Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Warped Tour passed thru Portland this past Sunday (false advertising, in my opinion, as the wide open field that hosted the tour was an hour's drive away from Portland) and I drove up to see my brother in action.
The drive was nice. For all but the last mile there was very little traffic. I had my bag of pretzels, a bag of raisins, juice and the trusty iPod. Before I knew it, the Gold Saturn was directed across the field (offroading!) to a parking spot right in front of the entry gate. So far so good.
Finding the line for "People on a List" was easy. It was the only one with no one in it. Striding confidently to the table I tossed out my license and said I was on XX's list (I am having inner monologue discussions as to whether to name drop or to keep the innocents out of this....). A guy behind me said: "Hey, you're not related to 'this kid' (my brother), are you?" I nodded affirmatively, at which he laughed. And punched some random 6-year old in the side of the head. I shook his hand as he laughed at meeting "another one of them". My brother is famous in his own way, ya know? Cool guy, said he'd make finding Bro his top priority when I was told I was not on any list. Before the Kid Puncher could make good on his promise, my text got thru and here comes Little Bro, dressed in flannel and a toque (it was around 90 degrees) and all black out the gate looking ready to kill. A quick turnaround to cuss out some incompetent (or so he said. Perhaps he was mucking with me?) and return with an ALL ACCESS PASS. SO it began. My foray into the world of the rock star.
It began immediately. Like a little lab puppy, I followed LB across the field, through throngs of 11-17 year olds (I think I was closer in age to some of the parents who brought their kids. For certain I had more in common with them) and through a back gate into the world of the famous. As we careened through the aisles and aisles of tour busses I started noticing faces..."hey, that's so-and-so and that's...no wAY!" Star struck, I had to grab LB's shirt to stay on track. As we passed by celeb after celeb, calls rang out in greeting to the LB. Everyone seemed to want to talk to him, especially a lot of the women that had special passes. We stopped to chat to a couple of people (again, I'll refrain from name dropping. But let me tell ya, these were not newcomers) more than happy to meet me, only because of my brother.
We reached the tour bus. Never in my life have I ever traveled in such luxury, or even been in a mode of transport so nice! Huge tvs, dvd players, fridge, I think there may have been a hot tub in the back, I'm not sure. Even I could not go there. The guys in the band were very nice. They're Canadian, so they talked funny. Not only that, but they had the AC cranked high enough so that they could walk around in their parkas and feel at home. Odd, but they're rock stars. They can do that. For most of the afternoon we sat there and chatted, and I heard all sorts of On the Road type stories. Man, the life these guys live! Bachanaal (sp?) all the time!
In between stories, we'd go out and check out other bands, hang out with some of the other bands, and all I heard was "your brother's great" this and that and "if only he would tour with us". Sickening, really.
Did I mention the butler?
When dinner rolled around we weaseled my way in so that I could eat with the stars (I paid $10). Overall it was pretty cool, and I only committed one gaffe. Sitting there, I noticed a couple of girls looking at our table, giggling and carrying on. I was feeling sexy, despite my sweat soaked shirt, so I got up and walked over to talk with them. Turns out, it wasn't me they were pointing at, but the famous rock stars I was eating with. Oops. They all had a good laugh at my expense, and were nice enough to throw a couple groupies at me later (which I turned down. I had to get home and study my accounting) to assuage my feelings of idiocy.
Watching the Kid work was pretty awesome. He's really good at what he does, and is kind of entertaining to watch. Not as entertaining to see him grousing all day about a little sunburn (he's been living vampire's hours for years now, and his skin hasn't seen the sun in literally years. You want to talk pale...blinding.
I'd write more, but the kitty is alternating between clawing my leg, chewing my fingers, chewing the power cord and trying to drink my beer. Not only that, but it's getting late and I have to be at work a little before 8, a feat I am not sure I've succeeded in yet.
Lots of famous people
The Little Brother has MADE IT (I think the hot chick from the Girl Nexts Door called him when I was there)
Don't ask the lead singer of the Punkest of the Punk to sign your ex-boob. And don't tell him that he is not as Fat as you expected from his name, thinking it will make him happy
Groupies are not toys
Rock stars live the life
The cat is chewing on my scalp. Jealous of the ramen, says I