Monday, March 12, 2018

Dispatch from Jersey

It's been awhile.

Forgive me, I've been busy.

Mostly on the side of the road wondering what the fuck is gonna break next.

Where do I start?

Well, I am writing this from the lounge of a Freightliner repair shop in Lyndhurt, New Jersey. Let that be an indicator of the journey from the driver's seat.

But there has also been a lot of magic.

More magic than tragic, despite everything.

Music, obviously. Discovering that I have fallen in love with each member of the band as humans even more than I ever loved their music.

And I fucking love their music.

The people I get to see along the way.

The hole in my heart left by the people I missed.

The countless hugs, the coffee, the gifts, the love.

This conversation with my friend Colleen:

C: Do you know people in every city you guys stop in?
Me: Yes. And no, not all of them are because of music. 
C: You've lead a rich life.

And there it is. Despite everything, despite my recklessness, despite my fuck ups and foibles, despite my ability to upend everything in my life or, my deciding I want to be something completely different today than I was yesterday, I indeed lead a very rich life.

I am tired. I am Gross. Ready to go home to TGB.

I hit a 24 hour patch where I wanted to drink more than I have since getting sober. That was a bad day At the end of it, when those closest to me asked how I was the best I could give them was the truth: I am still sober and for today that is enough.

Listen boys and girls, if you want to go tour with your favorite band or artist do NOT think it is going to be all fun and rock-n-roll. It's fucking work. These people you see on stage fucking work their asses off just to do that thing you see. What you don't see is the grind; the blue collar of it all.

And the people on the periphery - the drivers, the merch people, the tour managers - they get their hands the dirtiest trying to keep the artists floating. I think those same people would say it's a privilege.

I can't imagine getting asked to drive for Skinny Lister ever again. God knows I thought I was gonna be put on a plane in Chicago. And fuck me if I don't hate this fucking bandwagon.

But. If they ask me on June 3rd, I will fucking be there.

No, I will not add any other bands. No, this is not some career path I want to venture down. I just... I dunno... dig this band of people.

Whatever. I need a shower.

Titty sprinkles!