Why are we at Logan airport?

We just finished playing a really fun show at a unique venue in Nashua New Hampshire and we're on the way to my friend Sam's house in Boston. I'm really excited because I haven't seen her since Sevilla. "Head down 93 and when you get into Boston just take 145/Bennington and call me," she says. It sounds so easy.

Twenty minutes later and we're low on gas, circling Logan international airport for the third time. "So do you live in Terminal A or Terminal C? Because we just can't seem to find your house anywhere." I'm laughing while Jamie belligerently curses into the camera; Andy dodges imaginary sniper bullets (authorities might not take kindly to Funkwagen's rugged exterior circling the airport) while Evan generally makes loud noises. LOUD NOISES.

Eventually we find 145/Bennington, and this experience (coupled with the rest of our tour) has convinced me that we as humans give (or receive) absolutely terrible directions. I think Googlemaps does not just make life easier, it makes up for a biological direction-giving deficiency. You may start to notice that when people point, it usually has absolutely no connection to reality. "Just head up the road [man points upward, towards the ceiling fan in front of him, meanwhile the road he refers runs perpendicular to the general direction in which he motions], take the curve that veers to the right [man seems to be warming hands on a fire], hooks left [is he fishing now?] and then you just keep going [He reels in his catch] 'till Snarlsberry Parkway [meanwhile "snarlsberry" was renamed I-100 about twenty years ago.]