have a BA, my calling is in retail servicing. If only the benefits were better, and the damn pirates stayed away from my products.

I have said this before, but I worked for the major fertilizer and grass seed company last year. This year, I work for their competition. My job is to make displays and make the products look pretty. These dirty grass seed pirates from the competition feel the need to destroy my displays by trashing them or slashing holes through it until it is unrecognizable like a baby calf at the veal factory. I come into my stores only to find emptied bags of seed, with holes riddled all over it. This is not the work of mice, no, this is most definitely the work of the pirates.

Why do they do it? Is there a sick satisfaction in it? I suppose so, because there is no monetary bonus for these workers at the bottom of the totem pole. They move our products where no one can see them and take over prime spaces. They throw my displayers away. BASTARDS!

They have a stranglehold on the stores that they are merchandised in because of their fancy national advertising campaigns with B-grade baseball stars. They sell more than the rest only because they defeat their competition through these dirty tactics. Management can't do anything about it. They are bullied as well or bribed with promises of enough free fertilizer to cover 20,000 square feet and kill all of the pests that inhabit their lawn.

Our only way to fight back is to fight fire with fire. They have more manpower though. The trick is to squash them when their not looking, to use trick plays. And only then will they swim with the fishes.

Aside from the pirates, one of the my cohorts in the IRS has been exiled. When things like this occur, it is only human for rumors and innuendo to follow. I can only hope that this isn't the beginning of the downfall of the IRS. If one guy slips up, does he take others with him? I doubt it.

Change happens at the most inopportune times. You can only roll with the punches. That goes for the war with your opponents and the drama of everyday relationships.

And you must always watch your back. I was once a pirate. I have learned much.

How I Met My Future Wife--Pt. I

2006-05-14T21:15:00.000-05:00

I will be wed in about a week now. It's not too much of a frightening thought, because I am practically married now. The only real nerve wracking part is dealing with all of this formality. Granted I have not done much to actually get ready for this wedding, not by my choice, but still just watching Shannon try to organize all of this with the musicians, the DJ, the photographer, the flowers, the officiant, the wedding site, the reception hall, the cake, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah...I go nuts too.

When it comes to this point in someone's life, one common question is "how did you kids meet?" I am starting a series of blogs, beginning with this one, to answer just that. You may be thinking that you don't want to hear some long, sappy story of love at first sight and puppy dog eyes. You shant get that here. I give different stories for how we met. They are all true, but I can't pick just one as the time we first met. It's not fair.

I was down on my luck with the ladies back in early 2001. My buddy Josh had made some attempts to introduce me to ladies. We even tried spraying brandy on each other with a syringe before going to parties, so girls thought we were already drunk, but sadly it did not work.

One day he told me that the Sexy Mex and her friend Shannon were to come over my place. It was awkward because he was doing this for me and I had never met these gals before. To help myself relax, I decided to wear my official Diabetoboy helmet. I used it when I rolled down hills and performed comedic routines in it when my blood sugar went too low.

The girls arrived and I was quite taken by Shannon, the blonde. I'm not sure if Josh noticed this or not, but to lighten the mood, he decided it would be a good idea to have a lap dance contest amongst myself, him, and Chuck, a big boy that Josh worked with and that I knew from grade school. I don't remember the songs played, but I know we were playing a lot of Tom Jones and Prince back then, so you can get an idea.

Josh and I showing off our mad skills

The other two schmucks were nothing compared to me. I stood on the couch over Shannon and shook what my Mother gave me (Happy Mom's Day by the way). I even involved a prop. A device I acquired from my late Uncle John that looked like a corded phone base with a triangle shaped plastic piece corded to it came in handy. It was actually to be used for patients with pacemakers to phone their doctors and let the doc hear the unit. I enjoyed the "bleep" and "bloop" sounds it made though, so I rubbed it on my chest seductively as it made its music.

Needless to say, I won the contest, but after the scores were announced, Shannon withdrew my win and gave it to Josh, simply because she knew him better and felt weird about letting a stranger win.

I still won't let her live that down, but I still got her in the end. And every once in a while, we will break out that noisemaking device for fun.

Bachelor/ette Party Hijinks

2006-05-09T23:53:00.000-05:00

I am a married man in less than two weeks. So far it hasn't sunk in much, except during our premarital counseling sessions. It's so much fun to review why this is and is not a good idea. Luckily, it mostly is.

On Friday, we had our joint Bachelor/ette Party. We envisioned it at as an extravaganza with stripping midgets and plenty of penis and boobie macaroni and cheese for everyone. Neither happened due to lack of funds...you'd be surprised how much a stripping midget costs. Throw in your obligatory half off joke there.

Anyway, the place we planned to have it at turned out to be closed when we got there. Having connections with the management is not necessarily a good thing. So please never give business to The All American Bar and Grill in St. Louis County.

Thank you.

About 15 of our party showed up there on time to find us gathered at picnic tables in front.

What almost was a Bachelor/ette Party Picnic

We left that joint for greener pastures in South City at Crusoe's, where we had a grand ole time.

The entire Filipino Mafia came to send me off into the marital abyss by purchasing multiple alcoholic beverages for me and my lady. Most of our wedding party was there as well, including best man Daniel Rothstein, who floated around in an inebriated state.

Hollywood Daniel Rothstein, the best man

It is difficult at such events to spend equal time with folks. I tried as best I could with a fake ball and chain attached to my ankle given to me by one Babyface Pinoy. Penis lollipops were distributed to the female guests, and were surprisingly worth my money, since they lasted through the 3 hour plus affair. I even sampled one myself.

I did my best to rope off our area of the bar with "Orgy Zone" caution tape, but it kept getting wrapped around people like myself and Babyface Pinoy's little brother, whose given name is Marquestro, especially by some dirty old man that works with us in the Italian Retail Service. He told me it was okay because he bought me a shot of the finest Irish whiskey in the place. I told him I had the finest Irish lady in the place and if he so much laid a hand on her, I would have Big Boy Pinoy annihilate him.

A dirty old man introduces Marquestro the Pinoy to the Orgy Zone.

Things went well though, considering the love in the air and the location mishap to begin the night. Most left saying they had never been so drunk. Since I paid for nothing, except for some penis-shaped pops, I would say the night was a rousing success.

Cheaper Gas In St. Louis Than In Kuwait?!

2006-05-07T22:06:00.000-05:00

Babyface Pinoy called me yesterday to tell me he discovered a pump at his local BP on the south side that was dispensing gas from the Silver slot at 27 cents a gallon. He had already filled up three of the cars at his place for under fifteen bucks. I explained to him that we couldn't drop everything and go there, but we would head that way once we were done with our business at the cemetery.

The few in on the secret

An hour later we arrived at the station. Babyface was there getting ready to fill up car number four. People were at the pumps looking pretty angry. Apparently the cheap gas had run out. At least that's what the first excuse we got was. An Arab looking fellow who was working there ran out and began pulling the pumps out of people's tanks. A few got yelled at him for touching their vehicles. It looked as if punches would be thrown, but it didn't happen. More cars pulled up to cash in on this deal that was spreading by word of mouth. The worker intercepted each new customer saying that the pumps were out of order. This obviously was not true considering some had just put as much as 34 gallons in their tank and for under ten bucks!

34 Gallons for Under $10!

The folks at the pumps refused to leave until they received gas at the price which was still indicated on the pump at 27 cents a gallon. They said someone spoke with the cops and the officer told them that those at the pumps should receive it at the current price. The Arab worker ran out with register tape in hand (which he was keeping very close to hide it from some) telling people to leave because they were closed, which was contrary to the neon sign in the window.

We stuck around a little longer until the worker and some of his cohorts got the price corrected, which should have just involved moving a decimal point on the computer. The crowd slowly disappeared as their dreams of dirt cheap gas were flushed down the drain. For several hours though in south St. Louis, the gas was cheaper than it was in Kuwait.

"Death, Taxes, and MySpace?"

2006-04-28T19:38:00.000-05:00

I have to admit that I check on my MySpace daily. MySpace is that site all over the news for being a playground for sexual predators because stupid kids put every detail of their life on these personal web pages, including addresses and cell phone numbers. I may be a scary guy, but I am not one of those scary guys.

It is an addicting thing that seems to be growing daily in our society. Apparently its membership grows by tens of thousands each day. I must say the numbers are padded by pages for role players, like many of my MySpace friends, who say they are "Viagra" or "Andy Warhol". It's weird though, to consider how many people's lives it is a part of. I recently discovered MyDeathSpace.com, which really puts it all in perspective. The site lists people who are on MySpace that have died, whether it be by falling off a cliff or falling off of a skateboard while trying to ride it holding on to a car. Not only that, but it lists how they died and gives corresponding news articles. Regular people that became murderers are even listed. With each listing is a link to that person's MySpace profile, frozen in time, but still collecting comments from friends. It's bizzare and yet fascinating. This is definitely a sign of the times.

Record Suicides In the Army and Otherwise

2006-04-23T01:55:00.000-05:00

It comes as no surprise to me to read in the news that "The number of U.S. Army soldiers who took their own lives increased last year to the highest total since 1993, despite a growing effort by the Army to detect and prevent suicides."

The situation over there looks pretty bleak and hopeless. I only hope the Iraqis are enjoying their new found freedom and liberty that ol' Georgie was told by the Lord to give them.

The article that reported this fact went on to state:

The Army rate is higher than the civilian suicide rate for 2003, which was 10.8 per 100,000, according to the National Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. But the Army number tracked closely with the rate for civilians aged 18-34, which was 12.19 per 100,000 in 2003.

I must say that last fact is a shame, but makes a bit of sense. People in that age group are entering "the real world" and are still trying to figure themselves and life in general out.

I know a guy that was headed for Iraq; I can only assume that is where he is now. He was a friend of my brother's growing up. I saw him around Thanksgiving, right before he was to head out. I was not going to preach to him about my views against this war. He has probably heard it enough from others. Who knows which side of the fence he's on anyway? A lot of the boys in the military, I feel, are simply lost and a guaranteed paycheck from the government doesn't sound half bad.

He told me the money was good for him and that the experience would help him get a job in law enforcement when he got out. Before he left, he was married. Who knows how long it will be before his wife sees him again?

One thing he told me stood out. As he said it, I saw the fear and uneasiness. He said to me, "They train you to be ready to die. I don't want to die, but I'm ready."

...Just for money and a future.

I can only imagine thousands of other lost boys like him. The fear must always be in them. Is this worth it? Why can't we take care of out issues here before interfering in other countries' affairs, which we fabricated in the first place as a threat to us?

I don't understand this at all.

At least the boys overseas don't have many nail guns. A 33 year-old Oregon man went into a hospital complaining of a headache. It turns out he got high on meth and shot 12 nails into his head with a nail gun trying to kill himself. Somehow his head wasn't permanently damaged much...from the nails.

How Not to Attempt Suicide--by Nailgun (photo from MSNBC-TV)

The article matter-of-factly states that "No one before is known to have survived after intentionally firing so many foreign objects into the head". We need to clone this guy and send those boys into the Middle East. Our new Army of meth crazed super freaks. That way we don't have to worry about the fragile mental state that we are putting them in.

Fun with Ceiling Fans

2006-04-17T21:55:00.000-05:00

My fiance and I live in a quirky place. I have blogged about our adventures with rodents, but haven't really touched on much else. The legal ramifications may be too risky at this point. I cannot, however, avoid this rant.

We live in a two family flat. When our landlady decorated the joint, she added pretty spiffy ceiling fans, two upstairs and two downstairs in fact. They even have their own remote controls for the ultimate in laziness. The problem lies in the technology and the thought process.

The fans have no code or anything that distinguishes one from the next, so using the remote can get tricky. Say I turn on the light on the fan in the living area, but my fiance is sleeping in the other room. If the switch to the fan in the other room is on, the light will go on along with the intended one. This goes for the fan itself as well. Like I said, great idea on paper, but already a little silly.

Up until last night, it has only happened a few times that the gal upstairs didn't like her fan or light being on, and therefore turned one or both of ours off along with hers. It was humorous. I even spent a few hours at one time, going back and forth with them. Or is that what is going on?

I will say that we were warned of this when we moved in, but she didn't make a big deal of it. Now is it truly the gal upstairs fighting with us electronically, or is it some kind of bad signal or interfering signal? Could it even be a ghost? Could this be the ghost of my late brother messing with my head? And what does the neighbor lady think if the same occurences are happening upstairs? Does she think we are complete assholes for playing tug-o-war with ceiling fan remote signals? My head hurts.

So last night was a warm night. We have had unusually warm temperatures in this area recently. Our mice even expressed to us that they can leave now because the cold weather has left. We had the A/C on plus various fans. When you have a fan above you, you must take advantage of it, unless you are horribly allergic to the crap flying through the air. Our bedroom fan was on full blast...for about 10 seconds. What followed was like Shock and Awe with ceiling fans. Throughout the night, we went back and forth.

Lights and fan on.

Then off.

Then fan on.

Then off.

Lights on, then off.

It was complete and utter nonsense that we have to attempt to sleep through such torture. We were dripping in sweat as much as we tried to avoid it. The fans wouldn't stay on for more than 10 or 15 seconds. Just as we would get our hopes up, the insurgents would add their signal to the fray. It was maddening, especially for my lady. The enemy was psyching us out.

We sincerely thought of this as war. How could someone punish us like this? If you don't like the fan, flip the switch. Don't make us suffer by using the convenient little remote to turn it off. Or were we at war with a new type of enemy--one of the supernatural kind or the super-technological kind? I have a sneaky suspicion that Republicans are behind this mess.

Ours...and The Don's Gas Crisis

2006-04-11T20:50:00.000-05:00

The Don of The Italian Retail Service visited me at work the other day and sat me down at a pation furniture display.

"Don Diabeto, something is troubling me", he said in a somber tone.

"What is it sir? Do you need me to crack a patio umbrella over some poor soul's shins?"

"No, Don Diabeto. We may need to castrate somebody though. You see I went to get gas today. I gave the attendant a Lincoln. He proceeded to pull a cup out and fart into it. He then handed me the cup and went on his merry way." The Don was obviously tense and angered.

"This is the price we pay for giving others freedom, liberty, and democracy", I retorted.

Just then, I faintly heard the polyphonic version of The Grateful Dead's "Casey Jones". It was Daniel Rothstein, of The Daniel Rothstein Blues Revolution and my best man for my upcoming wedding.

"Jimbo, I dreamt about that guy you blogged about, the crazy one that said he would castrate Bush."

I listened on.

"I was just watching him. Suddenly Bush appeared and he was writhing in pain, clutching himself. The guy told him, 'Now you are just a Bush.'"

I considered telling The Don this humorous story, but thought it might rub him wrong at this point and proceed to fart in a cup and rub it in my face. I told Daniel goodbye.

"Who is worth disrespecting me and interrupting our conversation?", he demanded of me.

"Oh, that was Baby Face Pinoy. He says he's stranded in Jesusland without any gas."

I saw the steam burst from my boss's ears. "I'LL GIVE THAT FILIPINO SOME GAS."

The Don stormed off, and I fell asleep under a gazebo indoors, dreaming of gnomes and Butt Paste.

Criminal Act to Say Bush Should Be Castrated--Who's Crazy?

2006-04-07T19:22:00.000-05:00

Out of East St. Louis today, a hop, skip, and a jump over the river from me, the AP reports a mental patient now faces federal charges because he told two workers at his mental health center that he wanted to castrate our President. The workers told Secret Service, and upon interview, the man, Arafat Nijmeh, told the agents that his threat “is not too harsh, considering what he has done to my country. If not that than maybe something else, you know?”

He now faces two felony charges for “knowingly and willfully” threatening to harm Dubya.

What is our country coming to? I'm sure some left wing pundits or comics have said something similar in the past, considering our President's controversial reign. He didn't say he would kill the man, or that he had an elaborate plan to do this. I'm sure many people unhappy with Bush and our country at this point has said something similar at some point. Watch your back. Big Brother's out there.

Bush and his cronies' differing accounts of how much to cut off.

On a side note, Nijmeh was staying at the Alton Mental Health Center, north of East St. Louis. I have worked in those parts. Alton is home to Robert Wadlow, who measured at 8 feet 11 inches as the tallest man on this planet. The city honors him with a statue at the Southern Illinois University School of Dental Medicine and a municipal golf course named after him. Why dental medicine? I suppose the dentists appreciate the fine bone growth. Golfing might have been quite entertaining involving such a sasquatch though.

Wadlow...more like Weirdo.

Maybe the people of Alton are crazy. Maybe they should be criticized for worshiping a golden cow. I am only fooling, but why can't we simply have the freedom of criticizing somebody by saying they should have their penis removed. John Wayne Bobbit most likely deserved it. No one is calling for anyone's head...well, you know what I mean. In fact in my MySpace profile, I say I'd most like to meet the President , "so that I may bite his nose off." It isn't meant to be taken as that, but as a fun way of saying "I don't like him", and what is wrong with that if 64% of the country disapproves of the way he is running this country (a new all time low for Bush and his elephant friends)? Have we no freedom and liberty here?

Let the Folks In Jesusland Know: Jesus Walked On Ice, Not Water

2006-04-04T22:51:00.000-05:00

I have spoken of my journey into Jesusland, where folks believe in drinking blood to get drunk and eating flesh as a tribute to their faith. But seriously, the crew at Disinfo.com find some great stuff. Today they link to a LiveScience article that suggests Jesus may have actually walked on crystal clear ice patches and not water as previously assumed. I knew this would eventually happen. The whole Jesus thing is unraveling now, just like Santa Claus did when I was a kid. Next thing we'll find out is that George W. Bush is the antichrist that Nostradamus predicted in the Black Scrolls.

...Or maybe he is.

Some more questions before I go...

If Adam and Eve were real, does that mean we are all inbred? If they weren't real, what's the true story behind it all?
Why do men leave boogers behind above urinals? Is this the freedom that God intended to give us?
If God gave America democracy, what made us so special? Was it Jerry Lewis? He won the French over.
Why don't parents enact their free will when their little boys tug at themselves? If I had a son that did that, I'd tie his hands up. It would be embarassing to me, yet I see it a lot, and the parents let it happen. Don't they know that's how serial rapists are born.

Adieu. Adieu. To you and you and you. (I used to watch that movie backwards.)

Disaster Strikes at Wal-Mart

2006-04-02T20:07:00.000-05:00

The fiance and I have been working on our wedding invites all weekend. It saves abunch of money doing it yourself, but takes a lot of time. I never realized I could be so passionate about certain fonts.

Anyway, today we set out to get seals for the envelopes. We hit up Party City, which certainly is, and got what we needed. The weather forecasters were then predicting severe weather, but who listens to those bozos anyway. We decided to go to pick up some ribbon for our favors while we were out, even though the skies were beginning to look a bit suspicious.

I was headed for Hobby Lobby, but our sense of budgeting and penny piching took over. We decided to go to the evil Wal-Mart instead, which I have done a pretty good job avoiding, but when it comes to ribbon, I figure save the fifty cents and give a kid in a sweat shop a job. I'm kidding, but saving money means a lot when you have none. That's the trap these corporations put you in, and it works so well.

Of course the prices on pretty white ribbon were amazing, so we grabbed it, then the lights went out. I had experienced this before at Target and Home Depot, so it wasn't a big deal, but Wal-Mart's backup lights sucked and were for the most part non-existent. We considered shopping more, then as the rain and winds came, we considered running out with a cart full of merchandise like those folks in New Orleans did. Before we could finish our thought process, waves of people screaming "TORNADO!" started running our way.

This was it, the big one.

It was insane. Crowds were amassing at the rear of the store, some even daring to run into the back stock room for shelter. The workers didn't even know what to do. As much as they wanted to rely on their walkie-talkies, they couldn't hear anything because of the sounds of people screaming and crying.

Then it hit me--walk into a crowded theater and yell fire, or walk into a crowded Wal-Mart during a power outage and yell tornado. I called my mother for some kind of outside confirmation, because this all could be some really good, yet sick, joke. She did confirm that there were rotations in my area and a Tornado Warning was issued for the area we were in, but there was no confirmation of any touchdowns.

It was enough to calm us down, then the lights came on. We started to make our way to the office section for some envelopes when the lights went out again. This time management tried to gather customers at the center of the store, but we decided to keep shopping. It's the American way. I'll go down in a tornado, shopping no less...and for less.

I overheard different strategies people had. It is bizzare what you consider at a moment like this. One woman wanted to be near the food in case we were trapped, so she could be the closest to something to eat. A couple were running to the pillows and linens, to be near soft things in case of flying glass and other objects. I just wanted to go take a crap because the whole situation was making me feel funny.

We made it to the front lanes to check out. Some were trying to escape at this point. I noticed some women talking to an employee. One exclaimed, "What?! Why didn't anybody tell us? What about my car?"

I thought maybe it meant hail or something, but I wasn't sure of much. We got to the door, and the greeter was suddenly armed with a flashlight and checking receipts. Suddenly the most kind person in the store (and usually elderly or handicapped) has power. I just wanted to leave.

As we approached the exit to the outside, I noticed slabs of drywall scattered across the parking lot, apparently from the Lowe's next door. The "1 Hour Photo" sign was destroyed from the winds and the "T" in the Wal-Mart sign was about to come crashing down.

The winds had calmed, but the rain was still coming down along with lightning across the gray skies. We were home free, but we know never to go back to Wal-Mart, because we received a sign.

Strange Days in Jesusland with the IRS

2006-03-31T20:04:00.000-06:00

I spent three long days in Poplar Bluff, Missouri starting on Monday and going through Thursday. I had no choice in the matter. They wanted the best and the brightest of the local IRS (Italian Retail Service) chapter to head down there to clean up one of those big box home improvement warehouses. The Don couldn't make the journey though, due to another Don coming into town to look into the local boys' retail servicing skills.

The drive there was long; a third of it spent on a single lane highway. We even passed through Zion, Missouri. Zion is the New Jerusalem according to the Church of Latter Day Saints. I saw no such thing. We must still be years away. Someone should tell all of the flea market owners there to clear out if that's the case.

It does make sense that Zion was along the way though. Poplar Bluff itself seemed to be the capital of Jesusland. After work, we drove the streets of this odd town, because there was nothing else to do, except admire the new coat of paint on the Kmart or the recent expansion of the KFC. During our drives, I spotted a church on about every 3 blocks. There were quite a few Baptist, but also Protestant and Jehovah's Witness places of worship to boot. I really wonder what the ratio of people to each church is.

He certainly does. That's how we ended up in this mess.

There weren't any Catholic churches in sight, not to say that there aren't any at all, but it is still worth noting. At least I didn't have to fear an abundance of nuns and priests to go along with the abundance of churches.

I can't say the townsfolk necessarily seemed religious. The few I encountered weren't the kindest though. They were a bit more relaxed. As we worked at the retail establishment, workers would take turns napping on their breaks on the patio furniture we assembled not too long ago.

At the store, my brethren of the Filipino Mafia and I encountered oodles of colonies of mice, which seems to be a theme in my life. They were attracted to the mounds of grass and bird seed we were re-arranging. As we moved each pallet of seed, we would reveal a layer of seed, which was sprinkled with mouse excrement and the smell of their urine.

Grass seed nest of mice

One by one, live adult mice and their babies, even the pinkies, would crawl out. It startled our Gonzo foreman so much that he stomped a few.

An artist's rendition of our foreman

(actually a swell painting of Hunter S. Thompson by Prince of Space)

"My god, there gonna eat us alive", he told us.

They did outnumber us, but as friend to the mice from my escapades, I tried to take the friendlier route. When Gonzo looked away, I nudged dozens of fetal mice to safety, where most likely they would die without the assistance of the adults, but I felt better at least. I felt like anOscar Schindler to my rodent friends. That isn't to say we were out to kill them, but we had to disrupt their nests for our job, and as they scurried about, there were unwanted casualties.

Fetal mice fleeing the nest.

The stench was horrible. The ammonia in their urine was unavoidable. One of the Pinoys fell over wretching from the scents entering the feelers in his nose. He became angry and began kicking in the air, such as he does when he has a nightmare (I was his roommate). We all became angry...you can't help it once you've seen a mad Filipino. There was grass and bird seed scattered everywhere and it was littered with the waste of what seemed to be at least 100 mice. Witnessing this made me feel better about my apartment, which has only seen 11 die in about two months.

It took us an entire day to clean the area of the mess, which boiled down to 13 plus hours of work. The mice helped the store lose more money by destroying its seed than the stores in the city here lose to theft. The four of us needed more than showers. We needed someone to hose us down--prison style.

Since there were no prisons in sight, we simply showered and looked for a nightcap. Just on the outskirts of town was a new joint called Shenanigans. A cowboy, with that generic Jeff Foxworthy look, carded us after we entered. We sat down to a table and a waitress carded us. I had a feeling this place must've been caught serving to 12 year olds before. That's forgiveable when you're that close to Arkansas though.

There was an odd mood to the place. It looked normal enough, with the dark lighting and neon signs. The music seemed to be coming from a nice-sized boombox though and they only played cover songs. I had no idea there was a punk version of Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire", but I guess you can make anything into a punk song. My favorite is a take on John Denver's "Leaving on a Jet Plane".

The menu we received reminded me of a high school test. It was simply printouts of black type on white paper, which were stapled together. The appetizers were all $4.95, and were the usual bar fare, except for the bowl of barbequed smokies, which Big Boy Pinoy ordered. There was also Cap'N Crunch coated chicken strips for $6.95, which were tempting, but you can't pay that much for something that you don't know much about in a place smack dab in the middle of Jesusland.

Since the day was so crappy, you can't really expect the night to be much better. Big Boy felt ripped off by the Deppression era portion of smokies. Baby Face Pinoy got potato skins, with cheese that wasn't even melted. Only my meal, which consisted of mighty fine spicy hot wings, was satisfying.

The entertainment consisted on vintage athletic competitions on TV, such as the baton throwing and weightlifting championships, which were interesting, but not enough to lift our mood. We considered dining and dashing, but I reminded the boys of the fate of the men in Deliverance, so we paid, but snubbed on the tip.

Wednesday went a lot smoother, but still almost as long. The mice frolicked around us, almost taunting us, but we didn't uncover any nests. We just wanted to leave that place. We finished what we could, which didn't fit our required amount, but what can you do when you're fending off rodents left and right. It was by far our worst experience in our field, and we are the best in our field. We won the goddamned Retail Servicing Cup.

As we left Poplar Bluff, I got a stomach ache. It was from a nasty Chinese buffet we had earlier, but I think it was also from everything else we endured. I looked around at my co-workers as my belly churned. I knew we would never be the same after our experiences in this odd place. What we shared couldn't possibly be conveyed to others, but hopefully you can understand a bit.

In Response to the Mice Lovers...

2006-03-26T21:29:00.000-06:00

I got a decent response from my posting about the mice.

Jeremy Stamp, whose site I referred to for its chronicles of his mouse problems, sarcastically thanked me for the extra hits it got him. He also suggested that I bag the dead mice for the land people. Believe it or not, we are thinking on the same wavelength. I have bagged 4 out of the 11 mice. At one point, the landlady knocked on the door saying, "I see you have been bagging and labeling mice." It was priceless.

We were still told that we must maintain a cleaner place, which was BS, considering the collective OCD between my fiance and myself. I think it has more to do with people avoiding admission of the faults of themselves and their facilities.

As for those that responded by stating that I should use more humane ways of catching mice, I understand your concern, but it is not always realistic. Because I caught a squealing mouse in a glue trap and eased its suffering with a dose of insulin shouldn't garner someone calling me an "ass" and wishing that I never get laid. I am engaged, so the latter is hardly possible. As for catching and releasing, this isn't fishing. We had 9 mice caught in a 48 hour period. Those Victor snap traps worked well for that barrage of rodents. I think I would get more of a bad response from people if I caught 9 live mice in my apartment and then went to my local park to set them free. We don't want the kids in the community playing on a swingset and having to deal with diseased mice.

And as an update to this mess, since number 11 was caught a week ago, things have calmed down. We heard a lot of activity in the day that followed, even in our bedroom, which is creepy and affects how you sleep...trust me. I did pick up some of those Black and Decker plug in pest repellers that emit ultrasonic sound waves that mess with the nervous system of rodents and bugs, therefore driving them out of your roost. It surprisingly has seemed to work. We haven't heard a peep or a chew. I was actually expecting all of them to climb out from the ceiling and walls screeching because I was ruining their insides with this device, but sadly enough they just shut up.

If they do return, I have two glue traps left. I plan on using everything I paid for, especially since they have worked. The four catch and release traps I bought haven't worked at all. I will say that if any portion of my deposit is withheld, that I have bags of mice that can persuade otherwise along with the Filipino Mafia that has been known to have a similar effect, not to mention quite a few receipts for these killing devices. I can't let the critters or the Land People get the best of me. Never!

We Make Your Clothes Smell Ganja Fresh!

2006-03-25T18:46:00.000-06:00

The above is a sign that I spotted in the window of a dry cleaning business in Ballwin, MO. I wonder if the Tuesday Special involves free Cheetos.

Give Me Mice or Give Me Mice Testicles!

2006-03-24T17:16:00.000-06:00

The mouse situation has calmed down a bit at my apartment. Since my Feb. 21 blog telling of number 9 (number 9, number 9), we have only captured two more. Number 10 was a milestone, but otherwise uneventful. Number 11, however, is another story.

Mouse #10

I heard mouse chirps faintly coming from drawers where we keep our towels. I called my fiance over to listen. The rhythm of the sound reminded us both of a pornographic mouse, not that we know what that necessarily sounds like, but imagine Meg Ryan in "When Harry Met Sally" except played by a live mouse. I emptied out the drawers carefully, expecting to find copulating mice. I found nothing. Then I remembered a glue trap we set underneath the chest of drawers. Sure enough, there was the victim in obvious pain. I had to relieve it, so I gave it a fatal dose of my insulin. It wasn't fatal enough apparently, so we gave it one more. I can hear "Taps" playing as we speak (or I type...or you read).

Mouse #11, Death by Insulin?

After a MySpace friend saw the photo that accompanied DiabetoBlog #100, he messaged me back with a page from his site which chronicles his problems with mice and the photos of the dead. The rest of his site is fun too.

Also in the world of mice, an AP report from today reports that their testicles may be the key to ending the stem cell debate. German scientists have discovered that the testicular cells in mice behave like embryonic stem cells in humans. Silly Germans. Apparently they will try getting the same type of cells from human testicles to see if they have the same effects. Any volunteers?

The article on MSNBC.com attributes the following to Dr. Hassenfuss, who is leading the research:

If such cells are found in men, "then we have resolved the ethical problem with human embryonic stem cells," he said in a telephone interview.
That would also open the door to removing testicular cells from a male patient, growing some tissue the patient needs, and transplanting that tissue into the same man without fear of biological rejection, he noted.
The mouse cells were found to give rise to a variety of specialized cells in the lab, including heart
cells that contracted and nerve cells that produced dopamine, the chemical messenger that Parkinson's patients lack, he said.
Cells typical of the liver, skin, pancreas and blood vessels were produced as well, he said.

I suppose I should be nicer to my rodents if I ever want my Diabetes cured. But then again, the War on Mice is about the bigger picture, not my selfish reasons. It is about freedom and liberty.

I Was An Adolescent Transvestite

2006-03-20T22:08:00.000-06:00

I was at my parents' place the other day. My mother had found a few photos of me that she was proudly displaying on a china cabinet. The photos just happened to be of me in drag. I'd estimate my age to be around 10. It is amazing that my parents allowed me to do such things at such a ripe age, especially my father. One can only wonder what he thought of me, or what they think of me now. Anyway, here they are...

I can safely say I was a piece of ass. My future wife should be proud. And hopefully my parents can find more of this gold in their archives, like that picture of Richard Simmons holding me as a baby at a book signing in a Venture store.