Yeah, I’m Still Talking About the Cruise

Plane Ride Home
On the way home from the cruise, I was on the plane and pensive. I wish I was one of those people who could appreciate art and music without being heartbroken after. It’s an intense word, but nothing else describes how I feel after I walk out of an art museum or, evidently, a four-day-long floating concert. I don’t feel inspired when I leave the art museum. I feel destroyed. It’s not just my competitive nature, if it were I’d bound out of the art museum challenging “Ha! Oils? Frescoes? Who can’t do that?” Instead I float out until the cumulative effect of human condition hits me. Then I feel inadequate. Or perhaps I feel human.

Enough of That
On a lighter note, Steven Page looked at me in the midnight buffet for a good two seconds. It was an intense look. He could have been thinking:

1. “Why is that woman wearing her pajamas to the midnight buffet?” (It was a rogue unauthorized pajama party for someone’s twenty first birthday.)
2. “I have a sudden overwhelming desire for that woman walking toward me with that guitar.”
3. “Get away from me with that guitar. I’m not signing that guitar. I’m hanging out with my family.” (It didn’t occur to me that his family would be the other people on board Gary’s age. And I think signatures are silly. Like I need proof?)

However, I never found out why I was getting the snake eye, because handily my new friend Jody came up with a lost camera crisis.

In Which I Am Da Bomb
In the Miami airport I lugged Uncle Alvarez the guitar through security and watched as the X-ray guy called someone over to discuss what was inside my guitar case. “Mmumble mummble electric never mumble mumble.” So I was not surprised when they asked me to move to a table and open my guitar case. I thought “Have they never seen a guitar? Maybe it’s the capo. Maybe the picks? They are made of plastic. Maybe its like C4.”

The TSA agent opened the case and lifted the guitar out. “You aren’t going to ask me to play it, are you?” I asked. She staring picking through the picks, and like a good little terrorist I volunteered, “There’s another little hidden compartment there,” pointing to the compartment under the neck. She opened it and found my metronome, which my GOD looks just like an explosive device.

And Finally (Well, Finally except for the photos tomorrow)
My mother-in-law gets very annoyed at me that I don’t take photos, I’m a little annoyed at myself for not taking even one photo to express how close I was at the first concert, but then I found this on YouTube:

The guy in the green dress is Steven. For the whole video with a tiny flash of Gary’s head, go to:

More Photos (including nudity!) tomorrow.