To discuss a Mid-November's Night's Dream

I was so ready to give you my Weekend Update or debut a new feature this morning.
Then, I had a crazy dream, and I feel I must share it with you now, and post the other stuff later.

The dream (commence weird, ethereal music and fog machine):

I was playing professional baseball for the Pittsburgh Pirates, and we were playing the New York Yankees (I know this because I saw Derek Jeter). It was my turn to bat in the top of the first inning. I crushed a double to the left-center gap (what detail, right?). As I slid toward second base, with Alex Rodriguez standing there waiting to try to tag me out, I did some kind of insane slide around him that cause him to lunge forward. I got up quickly and leap-frogged over A-Rod to touch second base safely.

Flash-forward to later in the game. The announcers are now saying I hit a home run, the only run scored so far in the game. What's weird is I am now pitching, which I wasn't doing before in the game. Even weirder is that after every inning I pitched, I was driving home, 40 minutes away, and then racing back before my next inning to pitch started.

At this point, I'm driving back to Pittsburgh, except for some reason I get lost in an area that I can only imagine comes out of some Carl Sandberg poem. I'm worried I'm not going to make it back to pitch in time. I bump into two former newspaper editors of mine (?!?!), who say not to worry.
Soon, I park next to this large, multi-level structure similar to a mall, minus the teenyboppers and old men. I walk into the building, which immediately transform into an open-air market type of deal (?!?!), with a myriad of avenues to wander down.

I'm completely lost at this point but somehow make it back to an elevator, not unlike Willy Wonka's. Inside, there is a handicap dude, getting wheeled out by a nurse. I get in, seemingly having a good idea what floor to get off on. But when I emerge, I'm somehow in a parking lot in the middle of the sky. I go inside (!?!), where I see two people I graduated high school with (and have not talked to in about 7 years). For some reason, I try to make sure they don't see me because I don't feel like talking to them. They are evidently married (not true in real life) and fighting. It appears I'm now at a travel agency/airport, with only two options of destinations, one in the Middle East and I think the other was in Europe.
I go down the last, unmarked hall.

And then I wake up.

WTH. I've never had anything like that dream. I did not eat anything spicy right before going to bed. I did not leave a tooth under my pillow waiting for the tooth fairy. I did not having anything to drink.

Thoughts? Do you recall any dreams of your own lately?

To discuss a Weekend Update: Meet Me In St. Louis, Part 1

Because of the length, depth and height of my weekend trip to St. Louis, I am going to bust this down to a two-parter, since your attention span is already weakening your ability to...*

The purpose of the trip: Go on a business trip to St. Louis, MO (which, contrary to the post office acronym, is not in Montana. It's Missouri. This is why I prefer AP style). I attended a weekend-long seminar for reporters on how to better cover high schools.

This covers things I heard/was given/almost missed. As with my new Weekend Update standards, this is mostly context free so as to increase false assumptions and perilous conclusions.
Proceed:

Things I heard:
* "God I hope they don't make me take my bra-wl off." - A heavy, older woman behind me at the security check in Baltimore/Washington airport. Now, they already go overboard with all the security- let's remember that 9/11 happened with boxcutters, not hidden bombs in my shoes- but I did have a small hope security would cavity search this lady so she could make a big scene about taking off her undergarments. I'm assuming her bra-wl (southern for bra) had an underwire in it, or, in her case, an undergirder beam.

* I sat beside the emergency exit door on my first trip, an experience my airliner did not want me to take lightly:
Stewardess: (Stern look) "Do you understand all the responsibilities of sitting in this row, and will you assist in the case of an emergency?"
Me: "Does anyone ever tell you no?"
Stewardess: "I don't let them."
Me: (fear of God instilled) "Um, I'm cool." (Although, if it comes down to us needing the emergency exit, we're screwed anyway. Same goes with those seat cushions-as-flotations devices. I'd like to see the crash landing on water that would necessitate their use.)

* I have no fear of flying- although I'm not a big fan of death- so getting on planes is no problem. I do get nervous, though, when I hear the B16 gate attendant announce the pilot would like us all to board quickly so he can get home in time for the game that night.

* On the way to the hotel: An oration on the best places to visit in St. Louis, given impromptu by the guy who drove the shuttle van. I felt like I was at a traveling Southern Baptist service, only he was preaching the commandments of jazz and barbecue. A few excerpts:
On a dance club: "I'm going to hurt you with a little bit of blues, kiss you with a little bit of salsa, smack you with a little bit of country and hit you with a little bit of rock and roll." (That might be classified as sexual assault, but boy does it sound appealing.)
On finishing a plate of the best barbecue in the country: "I don't know what condition you will be in, but it will be delicate." (And sticky)

* On Saturday night, after hours of seminars, most of us went out on the town. The conference organizers arranged for us to all go drinking, as reporters are best known for alcoholism, misquoting and a liberal bias. Eventually, I took to the streets with a group of four- myself and three female reporters from N.J., Mich. and La. (take that, postal service).
The following conversation took place in a time span of about 2 minutes:
Old dude: "Do you know where Blah Blah bar is?"
Me: "Yeah, actually, we just came from there, it's down the street."
Old dude: (To Mich. girl): "You have a nice smile." (pauses... stares awkwardly)
Mich. girl: "Uh...."
(Enter homeless dude)
HD: "Hey y'all... It's my birthday today."
Me: "Well, happy birthday"
(The three girls start walking slower behind HD and me, as they are more street savvy and also willing to sacrifice one for the benefit of the group. They'd never cut it in the military.)
HD: (Sings a random birthday song he apparently made up on the spot... and then): "Hey, you know this song? Ba beeda boo, eh da di, booo uhh ugh."
Me: "No idea, dude. Are you beat boxing?"
HD: "C'mon, you know this (continues beat boxing and scatting in a manner I might expect from the love child of Ella Fitzgerald and the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, only if that child was also doing crystal meth)
NJ girl: (To me) "Hey, uh, you want to cross the street?"
And, scene.

* Barack Obama. It wasn't clear, and it wasn't technically in person, but I heard him. He was speaking across the street, under the St. Louis Arch, at a political rally attended by almost 100,000 people (see tomorrow's post). People at the seminar stayed at the hotel, but you could hear him over the loud speakers. I made sure to look out for terrorist activity-- you owe me, Palin.

Things I was given:
* A Gideons' Bible- they're orange now. Evidently, green bibles are soooo last season.

Things I almost missed:
* The last out of the American League Championship Series. On my flight home, we had access to XM satellite radio in our seats. I'm not a fan of the Red Sox or Rays, but I still love baseball. On the final out, as the Rays are either going to blow their 3-1 lead or win the pennant, the freaking stewardess interrupts the audio by giving us the final deboarding procedures. She just stopped early enough to catch the final call that the Rays one. And to think I almost missed it so that I could be reminded not to stand until the seat belt sign was turned off.

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* finish this sentence. See, that's one down.

Coming tomorrow- Things I saw- Expect photos, including one with nuns.