Three more Eros Warped Tour journals from Atmosphere.
August 1, 2004 (NEW)
Someone asked me why I'm so angry.
"You appear angry lately...what's wrong?"
"Angry? If I look angry now..."
The human condition is in a sad state of affairs. I'm not angry...I'm just disappointed. I feel like an impossibly young father, sighing heavily while I search for the words that will inspire my child to redirect itself in a positive manner. I can look up from my booth at any moment during the day and immediately see numerous examples in the actions and fashions of the children in front of me. Preteens wearing a shirt that says, "My other ride is your mother," fistfights over a scarf thrown from the stage by a lead singer...in the summer, and for every ticket holder, eleven pieces of trash end up on the ground by the end of the day. People who walk by happily kick the errant pieces out of their way, but would scoff at the idea of actually picking any of it up to put in the trash can that sits a mere ten feet from their position.
Teenage girls offer themselves up to their favorite band members, for what? A sacrifice? Is this the new religion? I assure you, people, there are no "Rock Gods" here.
I'm not angry, I'm just sad...very sad, in fact. And that can be frustrating. At times I would rather be able to delude myself into a joyous mood all the time, but new examples of needed change constantly present themselves, no...rub my face in the armpits of negativity (Fahrenheit 9/11) and it seems that with each passing day, I find it harder and harder to maintain high spirits.
At least we're done with Florida.
In all honesty, this tour is the best thing that's ever happened to me, to a lot of people for that matter, whether they realize it or not is another story. Kevin Lyman may end up saving the world, but he'll probably never know it. If I sound severe, then you are much luckier than I am. A wise man once said, "Sight is a blessing, vision is a curse."
I've heard bands on this tour make disparaging remarks about artists who think they can make a difference. To them I say, "Get off the stage. Do yourself and everyone else a favor: find a noble way to remove your genes from the pool. Hopefully, you can be reincarnated with a touch more intelligence, and a more enlightened mind."
I am the Warped Tour.
July 31, 2004
People here seem to operate on an entirely different set of rules.
I've seen more weird behavioral shit in the last month than I probably ever have. That goes for "rock stars," and fans alike. For instance, what is it about being at a music festival that makes it perfectly acceptable to make out with a guy simply because he asks you too? I don't know. Maybe that's not a bad thing. It probably wouldn't happen at a grocery store, or a mall, but does that make it wrong? The moral code here has yet to be cracked. Nonetheless, I'm having the time of my life on this tour. How many people get the chance to work and live with their idol?
I feel like a new person since beginning this traveling circus. The whole thing has been very surreal and I've just begun to wrap my head around what I'm actually doing. Less than one year ago, I was one these kids looking for a piece of their favorite artist at the Warped Tour. Standing in line at the tent for forty-five minutes or more just to get a handshake, an autograph and an encouraging word. When I get irritated or frustrated by the naiveté and idiocy on display by the masses I have to remind myself that I was one of them a short while ago and wonder how I must have looked. I think it's foolish to believe that we're any different than the people who pay to see these shows, we're just a little more fortunate is all. I find it interesting to notice how much distaste there seems to be for groupies, when there are so many of them working on this tour (they're just disguised and paid). It makes me think how easy it must be to trick yourself into an illusory mental paradigm. Are we all living in elaborate, false worlds? Convincing ourselves daily that our view is the correct one? Never seeing the world or, more importantly, ourselves for what we really are? Unfortunately, I have a feeling that more people are trapped inside their own illusions than not. The question is: am I? Are you?
I feel this most intensely when I try to figure out why I can't seem to win the favor of the girls I like. I usually just assume that they're already taken, but maybe they see me for what I really am. Or maybe they see me through the filter of their own false notions. Either, we all are entirely too preoccupied, which only compounds the problem. Of all the people I've met and talked to on this trip, only about two of them really seemed like they were right there with me, at that moment. We all just need to breathe more. Take a deep breath, slow it down for a second.
At the end of the day, though, we're still in Florida. And that doesn't make things any easier. I wonder how much explosive would be needed to remove this god-forsaken peninsula from the continent and turn it into a penal colony? This "state" has already proven it's worthlessness in matters of national importance, and daily it proves its worthlessness in matters of personal importance (comfort, intelligent conversation, hygiene). Not to get too carried away...
...she walks...attached, at the hand, to a nameless young man...shameless imaginings...is this really happening? Don't cry emo-boy. I am the Warped Tour.
July 30, 2004
I took a $40 shower today.
If what they say is true, and time is indeed money, then I spent $40 of my hard-earned time on the practice of bodily hygiene. Before this tour, I was the type of person who could forgo this daily ritual if it inconvenienced me in the slightest (I've no doubt that I shall return to said state once this crazy ride comes to a halt), but these days, the worth of a working shower rivals that of a carton of cigarettes in Sing Sing.
I'm the type of person that recognizes others as having commonalities (such as purpose, interest, situation) almost immediately. Having been on this tour for over a month now, I suppose I take it for granted that others here would have at least begun to recognize some of these as well. I suppose I take it for granted that most people would have, by now, realized that we're all in this together, and should reach out our hands in assistance when possible. I suppose I take it for granted that most of us would have at least a shred of human decency buried within our cold, cold hearts. I speak of no one in particular (lying), but I found it very disheartening when, at the end of one of the longest days in recorded history, it took me two hours to find someone who was willing to help me get to the showers. The details of my struggle are unimportant. What is important is the fact that, this late in the tour, there are still those among us who would cling to their egocentric worldviews. I am constantly amazed at the depth of human selfishness and stupidity. When I see such adamant unwillingness to help others, even with something as simple as information, I find it hard to be optimistic about our future.
On a lighter note, Florida still sucks. This is the first time I've broken a sweat at a standstill since high school gym class. Moreover, today I realized that being in Florida is much like being in a giant, open-air locker room. Complete with damp air, indefinable odors, and sweat-soaked individuals.
Dibbs hooked a shark while fishing today, and though he didn't catch it, we are all very proud of him for getting that sucker on the line and fighting valiantly...and letting it get away. To his credit, the line he was using was about a 15 lb. test. Finally, some good news, though it does make me anxious. I found out that one of the girls I like knows who I am (or at least recognizes my face). Maybe this journal will impress her.
After all these years, I still can't write even a simple piece of literature such as this, without a reference to the opposite sex and my lovelorn condition. I am the warped tour.
July 29, 2004
Birthdays have always fascinated me. The powerful network of emotional attachment related to the day you were born has always been something of a mystery. I might have been content to have today simply pass by, as most days do, without mention that 24 years prior witnessed my naked form discover air for the first time. This, however, was not the case. The most fascinating part of the entire experience was that when the time came to wish me a "happy birthday," those who accomplished the task were the new "friends" that I have after being on tour for a month. The people I have known for years failed miserably. I know now why this is called the "Warped" tour, my sense of reality is becoming distorted.
Regardless of my personal opinion about the meaning of friendship and the debate over quantity of time spent and quality of time spent with a person, we are in Florida. Politics and electoral procedure aside, I can't imagine volunteering my life to a giant swamp with commerce. The girls are hot, but for the most part the individuals comprising the audience bear more resemblance to giant bags of sand than they do to flesh and blood, in terms of emotion and reaction. No matter what I think of the people though, counting inventory in the blazing sun (and the absence of shade) still sucks. Today was the first time I burned on tour... which is not tight, by the way.
Is it too early in my professional career to be jaded? I wonder. I'm already tired of the groupies, none of which shall be named. And if there truly is love out there for everyone, it would seem near to impossible that it be found within the confines of the Devil's playpen. I wander around a party that is either meant to celebrate my birthday, or is conveniently timed in accidental accordance with it. Either way, I am not enjoying myself. I'm having a hard time excusing myself from sobriety and I'm wondering if anyone realizes that, even though we are finally allowed to stay in a city past 1am, we all still have to work tomorrow.
The beer is emptied out the can, and my girl's with another man. I am the Warped Tour.
July 28, 2004
Six. Aye. Em...
There it is. All at once the anti-climactic destination and the dreadful opening scene in the drama of our daily lives, though rarely in simultaneous fashion. Either way, most of us would rather avoid this god-forsaken clock pronouncement via the passage of slumber. I, for one, am an adamant advocate of such practice. However, on this day, such practice was withdrawn from the regular menu of options.
The Sheraton Hotel in downtown Nashville may, at first glance, appear to be the "place to be," when passing through for say...a non-stop punk rock music festival. It is a large, sleek, used-car of a building that resides on a hilltop, overlooking the downtown area, most notably Printer's Alley. Some might say that, ideally, time spent on a vacation should be time spent vacating a place like this, and understandably so. But we are far from our ideals here, and this is far from a vacation.
Herein lies the problem, after a long day of accounting in captivity, one man is forced to rush from an enjoyable night at the movies in order to make bus call so the entire team can leave on time. A head full of stress and worry spoil the afterglow of Spider-man 2, the theatrical illusion is broken violently by the possibility of being the reason an entire bus arrives late to the predetermined show location. But this is about more than one man, because all of us, at one point or another, feel this pressure. And we all felt it last night.
The cab ride from the movie theater to the hotel was as intense as any. A mixture of anxiety, the possibility of exile, and popcorn with too much salt made for less than favorable conditions. Imagine my surprise then, when I arrived at the hotel to find out that not only did I avoid making everyone wait, but, despite my efforts, we would have plenty more time to get acquainted with the pseudo-obelisk known as the Sheraton. I rode a wave of relief mixed with frustration to the couch in the lobby and sat down. Six hours later, I would be on my way to Atlanta. In the meantime, I had harassment to collect from lobby security; who felt obligated to wake me every time I nodded off in my attempt to be ready when our bus arrived. Thank you, kind sir, for helping me to maintain my vigil (dick).
So now I face a new day, far behind schedule in terms of sleep, work and bowel movements (no pooping on the bus), less than ready to man the merchandise tent for Atmosphere. Hello Atlanta, hello humidity, hello birthday.
I am the warped tour.
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