8/30/12 Boston MA.
Logan Airport 9:40pm
A warm, clear night.
It starts, like it always does, with the anxiety of packing and potentially leaving something important behind, besides our lives. It’s always the little things that tend to worry me most in the last hours before leaving town. Did I forget the Ipod? Did I bring enough underwear? Will we go completely broke, did I forget my toothpaste, or better yet my toothbrush? Those little things that will eventually amount to big problems. Double check the luggage before leaving, and again at the airport, though it certainly wouldn’t matter at that point. Alissa is much better at this game than I am. She is nothing if not meticulous when it comes to being prepared for a long trip. You’d think that at this point I’d be virtually flawless when it comes to this scenario. You’d be wrong. I am forgetful, sloppy, and borderline childlike when it comes to this, hence the warranted anxiety I feel just before leaving home for a long period of time .
We’re leaving for two months of who the fuck knows what, and oddly I feel pretty damn comfortable with that. Its become second nature really. Everyday brings a new city, new people, and hopefully a good experience. Though, over the years we’ve learned to trade in the term “good experience” for just “an experience” in general. Less expectations make for a better time. Set that bar low enough to come out with a smile. I’ve spent a good chunk of the last few years on tour, learning how to navigate this subculture we’ve decided to spend so much time in, and I still wind up with my nose bloody from time to time. I’ve been touring in punk bands off and on since I was 18. I've grown up while doing this. It's never been a constant thing, but it's always been a part of my life.
Logan Airport has a sterile, doctors office like feel. Maybe more like a doctors office combined with a shopping mall. The ceilings are high, and as is the case with most airports, the amalgamation of footsteps leaves a nervous clutter of sound that reverberates, bouncing off the cold walls. I actually like airports. If you like people watching, you probably do to. Everyone is coming or going, from wherever, to who knows where. I’ve grown to love recognizing the tentative looks that are brought on by the fleeting moments of being in-between destinations, and the relieved looks of those that have clearly just arrived at theirs. Its for this same reason that I like places like Vegas and New Orleans. They give you so much to look at when you’re just a part of the scenery. Everyone is looking for something, whether they find it or not matters very little. I think in the long run, it just matters that you were motivated enough to look at all.
Music has brought me to so many places that I never thought I’d get the opportunity to go to. There are times when I curse myself for going out on another run of shows, rolling the dice with our lives, but I always come back with at least a few special memories to help fill out the old mental rolodex. Monetarily, its a nightmare and anyone that tells you any less is either lying, famous, or has a trust fund safely tucked away, far from the prying eyes of the punk community. You always hear stories about the rockstars, but seldom about us miscreants that are crawling through the dregs. The uncomfortable underbelly of the indie world. I just count myself lucky to be here, in this airport.
Logan Airport 9:40pm
A warm, clear night.
It starts, like it always does, with the anxiety of packing and potentially leaving something important behind, besides our lives. It’s always the little things that tend to worry me most in the last hours before leaving town. Did I forget the Ipod? Did I bring enough underwear? Will we go completely broke, did I forget my toothpaste, or better yet my toothbrush? Those little things that will eventually amount to big problems. Double check the luggage before leaving, and again at the airport, though it certainly wouldn’t matter at that point. Alissa is much better at this game than I am. She is nothing if not meticulous when it comes to being prepared for a long trip. You’d think that at this point I’d be virtually flawless when it comes to this scenario. You’d be wrong. I am forgetful, sloppy, and borderline childlike when it comes to this, hence the warranted anxiety I feel just before leaving home for a long period of time .
We’re leaving for two months of who the fuck knows what, and oddly I feel pretty damn comfortable with that. Its become second nature really. Everyday brings a new city, new people, and hopefully a good experience. Though, over the years we’ve learned to trade in the term “good experience” for just “an experience” in general. Less expectations make for a better time. Set that bar low enough to come out with a smile. I’ve spent a good chunk of the last few years on tour, learning how to navigate this subculture we’ve decided to spend so much time in, and I still wind up with my nose bloody from time to time. I’ve been touring in punk bands off and on since I was 18. I've grown up while doing this. It's never been a constant thing, but it's always been a part of my life.
Logan Airport has a sterile, doctors office like feel. Maybe more like a doctors office combined with a shopping mall. The ceilings are high, and as is the case with most airports, the amalgamation of footsteps leaves a nervous clutter of sound that reverberates, bouncing off the cold walls. I actually like airports. If you like people watching, you probably do to. Everyone is coming or going, from wherever, to who knows where. I’ve grown to love recognizing the tentative looks that are brought on by the fleeting moments of being in-between destinations, and the relieved looks of those that have clearly just arrived at theirs. Its for this same reason that I like places like Vegas and New Orleans. They give you so much to look at when you’re just a part of the scenery. Everyone is looking for something, whether they find it or not matters very little. I think in the long run, it just matters that you were motivated enough to look at all.
Music has brought me to so many places that I never thought I’d get the opportunity to go to. There are times when I curse myself for going out on another run of shows, rolling the dice with our lives, but I always come back with at least a few special memories to help fill out the old mental rolodex. Monetarily, its a nightmare and anyone that tells you any less is either lying, famous, or has a trust fund safely tucked away, far from the prying eyes of the punk community. You always hear stories about the rockstars, but seldom about us miscreants that are crawling through the dregs. The uncomfortable underbelly of the indie world. I just count myself lucky to be here, in this airport.