Its Monday morning, and its been a full weekend with no time to post. Friday night I hung out with one of my best friends, Steve Wagschal, in Bloomington, near Indianapolis. We grew up together and I see him and his family whenever I’m in Indy. Saturday night I went shooting alleys with Dave Evans, a young photographer I met at the show. And last night I slept at my friend Mark Grosser’s house. He’s a fantastic jeweler who I know from the shows. For over 10 years, he was a Deadhead and a Phishhead - one of the community of travelling fans of the bands Grateful Dead and Phish. But I have to get another story out of the way first, because its so ludicrous.

The shoot Saturday night went late, as usual. It was close to 3am when Dave and I packed up to go. Since I have few hours of sleep ahead of me, I decide to drive as close to the show as possible and sleep in the van. At 8:30am, I’m awakened by loud talking just outside my metal tent. I can hear a woman complaining to someone. “Its not supposed to be here…” I’m trying to sleep thru the yapping until I get the feeling she’s speaking of my van. Now thru my daze I’m trying to listen more closely. “I saw it here this morning in front of my house… happens every year… Can somebody tow it away?” Did someone say tow?? I sit up and look thru my tinted windows, (I love my limo black tint: I can see out, no one can see in.) and there she is: a woman (is she in her bath robe??) talking to a cop! He’s standing with his arms crossed, looking sternly at my van. Where the hell am I? Where did I park? Bloody Hell!! I just want to sleep and be left alone.

Then a couple of the show organizers appear in my dual screen, limo-tinted TV monitor. Now there are four people looking at my van, trying to determine its fate. One of the show people then says, “Jane told me it was here at 6:30 this morning when she arrived. The artist is probably staying with a friend in the neighborhood. I think its ok here.” Thank you!

Then I see I have a series of other problems. A car has parked right up the butt of my van, so I can’t open the back doors to get out, and I have a mountain of wooden crates and other stuff in front of the side door. I can deal with that - I’ll just move the crates carefully without making a racket. I wouldn’t want bathrobe lady to know I’m inside, giving her another reason to get pissed.  And then I see my next, bigger problem: the cop is parked at the intersection behind me and it turns out he’s doing some kind of traffic control.  His position is at a spot where he’ll see me get out the side doors. (I had to take a picture cause this was too funny). This is the parking spot from HELL!! I look at my watch and its 9:00; the show starts at 10. I have time to wait. I open my laptop and I start typing this story. Every few minutes I look up… he’s always there. Give this cop a raise. At 5 minutes to 10 I know its time to break out of jail. I put my laptop away and watch the cop, waiting for any kind of distraction. A car pulls up and he starts giving the driver directions. THIS IS IT! Bathrobe lady better not be outside this door – please be home making waffles or something. I open the side door and quickly jump out. “Nothing here to see folks, just keep moving!” Success!

I get to my booth late, and quickly get things organized. Twenty minutes later, a committee of three people stops by my booth - One of them is the man who spared the life of my van earlier with the cop. They are all smiles. They shake my hand and give me a ribbon and a check. I just won an award.

Waiting to break out, while the prison guard stands vigilant.