Today, in the city that hosts my favorite least-favorite airport, the first leg of the Train/Goo Goo Dolls tour comes to a close.
True to form in this part of the world, our set’s pushed back due to inclement weather, and it’s during this unforeseen downtime that I’m writing this, while people who actually work for a living scramble to save impossibly expensive equipment from impossibly large hailstones.
I’ve shadowed everyone on the tour and have a profound appreciation for the warm, fuzzy symbiosis that is a well-oiled rock and/or roll machine, so I know the best thing’s staying the hell out of the way.
Performers are referred to as the “talent.” Well, here I am, tucked meekly away in the corner of our dressing room, dressed like an asshole, possessing precisely none of the skills required to make the show happen. I’m about as “talented” as a hole in the ground.
When the tour picks back up in sunny Florida in a few days, I shall entice mosquitoes, fraternize with retirees from the Northeast, and second guess my life’s path.