TWO FLIGHTS, FROM THE WEST TO THE EAST: Leigh and I hopped a flight out of Portland early this morning. I stayed up way too late last night working on a mess of icons for a client, so I slept good and hard the whole flight to Minneapolis.

The flight to Philly from Minneapolis was a chance to catch up on all our neglected email onslaught. Trapped at 30,000 feet = As good a time as any to chop that inbox way down. Went from 156 messages down to 65. Wham!

Landed into the city sorta late and got snatched up by Steve and Adrian DeCusatis and whisked downtown for a bite to eat then over to the Sheraton to work on projects, of course, way too late. Like we care. The DDC Mobile Command Unit does not concern itself with time zones, clocks or sleeping cycles. We’re on the road, and we’re gonna do whatever the fuck it takes to get the shit done. Non-negotiable.

Oh yeah, I think I threw my back out. That’s awesome. Perfect fuckin’ timing. I was bending down in the shop grabbing something and felt a little crunch in the lower back. Couple days later, I’m moving real slow. Like a big sloth. Slow moves in and out of the cockpit. Putting socks on is suddenly a sad transaction. This WILL NOT stop us. Our word.

Packed into that seat today on that first flight, I willed myself through the sardine tin pain with slumber, and it’s our hunch we were snoring real good, really “lighting up the row” for the fellow passengers in the middle and aisle seats. Sorry, Americans.

Okay, it’s time to hit the sack. Tour Manager Leigh just gave us one of those “Get to bed, dick…” sighs that’s she’s known for.