(Ed. Note – This is a special guest post by friend-of-the-blog Jordan Guinn. Get more of his acerbic humor on Twitter.)
Twice in the last three years I’ve been fortunate enough to take a week out of my summer to tour baseball parks across the country with Fernando. The trip involves a rental car, lots of energy drinks and many disagreements about whose playlist we should be listening to.
Still I can’t let go. It’s unnatural! I belong to baseball; baseball belongs to meeeeeee….
(This post was written Monday morning)
Fear and Loathing in America’s Heartland has come to an end, as I sit here sipping Diet Coke and waiting to board the plane back to San Francisco. Guess who has to teach a class in Pleasant Hill in 15 hours? The guy who says to sleep when you’re dead (me). Let’s hope I can sleep on the plane this time. Continue reading “Although we’ve come, to the end of the road…”
Apparently, I can’t sleep on airplanes, no matter how hard I try. I shut my eyes for about an hour before awakening to light streaming in through the airplane windows. And once the sun is up, my heart starts pumping a little faster and the adrenaline kicks in. Also, there were babies on the plane. Guess how a red-eye flight goes with babies? AWESOME. Continue reading “Moon over Parma”