Once a feared and respectable place of confinement, the newly renovated facility has turned into a riotous frat house since the arrival of Drew Peterson. He may be behind bars, but it sure sounds like he's getting the royal treatment of a Saudi oil sheik. He's privileged with a private shower, his own room, a law library, a personal driver, armed bodyguards-- the list goes on.

Peterson has been busy hanging out in his cozy abode since May 7, facing a couple first-degree murder charges stemming from the death of his third wife Kathleen Savio. According to convicted sources on the inside, Drew is steaming mad about the jail's food selection. Say, how would you like to be a jail chef and have, of all people, Drew Peterson slam your southern-style cooking?

Aside from the food, I'm going to guess that his cot isn't exactly a king-size Posturepedic. My main concern is how Drew manages to pass the time. It's boring being in solitary confinement. That is, until defense attorney Joel Brodsky shows up.



According to Joe Hosey reports, Will County State's Attorney Jiminy Glasgow is now asking the court to order Brodsky and Peterson to cut out their jailhouse card games. Glasgow filed a motion alleging Brodsky showed up for a May 24 visit with Peterson at 1:10 p.m. Ten minutes later, according to the motion, Peterson and Brodsky were playing cards, doing shots of Jack and hitting on female-looking guards. Okay, so the last two items aren't entirely true. There are, in fact, very attractive women who work in law enforcement.

But seriously, does Glasgow have to file a motion to stop Drew's only entertainment? Give the guy a break. Drew hasn't even been convicted of anything yet and he's being busted for some Agin-the-Law Card Playin' when the warden wasn't looking. Shucks. Next they'll take away his personal phone time. How will Drew continue to spoil potential jury pools if he can't be heard on Mancow or WLS?

So what's a guy gotta do to get poor old Peterson out of the can? His only feasible option is to secretly keep playing no-limit Texas Hold 'Em in hopes of pulling in $2 million. Otherwise, he'll continue to use soap on a rope a little longer.

Peterson returns to court June 17. In the mean time, could we get a couple beers in there for him?

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*Editors note: The Associated Press declares the word "alright" is never all right.

While cleaning out my desk and packing up my editing tools in the newsroom, I happened upon a copy of a local sports magazine that ceased circulation after its first edition. Its failure probably had something to do with the lack of professional sports teams in Joliet.

But as far as semi-pro recreation goes, everyone knows Joliet is a JackHammer town. And wouldn't you know it, my great-great grandfather was a basetender for the 'Hammers in the 1850s.

Although back in those days, they played in a limestone quarry -- nothing like the luxurious grass at Silver Cross Field you see today. Games in the quarry only lasted about 20 minutes because the air conditions were deplorable. The matches were poorly attended out of fear that the original mascot, a Bengal tiger, would break loose and eat bystanders. Sadly, many of the founding players eventually died of consumption or tuberculosis and the league was discontinued until 2002.

So if nothing else, I'm proud to say my own kin was featured on the cover of Joliet SportWise magazine. It's a shame the publication fell out of favor in the community. Where else am I going to find historical sports commentary?

1. Bridges. The one-way roads leading us in are just fine. But wait! It's a setup! Get out! All roads leading out of the downtown trap are "struck up." We still haven't found the way out of town so now we telecommute to work. It's the domestic sequel of "A Bridge Too Far."

Homeless man Brian Delaney crosses over the Jackson Street bridge in Joliet as the Cass Street bridge malfunctions in the background, flipping cars into the river.(Michael R. Schmidt photo).
















2. Slovenian people. They're a great, jovial bunch. The Zdralevich family introduced the world's greatest Poorboy sandwich to our region. Why can't I have more Merichka's in my diet?Jak się masz!

Janez Kramberger (left), the chairman of a Slovenian parlimentary committee for relations with Slovenians living abroad, takes photos of the interior of St. Joseph Catholic Church in downtown Joliet. (Liz Wilkinson Allen photo)

3. Empress casino. Despite the fire, the Egyptian spirit of the casino continues to thrive in our community. The generous employees volunteer in our villages; they entertain us with poker games and they feed us with buffets. God bless our heroes at Empress Casino!

Billowing smoke from the Empress Casino fire can be seen from miles away in the rural area Friday, March 20, 2009, outside Joliet as children attempt to cook lunch using heat from the blaze. (incorrect file photo)

Bonus Thing. Harrah's casino. As the casino that didn't burn down, our livelihood depends on the success of our beloved downtown gambling barge. God bless our Harrah's Heroes! Keep that money flowing in.

Like what you're reading? Toot about me on your Twitter and if I see your Tweet, I'll give you a Twix.

You can raise our taxes, our parking meter fares, our gas prices -- but you can't raze our parade!

Mark my fiery Kaegan words: The city of Chicago will see two Irish parades in 2010. And a few unruly hooligans shouldn't have the ability to scare away this proud tradition.

We, as a community, should fight back. Perhaps what we need is a trio of saintly vigilantes to partake in a neighborhood watch during the parade. Or maybe a Blackwater helicopter could patrol over hot zones. Who knows?

But I suppose it is easier for some to throw the baby out with the green bath water:
Planners pull plug South Side Irish Parade.

If nothing else, we must remember the dying words of Irish revolutionary leader Michael Collins:
"Never cancel a parade!"

And for those who missed the SSI event for the past 31 years, you can at least enjoy this video of the March 15 celebration:

It's a sad day for baseball when even the local, substandard version our national pastime is suffering financially. I never thought I'd live to see the words "bailout" and "minor league baseball" used in the same sentence. Leave it to the Joliet JackHammers to find a new way to break uncharted barriers. Read all about it.

I'm not going to mince words about the situation. The Hammers are in dire need of a cold, hard cash. If we want to continue participating in good old fashioned stadium fights to the backdrop of baseball, then I suggest we better get out on the street and start making ends meet for them. Because if our boys don't get their rent money to the city, well, quite frankly, they'll be sitting on the sidewalk somewhere along Jefferson Street. Better yet, they could all end up rollerblading in vacant downtown parking lots.

Sure, the city could work out some kind of secret deal behind closed doors to save the home of the JackHammers. I fear that will only delay the inevitable. My heart similarly aches for Jammer, the furry, blue mascot of the team. He (or is it she) is one of those sad mascots that is less of a fierce beast and more of the muppet offspring of Cookie Monster and Snuffleupagus. In case you were wondering, Snuffy was a hermaphrodite.

Visiting teams and their unruly fans (from Gary or Schaumburg) incessantly mock poor, friendless and deformed Jammer. They call him rude names like "Iron Butt" or "Retard Head." Once I even heard him called... a lot worse. And not to anyone's surprise, Jammer got mad. He became a powder keg of emotion. He briefly disappeared in 2007, after declining ticket sales left him feeling worthless. He went as far as to consider jumping from the top of the stadium. His attempt failed because his fat, stumpy legs couldn't climb over the guard rail.

Jammer's depression sank deeper than an abandoned car in the Des Plaines river. He became dependent on alcohol to get through every day. After most home games, he would walk over to a bar across the street in the early afternoon hours -- only to be tossed out after having spent hundreds of dollars on martinis. He would stumble back to his stadium home as an incoherent pile of blue fur saturated in vomit, cigarette butts and prophylactics.

When Jammer caught word of the team's worsening financial situation, he snapped. A decline in corporate sponsorships for the team literally left a permanent scar on Jammer. He tried cutting himself with a knife, only he somehow ended up lodging a New Year's Eve noisemaker up his nose instead. Now he is reminded of his woes every time he breathes.

After sleeping for a few nights in a pavilion near Billie Lamacher Park, a confused Jammer realized what he had to do. He vowed to save his team, his home, but most importantly, his dignity. The Jammer Solution was a citywide crime spree. And no amount of violence seemed to sway his mission.

And for $2,300, you could have the ultimate MySpace photo, taken with the legend himself. I, for one, don't need to pay over two grand for something I could simply photoshop. I'm actually more fond of the autographed Ronald Reagan picture and letter he sent to me on my first birthday, thanks to my well-connected Grandma. It's probably worth 100 times the value of a Cheney photo.

Anyways, I heard Ozinga is serving turkey sandwiches for lunch, and Cheney is in charge of preparing the roasted bird. Rumor has it that some other special guests might be dropping by this awesome luncheon...

Every time I see those hilarious Dos Esquis beer commercials (see video above), I always think of Drew Peterson. He's a real person who has done some real interesting things. And besides being interesting, Peterson has been "vindicated" as reported by Joe Hosey in The Herald News.

There's actually a Dos Esquis promotion right now to become the personal assistant of the World's Most Interesting Man. Many people think that would be an awesome gig. On the contrary, I think a more adventurous experience would be acting as the personal assistant of Drew Peterson. I would be first in line to volunteer for such position, as long as he agreed to take me up in his ultralight airplane. I've always wanted to see what Bolingbrook looks like from 1000 feet up. And I promise I won't wear any kind of state police wire or GPS device. My offer stands on the table.

Where I'm from, we got a little saying that goes like this:

"Bouillabaisse gator bon appetit."

Roughly said, it means I love me a good gator stew. There just ain't nothin
better than a smothered alligator etouffée on a hot Sunday afternoon.

So, I figure I call an old Cajun cookin buddy of mine, Marty Ozinga. He's a man with fine tastes and a love of Louisiana cuisine. We're gonna catch that gator and grill up supper tonight!

Ladies and gentlemen, thank you so much for visiting with me this evening. Now, I've traveled across half our state to be here and to talk about this blog. I daresay some of you might have heard some of the more extravagant rumors about what my plans are; I just thought you'd like to hear it from me. This is the face. There's no great mystery. I'm a blogger, ladies and gentlemen.

I have numerous entries spread across the Suburban Chicago Newspapers' blogosphere. I have many blogs flowing at millions of megabites per second. I like to think of myself as a blogster. As a blogster, I hope that you'll forgive just good old-fashioned satire.

Now, this work that I do is very much a New Media enterprise -- I work on the Internet, side by side with my cohorts in the Sun-Times News Group. I think one or two of you might have seen their other blogs. And I encourage my colleagues to leave comments, as well. Of course it makes for an ever so much more rewarding experience for me.

Now something else, and please don't be insulted if I speak about this -- page views. Let's talk about page views. Now to my mind, it's an abomination to consider that any man, woman or child in this magnificent blogosphere of ours should have to look upon page views as a luxury.

Nevertheless, I'm going to post more blogs and the reason is simple. Page views mean popularity, popularity means money. And more money for me means having bigger cars, bigger houses and bigger children.

I'm going to post nonstop from my Blackberry. You're going to have more blogs than you'll know what to do with. Blogs will be coming right out of your ears, ma'am.

More blogs. More hyperlinks. More online videos, more page views. These are just a few of the things I can offer you. And I assure you ladies and gentlemen, that if I do increase page views here, and I think there's a very good chance that I will, this blog of mine will not only survive, it will flourish.

And if I fail, one night I'm gonna come to you, inside of your house, wherever you're surfing the web, and I'm gonna cut your cable modem.

Original photos by Michael R. Schmidt/Herald News photographer, The Associated Press and Brian Delaney