Pictures And Some Memories

One: Thanks to You.

It's nine thousand degrees on this tour bus.

Okay, okay, I'm exaggerating, but life on the Vans Warped Tour was extremely hot and sweaty. How some people thrive in the 115° heat, I'll never know. For a redhead, I could tan pretty well compared to my paler redheaded counterparts, but I still felt like I'd end up melting if I was in the heat for longer than an hour. Walking from the bus to the stage made me want to shrivel up sometimes, but it was all apart of the job.

If you're assuming that I'm a musician, sadly, you'd be wrong, despite the many rounds of drunken karaoke I've participated in. I'm just a roadie, or a technician, to be exact. I also help with merch, and I'm sort of a hand to anyone who needs it, whether it be in the sound booth (or tent, on this tour) or by fetching things that the band needs. When I'm not touring, I'm a professional artist with a bachelor's in the subject. Galleries and I are becoming rare, however, with how much touring I've been doing since I've graduated. However, I try to maintain at least four per year to keep people interested. It may be busy, but I wouldn't trade this lifestyle for the world. When I moved to New York to study art at NYU, I never expected myself to fall in love with the chaos that is touring. The constant change was exciting, especially since I'd only explored my hometown of Austin, Texas, my mother's hometown of McAllen, Texas, and Huntington Beach, California, where I finished out the second half of my high school years. When I was seventeen, change was terrifying and something I avoided. But, as a 23 year old, I absolutely loved to change the flow and it was the reason I loved touring so much. New cities, new adventures, and new inspiration were only a few hours drive (or flight) away.

My alarm that alerted me that we had 45 minutes until set time started to beep, briefly taking me out of my thoughts. I jumped out of my bottom bunk (won by an intense game of flip cup), climbed to the junk bunk (I silently, jokingly cursed my mother's name for making me five foot three) and grabbed my penny board, then went to the back lounge and nudged Matt Flyzik, our tour manager, out of his short lived nap, grabbed my all access laminates, and followed the assistant tour manager, Matt Colussy, out of the bus. I stepped onto the board and hoped like hell that I wouldn't accidentally knock someone down again-- I was possibly one of the worst coordinated people on this tour and I've had my share of speed wobble falls and run ins with innocent people.

As I coasted behind the metal fence that separated the backstage area from the crowd areas, I smiled and waved as band members of bands that I've admired for years nodded, shouted, and greeted me as I passed. It was so surreal to know that bands like Every Time I Die and Anberlin knew who I was and enjoyed my company just because of the band I worked for. It never failed to humble me and remind me of just how lucky I was to have this opportunity, all because of the chance meeting of my best friend, Carly.

Carly and I met on our first day at NYU, when we were moving into our dorm. We were assigned to be roommates, and due to a last minute switch in room assignments, we didn't have a single clue about what the other was like. She was hanging up posters and looked like she had just finished crying and was trying to hold herself together. I would learn later on that she hardly ever cried-- this was one of three times I've seen her cry in our six years of friendship. Anyway, she was upset because she'd just said goodbye to her family, friends, and like most teenage girls, she was devastated to leave behind her boyfriend, Alex, in their hometown of Towson, Maryland. I was somewhat in the same situation as she, having ended my year and a half long relationship with my high school boyfriend, Zack, only hours before arriving. However, I had done plenty of crying the morning of, and was waiting for nightfall to do the silent cry before drifting off to sleep. So, when I walked in and saw a tall blonde haired girl sniffling as she tacked up a Foo Fighters poster, I felt a connection similar to the ones I had with my friends I'd made back in California. And trust me, that was a good thing.