I take the comments loosely, with a grain of salt, and the invitations to speak to kids keep coming in.
But, here is the reality of it all - you can justify many of the overly romantic images of being on the road, looking out into a sea of corn in the Midwest or the Pacific ocean on Highway 101; travelling from sea to shining sea, this plane and that airport. But. . . I say it's not for everyone, this being a road warrior or road dog or road slut.
The truth of it, for us musician road dogs, is maybe that we are all just mutants spawned from some other realm who can take the punishment of traveling away from our comfort zones. Or perhaps it's just a wandering strand of DNA within us that can't keep still. Whatever it may be, I think, in the game of it all, the ones that make it are the ones that can stand the insanity of traveling.
Here you go, 24 Hours in my Life:
- I live three hours away from the nearest airport (so you do the math if I have to be there an hour or more before my flight.)
- I get a ticket outside of Espanola (not the first or the last) for speeding: 75 in a 35.
- Delta had weather's insanity in Atlanta so there was no way I could catch my connecting flight to Charlottesville, Virginia. . . (Damn, who flies to Charlottesville?) And. . . as usual, I never look at where I'm going until the last minute.anyway.
- Delta tries to get me on American but they can't. An American teller can book me on United though. "How did she doo dat?"
- So time is ticking and American sends me to United, but United can only book me to Chicago but they send my luggage to Charlottesville. (At least something will make it to Charlottesville, if not me.) PHEW, at least I don't have to lug it around. (Have I ever told you I have to carry at least three pieces of luggage on every trip: musical instruments, clothes, and swag.) Then United books me on American from Chicago to Charlottsville. Again, "HOW DID SHE DOO DAT?"
- Meanwhile "time keeps on tickin', tickin', tickin' into the future." I run up to the boarding area 20 people deep and I always get frisked as I hear my name over the intercom. Ugh. Maybe I look suspicious. Well, do I?
- I get to the gate and they've closed the doors on me. After many colorful words I chill.
- I get re-booked on another United flight that leaves two hours later. My luggage is headed for the Midwest. My luggage is going places, baby. I, however, am not.
- After a layover in Denver I finally get to eat an over-priced weird wrap of some mystery.
- I get in to Dulles. I'm picked up by the limo two hours from the hotel in Harrisburg. . . BUT!
- They take me to the wrong Marriott and by now its 1:00 am. Someone dropped the ball and wrote down the wrong address - not the driver's fault. I get a room there anyway. The driver knows me from some sweat lodge circle of friends that gave him my CD. Go figure. You know you're really famous when a random driver from nowhere America knows you.
- After a bag of chips and a soda (Ugh, I know - vending machines) I fall asleep wondering what the hell happened to the America I knew.
- 4:00 am in the morning and I get a call from the amazing sweat lodge driver who decided last night to go and get my bags for me. Unfortunately, no luck. The airport was closed.
- Sweat lodge driver lives near the Charlottesville airport. (Stay with me, stay with me.) The driver has another pickup in Harrisburg where I'm staying at a wrong Marriott so he decides to check on my bags of his own accord. Somehow he feels he needs to do this for me. Anyway. . .
- Long story short my luggage, on American from Chicago to Charlottesville, never made it in. She got re-routed last night to Pittsburgh because of extreme fog conditions. So my bags are in Pittsburgh and they won't be in till this afternoon. Meanwhile I wait for the producers to pick me up to check in at the original hotel I was supposed to be at.
Heads up kids, you still wanna be a rock star?