Thursday, June 28, 2012

The Stick

If you know me well you know that I do not use inappropriate language. I take pride in the fact that I very rarely swear. As my mother says, “Using language like that just means that you are not smart enough to say anything else.” In the case of this blog however there is simply no other way to tell this story. I will need to use the word “ass” repeatedly. If you are offended please read no further. If you can handle it I hope you find this enjoyable. Remember that you have been warned.

I have spent the last four and a half weeks working and living in Honolulu, HI. It is part of a short term corporate assignment. For the first time in my life I am living alone and miss Lovie. It has taken some adjustment. During my second week alone I began to develop a routine. Hawaii is 6 hours behind east coast time so it takes time to adjust. I usually arise very early, around 5 am most days. I start my day by drinking a piping hot cup of coffee. The story begins here.

On this day I sat down with my coffee. I had just settled in to my comfortable chair when my phone rang. It startled me a bit causing me to spill my very hot cup of coffee. I spilled the entire cup. It was hot. As liquids do it settled to the lowest point. You could say that my ass was now in hot water. Really hot water. In fact it burned my ass. I jumped up, like someone had lit a fire under my ass. The remaining coffee went everywhere including on the chair and the nice white carpet in my condo unit. It made a big ass mess. Trying to answer the phone turned out to be one big ass mistake. As a result of the spill my ass was on fire for several days. In a few places I had a really sore ass. I had to be careful which pants I wore as some even chapped my ass. It took about 10 days before things returned to normal.

Once things began to heal I knew that I needed to get off my fat ass and get some exercise. I researched a few hiking trails and started exploring the island of Oahu. I started walking a few trails after work and on the weekends. I soon found another trail. A few of the reviews said that this trail would kick your ass. The trail ran along an abandoned incline railroad line up the side of a dormant volcano. It sounded cool so I gave this one a try. Needless to say it whipped my ass.

Earlier this week while coming down this trail from another hike I slipped on one of the cross ties that form the staircase on the trial. I did this while moving out of the way of another hiker. I fell. In fact I fell flat on my ass. Fortunately my ass has two sides and I landed on the side that was saved from the hot ass coffee. You could say that I busted my ass. The fall caused me slide about 10 feet down the steepest part of the trail. When my ass finally came to rest it was the top of small stump. The passing hiker and a few others stopped to make sure I was okay. As I gathered myself and got my ass up I realized that I was okay. No broken bones, no twisted ankles or torn up knees. I did feel a sharp pain coming from my ass. It was like someone had put a fork in my ass. In reality I had a stick up my ass. It seems that that a sharp portion of the stump had broken off and was now embedded in my ass. The stick nearly tore me a new ass hole.

After checking my ass out one of my fellow hikers informed me that the stick up my ass was going to require medical attention. I gathered my thoughts and knew that the fastest way to get treatment was to simply finish the hike. I knew I was capable of finishing so I got my ass in gear and made my way down the trail and into my car. Using my GPS while trying to avoid bumps along way to the hospital was not easy. I was driving as if I did not know my ass from a hole in the ground.

I finally made it to the emergency room. The check in process was interesting. It went something like this.

Girl at Admitting Desk - “Can I help you sir”.

Me - “Yes I need to see a Doctor”.

Girl at Admitting Desk - “Can you explain the nature of your visit”.

Me - Yes, I have a stick up my ass”.

Girl at Admitting Desk - “Giggles”.

Me - “No, seriously I have a stick up my ass”.

At this point it had been nearly an hour since I busted my ass and the pain in my ass was getting worse. The girl noticed I was uncomfortable and quickly moved me through the process. Along the way I was met by a nurse. She asked me to describe my symptoms, specifically my pain. I answered her question with this question, “So you are asking me to describe the pain in my ass”. She tried to remain professional but could not avoid laughing out loud. Word of my condition was starting to spread through emergency room. I was laughing and others were too. The next order of business was to get me into one of those hospital gowns. Of course I needed one with the open back. And there I was….in a hospital room in Hawaii bare ass naked.

After a few minutes the Doctor made his way to my exam room. After sizing up my ass he made this medical diagnosis. He said, “We are going to need to extract that foreign object from your soft tissue”. I responded and restated it this way. “You mean you are going to pull it out of my ass”. He too tried to remain professional but laughed. He then explained the procedure, first he was going to wipe my ass, then numb my ass, and then he was going to pull the stick out of my ass. A few other medical personnel were there to witness. A few came to enjoy the laughs and few to actually say they participated in pulling a stick out of some guys ass. The procedure went as planned.

There was now only one thing left to do. The doctor wanted to take a picture of my ass. I asked if he meant like, “having me sit on a copier”. He meant an x-ray. I was escorted over to the x-ray room. The technician asked me to place my ass on the exam table. I did. He then asked me to center my ass on one of the positioning grid lines on the table. I responded, “so you want me to put my ass on the line”. He too tried to remain professional. The x-ray showed nothing else was in my ass and I was cleared by the doctor to leave. By now I had made a few friends. On the way out the door the staff wished my ass well. A few even reminded me to take care of my ass. The nurse even kissed my ass good-bye.

One thing is now for sure. You can bet your ass that the next time I am drinking hot coffee or hiking down a steep trail my ass will take extra special care. I have now learned two hard ass lessons and have the scars to prove it.

A couple of notes about this blog. My ass is fine. My wound is healing nicely and will not require the services of a plastic surgeon. The stick turned out to be about the diameter of a pencil and was about and inch and a half long. I have it and am thinking about making it a pendant on a necklace for all to see.

I wrote this blog on a flight from Honolulu to Los Angeles. People say you should not laugh at your own material. I laughed so hard several times while writing this that people around me began wonder. I know they were thinking, “who is this crazy ass”. I hope you enjoyed reading it. I welcome your feedback.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

The Ear Infection

Don’t get an ear infection. If you do you could end up hearing colors. Stay with me.

Lovie and I were in Aruba, I went swimming, and during the last day of our trip my ear starting hurting. After returning home I visited the local “minute clinic” thinking that they could easily solve the problem. They prescribed a cocktail of drops for the ear. Some were to be taken two times a day others three times a day. I followed the regimen for a week. It did not work. So much for my confidence in physician assistants.

Ear infections are painful and mine was no different. So after a week of dealing with it I broke down and went to the real doctor. They poked around and determined that a pressure wash of the inner ear was needed. Little did I know that their version of an “irrigation” involved the spray nozzle from a fire hose. The process got a little messy but In the end the procedure provided instant relief of the pressure and pain. To be sure and get the infection the doctor also prescribed an oral antibiotic. That means take a pill.

I left the doctor’s office and rushed to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription. Rather than wait I to have it filled I opted to have Lovie pick it up later in the day. A few hours later Lovie picked up the prescription and left the bottle on the kitchen counter. Later that evening, right before bedtime, I opened the bottle and swallowed my first dose. I went upstairs and was ready for a good night of pain free sleep. So far, so good.

After about thirty minutes of trying to go to sleep I realized I was not sleepy. In fact I was not sleepy at all. I was wide awake. I was so awake it felt like morning. It was midnight. I tossed and turned for a few minutes. A few minutes turned in to 30 minutes, which turned in to an hour. It was now 1:00 am. I was wide awake.

I thought about reading a book. I thought about counting backwards to clear my mind. I thought about a lot of things. My mind was now racing. Time was flying and so was I. It was 2:00 am. I was wide awake. I tried counting backwards from 100 to 0. I did that about 10 times. I tried the same but counted by 2’s, by 3’s, and by 4’s. I started at 500 hundred instead of 100. My backward counts were flawless. I could see the numbers coming in perfect sequential order like reading the road signs in a speeding car. But I was laying in bed. It was 3:00am and my mind was changing channels like a teenager changes radio stations. I was starting to sweat. My heart was pounding.

I decided to change beds. I moved to the guest bed room thinking a change might provide the catalyst for my entry into dreamland. It was now 4:00 am. My mind was racing but my body was in the lead. I had always heard that phrase in the lyrics of the song,” Double Vision by Foreigner”, but did not know what they meant. I pondered that for a while. I still don’t know what that means. The channel in my changed. I started to hear colors. Colors have some interesting sounds, especially chartreuse. I know I was there. I was frustrated and a little scared. I needed some sleep. It was now 4:30 am. I was wide awake.

I usually don’t have too much trouble going to sleep and knew something was wrong. I had never felt like this. It only took me 6 hours to realize this. What was wrong I thought, what had changed? It was 4:45 am. I was wide awake. I had a moment. Was it was the antibiotic I had taken before bed? I rushed downstairs, examined the prescription bottle, and read the label. It said Aderall XR. Aderall XR, it was supposed to say Amoxicillin I thought? Did pharmacist mess up? I checked the name.

They had the last name right. The first name was Michael. Michael is my son. He takes Aderall XR for his ADD to help him focus during his college classes. And now his Dad also takes it to treat ear infections. You got it, I took one 6 hours earlier. In the bag next to it on the counter was a prescription for Amoxicillin. Amoxicillin is prescribed to people named Alan Squires with ear infections. I am a confirmed idiot.

For people that have ADD it works to help focus the mind. For people who don’t it freaks them out. It was now 5:00 am. I had been freaked out for 6 hours. Once I figured things out it did provide me with a sense of relief. I laid down and tried to sleep. I actually slept for about an hour and a half. At 6:30 am I awoke. I was wide awake. I was tired of being in bed. I went to the internet to do some drug research. You see Aderall XR is the extended release version. It lasts for 24 hours. I had 18 hours to go. I played golf that day but don’t remember anything about the first 3 holes I played. One thing I do know is that I was wide awake.

The effects started to wear off later in the day and by early evening I was back to normal. It was an 18 hour trip. I have learned two things. Ear infections can help you count backwards and also make you hear colors. I know I was there.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Beer Cans Can Fly

Today is Wednesday July 20th, 2011. Location, Destin, FL. I apologize for not posting this sooner. I returned from vacation, got involved with work, and ran a little behind on updating the blog.

I am not afraid to admit that I am a little immature. Okay, by most accounts I am a really immature. I think the same now as I did when I was seventeen years old. Remember that. Please take this in to account as you read the following.

Warning. What you are about to read is classified information, it is a patent pending process, and is protected by International Law.

Today the conditions were perfect. We had the ingredients and ideal weather conditions. Below is a list of the items and conditions in our favor. We had a kite, 550 yards of 50 pound test fishing line, the beach, a steady 15 mph steady breeze from the southwest, some beer, plenty of time, and 3 willing participants.

Some immature guy in our group had an idea. The group consisted of my future son-in-law, my almost legal son, and yours truly. The idea was this. “What if we attempted to fly a kite with empty beer cans attached”. After some thoughtful consideration, a theory was offered, a plan was hatched, and the steps to conduct the test were outlined. It was agreed that the steps were not only to be documented in writing but had to be confirmed with visual evidence in order to confirm the process. Below is the order and visual evidence of the events.

1. Drink and empty some beer cans.

2. Fly the kite.

3. Attach the empty cans to the kite.

4. Say goodbye to the cans

5. Watch as the cans soar.

6. Wonder in amazement.

On this day beer cans soared to an altitude of approximately 1,300 feet above sea level. To our amazement the process worked. It worked beyond our expectations. The myth was confirmed. Beer cans can fly. The altitude was so high that the 8th and 9th beer cans attached to the kite were invisible without the use of a telescope. Those suckers were up there.

During the process our grouped amazed the beach goers and even startled the local seagull population. Beach goers made comments like, “What is that in air”, “ Is that a UFO?”, It seems to be floating”. Numerous seagulls buzzed the cans hoping for a snack. The most telling comments came from a couple of Tulane University female volleyball players that happened by. It was simple, they said, “We like your kite”. The process was validated, the girls liked our kite, and our theory was confirmed.

We celebrated. Like all good celebrations we began to reflect. We discussed the process, the variables, and the results. We quickly came to realize that the outcome and results were occurring in real time. The one factor and the most difficult to predict in the process was the wind. Little did we know this was about to be a problem.

As soon as the wind died the trouble began. As we discovered, to reach an altitude of 1,300 feet above sea level meant that the kite had to fly over some houses, a condo building, and some power lines.

During the ascent no one seemed to notice. During the descent we noticed. As the wind died and the kite rapidly began to lose altitude panic set in. Beer cans and fishing line were falling from the sky. They hit the roofs of condo buildings, houses, and power lines. The situation was out of control. So we did what all mature people do in this type of situation do. We ran. We ran fast and really far. I later learned that it is really hard to out run the long arm of the law. They have radios and we had legs. Below is a picture of my mug shot. I am just kidding.

We survived without incident but did learn some valuable lessons. Our only shot at redemption will have to occur at the beach again next year. I hope you have the time to this summer test the theory. I guess we all must "live and learn".

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

Mr. Popular

Today is Monday July 18th, 2011. I am at the beach in Destin, Florida. It is the height of the summer vacation season and the beach is packed with thousands of people. And today I was Mr. Popular. For me being popular is a unique experience. If you knew me when popularity really mattered, like in high school, you knew that I was not even close to being popular. I was a regular guy that showed up, did my work, passed my classes, and left. Girls did not care about me and guys thought I was just some goofy smart kid. Today, that all changed.

When I say popular, I mean really popular. People by the thousands wanted what I had. What I had was not fame or fortune. It was not model good looks or even the secret to longevity. I had an object. In 1899, Charles Duell, the commissioner of the U. S. Patent Office declared that “Everything that can be invented has been invented”. For the record he was wrong. Really wrong.

I was introduced to this object by my future son in law. His name is Roman Grier. In marketing speak he is what we call an early adopter. Roman has utilized this object for more than 2 years and yet to a person no one on the beach had seen one. I heard comments like, “Where did you get that”? and “I’d pay anything to have one of those”. I had a better mouse trap and the world was beating a path to my door.

Below is a picture of me and my object.

The purpose is evident but I think it is important to point several of the key features.

1. The American Flag is proudly displayed.
2. The holder is insulated in a configuration commonly known as a koozie.
3. The dual strap design, holds the beer can, and frees the hands.
4. The self balancing design keeps the can upright and eliminates spills.
5. These features make if perfect for corn hole games or walking on the beach.
6. Bass Pro Shop is the official retailer of the hands free koozie.
7. The hands free holder is also available in a Bluetooth compatible version.
8. They make a great gift.

I will be using one all week. If you have questions please post them as comments to my blog or facebook page. I am now an expert user.

Monday, July 18, 2011

Corn Hole Mania

Today is Sunday July 17th, 2011. The Squires family is at the beach in Destin FL. In the last 24 hours it has rained a lot. Like 4 inches a lot. Today was very cloudy, with low clouds, and drizzle. It was our first full day at the beach and we were bored. So what does the Squires family do on a rainy day at the beach? We build homemade corn hole tables to keep ourselves entertained!

So why corn hole? The story goes like this. We are staying at the condo of my friend Al and his wife Carol. They were generous enough to let us stay for the week. Their condo is sweet and has a large patio area with plenty of extra space. Corn hole is often called bean bag toss. The name comes from the tossing of small bags filled with corn into a hole in a board. It does not require a tremendous amount of skill and fits with people that drink beer while relaxing at the beach. That game is perfect for us.

Before you think lesser of us please keep in mind that these are no ordinary corn hole tables. They are built to some exacting standards. The standards are those of the American Corn Hole Assoc. If you don’t believe me, and at this point I don’t think you do, do some research at

After a thorough review of the corn hole table specifications and a search of the available tools, we concluded we could pull this off. Keep in mind that we are on vacation and have access to a limited variety of tools. With the use of Al’s cordless drill and the help from a friendly associate at Home Depot we had the materials needed to start construction.

Construction began around 1:00pm on Sunday afternoon. During the process beers were consumed, power tools were utilized, spray paint was shaken and sprayed, and in the end a finished product was produced. All the while we never left the kitchen of condo. Actually, we utilized the outside areas for painting and the underground parking lot for assembly.

During the process there was a buzz around the complex about what exactly was going on. No one said anything but people wondered. They wanted to know but were afraid to ask. Once the tables were completed everyone was jealous. The weather cleared late in the day and the first bean bag was tossed at around 7:00 pm. People from the floors above looked down from their balconies. Children gathered and watched in quiet amazement. A local news station dispatched a reporter for a firsthand account of the event. A live feed was established and even the term “film at eleven was used”. We knew history was being made. The corn holing went on for hours and slightly before 11:00pm the last bag was tossed. We had a blast.

In hopes that Al and Carol, their family, and the future guests of the condo, will forever use the tables and enjoy a distinct home patio advantage, we painted the tables in the classic Tennessee Volunteer colors of orange and white. See the photo below. In case you were wondering Al and Carol attended the University of Tennessee.

The weather for Monday is expected to be perfect. We know it will be perfect for the beach and later for some evening corn hole. I will participate, watch, and report.

Monday, June 13, 2011

Spring Break for 50 Year Olds

This past weekend I participated in an event that has become my annual rite of spring. Over many of the last 25 years I have traveled to Myrtle Beach for a spring golf outing. You could call it, “Spring Break For 50 Year Olds”. Although I am not quite 50 years old many that attend are past the age of 50. My friend Tom, a Myrtle veteran, coined the phrase a few years ago. I liked it and will forever use it. Our trips are not at all like the spring break trips you may have attended in college. At SBF50YO’s the talk and activities are centered on golf. We talk about the speed of the greens, or how we think the camber on our spine angle at address is 2 degrees off, or how we are hitting the new driver we bought but didn’t tell our wives about. For the most part really benign stuff. Below is a short summary.

Wednesday May 11, 2011 – Atlanta to Florence, SC. I meet my friend Bill for an early round of golf at my club in Woodstock, GA. After golf we travel most of the way to Myrtle Beach and plan on spending the night in Florence, SC. Bill is one of my favorite attendees. He is an experienced traveler to Myrtle and works the program like William & Kate’s wedding planner. He buys his alcohol in advance in case the stores in Myrtle happen to run out. His clothes and golf clubs are packed days in advance. He even packs extra alcohol in his golf bag in easy pour, unbreakable, plastic bottles. His attention to detail is normally impeccable, except for today. In an effort to lower the cost of the trip he offers to book us a room using hotel points at a Hilton property in Florence, SC. In this case the Hilton Garden Inn. A problem arose during the check-in process. Bill had made a reservation. The reservation was for May 18th. Today was May 11th. The hotel was sold out. Most of the other hotels in Florence were sold out. The girls at the check-in desk do not like us. Being experienced business travelers we try to throw our weight around. I try the old, “I don’t think you know who we are line”. Bill tries, “ I am Bill - a silver, platinum, ruby, elite Hilton Honors program member”. It either worked or they got tired of listening to our lame excuses and gave us a room. We eat dinner at Mellow Mushroom in Florence, SC and watch a bunch of twenty something’s drink beer and then panic when the check comes. See Bill and I below.

Thursday May 12, 2011. Florence, SC to Myrtle Beach. We leave the Hilton Garden Inn at around 7:30 am for a leisurely drive to Myrtle Beach. We have a 9:20 am tee. My GPS calculates the time to the course as being 90 minutes. Panic starts to set in as the morning traffic begins to build as we get closer to Myrtle. It takes us approximately 100 minutes as we have traffic and the need to stop for bloody mary mix. For the record, Walgreen’s in Conway , SC sells spicy V8 juice and is open 24 hours. We arrive at the course just in time for our 9:20 am start. Several in our group have already teed off. We get paired with a couple of guys from New Jersey. After dinner, I realize I need to check in and pay the bill for my share of the condo. The lady behind the desk was the assistant manager. She should not have been in a position of management. It took 25 minutes for her to run my credit card.

Friday May 13, 2011. Early Friday morning as we were preparing for golf Bill made a brilliant observation. It was 7:47am. He was painstakingly mixing a bloody mary when he uttered this simple phrase. “You can’t drink all day unless you start early”. And today he did. I know that it is not polite to count the drinks of a friend and fellow Myrtle traveler. But I did wonder. How much did he drink today?
I had been with him all day. We had played 36 holes of golf and had gone to dinner. I know that he started with a couple of bloody mary’s. During golf he added in some bourbons and diet cokes, and downed a few beers at lunch. Later that evening there was more bourbons and diet cokes. After some thoughtful analysis my count had him at somewhere around 20 to 25 drinks for the day. Bill is now 61. Normal people start to slow down at that age. In sport they call it, “losing a step”. He is unaffected by age and seems to be getting stronger. And not only that he can still drink.

Saturday May 14, 2011. As trips to Myrtle go, the group has decided to play a course that is located on the south side of town. We are staying on the north side, specifically North Myrtle Beach. While most people perceive Myrtle Beach to be a sleepy little town it is actually a spread out populated area. Our course is 40 miles from the condo. Bill mixes an extra bloody mary for the trip this morning. Bill and I are paired with Tom and Walt. Tom is another old friend and normally takes my money on these trips. Tom is a hustler. He is sneaky and knows how to win money. Walt is Tom’s friend from Florida. Walt is the oldest guy in our group and reminds me of Jack Lalane. He is fit and could probably tow an airplane if he got a running start. I played really well for 36 holes and actually won some money from Tom. It was special. So special that Bill and I decided to head to a famous local night club to celebrate. Some in our group had been to the same club the night before and complained about the price of drinks. Bill proposed a plan combat the high cost of mixed drinks. It was simple. The plan went like this. We would stop at the local ABC store and buy mini-bottles of alcohol. The mini-bottles, sometimes known as airplane bottles, could easily be hidden in our pockets and smuggled in to the bar. Soft drinks could be ordered at half of the price of alcohol drinks to complete the process. A thought occurred to me. Exactly how old are we? Really, we were going smuggle alcohol in to a bar? The plan worked flawlessly and we were able to enjoy the night. SBF50YO’s is scheduled for the same week in 2012. We can always accommodate more “breakers”.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

The Guilty Obsession

I have a guilty obsession. I am not afraid to admit it although it is probably not what you think. Most people have a guilty obsession that centers on food , alcohol, or even cigarettes. My daughter also has a guilty obsession. Like mine, hers centers on people. Her obsession involves the celebrities in People magazine. My obsession also centers on people, but they are the people in and on the flights that connect through our nation’s airports. Sometimes my obsession goes a little farther than just looking or watching. At times I feel compelled to talk to these people. So, I do.

Over the last month I have spent a lot of time obsessing in airports and on airplanes. Below are just a few of my conversations and observations.

March 10th, 2011. I am in the Boston airport waiting for my flight to Atlanta. I see a woman wearing a shirt that asks a very interesting question. In very large print it says, “Ask Me About Roller Derby”. Little did she know I am/was a big fan of roller derby. Especially women’s roller derby. When I was a kid I used to watch roller derby every Saturday afternoon on WTCG Channel 17 in Atlanta. There I was, in the Boston airport, standing next to a real live person who had to know something about roller derby. I had no choice, I had to ask. This girl actually owned a roller derby league in Portland, OR. She was a roller derby star, she didn’t like the way the team was being run, and decided to start her own league. You could say she was in a league of her own. Her league is called “ Rose City Roller Derby”. Check it out at I asked her all the stupid questions, like was it fake, did it hurt when you fell, and who made up the inane scoring system. Once I recovered from the elbow to the ribs I realized that she had a strategic plan for her sport. She was in Boston on business and was seeking to partner with WWE on a few events. Roller Derby and professional wrestling? I think we could have a winner. You heard it here first.

March 14th, 2011. I am on a flight to Indianapolis in first class and am seated next to a guy that I believe has to be a celebrity. I convince myself that it is Eminem. He is plump, almost round, totally green, and has a big “M” on his chest. I wonder if he has the other “M” on his back? I wish that he would lean forward. Seriously, I think the guy is Eminem. He is wearing a hooded sweatshirt with the hood pulled over his head. He has on large RayBan mirrored sunglasses and was listening to Rap music on his Doctor Dre Monster Beat Headphones. I stare without being obvious. For an hour and a half I am humming that song, Lose Yourself, from the movie Eight Mile in preparation. We finally land and Eminem emerges from beneath the hood. He was old and gray headed and looked he had just been released from a mental institution. He was an impersonator. My brush with a real live rapper had ended. My day was now ruined.

March 17th, 2011. I am on a flight from Atlanta to San Antonio. I am seated next to a large woman. She is very large. We are in the exit row with the extra space between the seats and she barely fits. She has to be like 6’4” and must weigh nearly 300 pounds. Knowing that we are about to become close I feel like we need to talk. So we do. She is from the Detroit area. She is perhaps one of the nicest women I have ever met. We have a nice chat about life and the world around us. She is older and has kids that are about my age. She is on her way to visit her younger brother for his 60th birthday party. Both of her brothers were renowned surgeons in the San Antonio area. She also told me about her son the attorney. He lives in New York and was trapped in the subway for 11 hours following 9/11. He represents people in the entertainment industry. I asked her if he worked for anyone famous. In fact he did. His most famous client was none other than Eminem. He was the personal attorney for Eminem. Just in case it might be worth something someday I asked for her autograph. Afterall, she was the mother of the attorney for Eminem. My brush with a real live rapper was alive, again.

Some of my other observations.

A girl on the airplane with the tattoo of a dragon on her stomach.
A guy on a cell phone negotiating a $ 17 million deal to sell property to Walmart.
A Chinese college student studying about modern medical techniques.
A Hispanic looking girl with a harsh New England accent.
Italian and Chinese food on the same airport restaurant menu.
A couple with a box of live Maine lobsters returning to Florida.
Two little girls under the age of six traveling alone on an airplane.
People tasting Diet Vanilla Coke for the first time at an airport sample stand.
People desperately trying anything to get on a flight that is oversold by 10 people.
A couple planning their wedding at an airport gate.
People stuffing bags in overhead bins with no chance of ever closing the bins.
A little old man wearing a clip on bow tie.

I will continue to watch and report.