baggage claim

I was, um, taking a rest in the restroom at the Nashville airport somewhere on concourse C when my wife called wondering why I wasn’t at baggage claim just yet.  I ignored the call because I didn’t want to be that guy - the guy who talks on his phone in the restroom.  She called again.  I once again ignored it.  Then again.  I answered, explained the reason for my tard

All effective marketing, one theory goes, is an appeal to something on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs.  And everything is marketing.

That girl in the short shorts and tank top (minus the bra) standing at the Fort Lauderdale baggage claim last weekend?  Marketing to those who want sex (Belonging and/or Affection).

"I really like that home song, Mr. Groves.  It was like my favorite when I was eleven.”

I’m standing at the Nashville baggage claim, thankful for a weekend with incredible college students from Alabama and looking forward to not being around anyone this week who calls me Mr.Groves.

Eleven?  Seriously?

I’m at the Nashville baggage claim, minutes from seeing my wife and kids.  Finally home.

I have tomorrow off and then head out again.

I’m not whining but I am tired.  I haven’t had a break in a few weeks, with a trip to Uganda and a parasite and jet-lag and a sick wife and kids thrown into the middle of all these shows I’ve been playing.  I’m emotionally spent and I miss my family.

Yes, we are still here even though we haven't posted in a while. We spent Christmas in Texas with Patrick's parents. Patrick's sister and her husband drove from Atlanta.

So we left off last night where we were getting ready to board the plane to Chicago.  I was privileged enough(really it was cursed but,) to get a preboarding pass thanks to my leg being in the boot.  They called for preboarding, told me to stand in the hall(which was something I was trying not to have to do) I ended up staying for more than 10 minutes. URgghh!