Three Dog Night

It was unusually cold in State College yesterday. Barely 20, and winds gusting to 35 miles per hour. Flying to Detroit, I think it was even colder. There was an icy draft in the plane, as if the windows were open. But it wasn't until I got to the gate for my connection to St. Louis that it became an official three dog night. 

Waiting for boarding with other impatient, frequent flyer upgraded to first class business travelers, I engaged in casual conversation with the person pictured on the left below (Paul Kinery) when all of a sudden, Jimmy Greenspoon (on right) flooped in front us with a big, grinning "Ha!" Looking around, I recognized Michael Allsup, Paul Buitz and Danny Hutton. Where was Cory Wells? But more importantly, where is Shambala? Or what is Shambala?Why would anyone want to be on the road to Shambala? Jimmy gladly told me. 

Then Paul asked Jimmy, "Where is your roller bag?" 

And Jimmy looked down, then twirled and said, "It was right here with me." 

"Where were you before here?" 

"Over there," pointing to a spot just 20 feet away by the moving walkway. No bag there either.

"You'd lose your pants if they weren't buckled," Paul flatly proclaimed.

"The club," said Paul, and Jimmy marched toward the NWA World Club, 11 gates down. Half way there, suddenly Jimmy turned around and ambled back to us and smiled.

"Did you give up on your bag?" I asked.

"It's right here," he said with a chuckle while lifting his bulging, blue down coat to expose a small, laptop bag-sized roller bag hanging on a shoulder strap. "I guess I don't know my own strength. I didn't feel it there at all."

Three Dog Night will be playing at a show near you soon. Their performances are more powerful than ever before.