Allergies, Addicts & the End of the Summer

There are certain allergies you catch on Warped Tour. Barbecued hamburgers and hotdogs, for one. Sleeping in a bunk bed. Waiting in line for a hot shower. Settling for a cold shower. Sweating. And dirty clothes. And answering the same irritating press questions like you're applying ointment to a rash.

But then there are the addicts. I'm not talking about the AAs and the NAs. I'm talking about the musicians addicted to the tour. To the circus experience. 

Because touring takes a toll few realize at first. It becomes a part of you. It becomes a microcosm of the way things should be. Where nobody is a stranger. Where people look each other in the eyes and smile instead of starring straight ahead. They wave, "hello." They want to drink with you. Lend you a cigarette. It doesn't matter how long they've been on tour or how many followers they have on Twitter. They just want to share in something greater than themselves.

Sure, there are those who'll claim they hate touring, but really they hate that they need it. Forget weed, whiskey and women. These people get hooked on comradery. So they keep coming back year after year to play the same tunes on the same stages for the same screaming fans. 

Just to belong again. To get their fix.   

It may be the end of Warped Tour for me. The end of the summer. But it's a part of me now. A part I can't seem to shake as I try to readjust to the 'real world' -- if Los Angeles can even be called that. 

So I raise a toast -- to new friends. Fleeting romance. The allergies and addicts alike.

I'm one of you now.