Tour Guide (day 1)

Here I sit, next to a massive pile of garlic soaked asians boarding a plane for China. My headphones block my ears from the drone muttering of shuffling mutants stuffing their useless groan holes with overpriced piles of goop salt, washing it all down with gallon sized funnels of fascist Mountain Dew.

I steer away from my usual angry playlist for traffic in places like this, its much more dangerous when im not in a giant pile of metal, surging through the lame streets of Loa Angeles. I once witnessed my friend elbow a 12 year old girl for just standing in the center of the walk way looking at her phone, I felt bad, but fuck her.. she deserved it.

So for airport hikes, I usually find a folky, almost acoustic type playlist to ease my already simmering brain, because the Uber guy took the freeway instead of back roads. 

I woke up at dawn, went to Sa’s to pick up little man and drive him to school, gave him the longest hug and kiss goodbye, and went home to finish packing…  the length of a tour never mattered to me until I had my son. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of this shithole most of the time, and if I was on the road, I was getting paid, so the longer the better. Now, the thought of not being able to smell my sons breath for 3 weeks makes me absolutely insane. So much so, that I drove back to the school before I had to leave, to give him one more hug and kiss goodbye. I never really cried for a good reason before, today was definitely a good reason. This is that kind of love where you squeeze so hard you pop the fucking kids eyeballs out of his sockets. 

10 hours on a plane is not really that fun, but whatever. I haven’t been to europe in a while, so this will be a nice welcome back. The weather is starting to warm up a little, so we won’t be in the blisters of a German winter. No more black ice for me to get all Cliff Burton about. 

It’s bad enough that every time the plane takes off, or lands, I think I'm going to die in a violent, flame balling crash before we even get 500 feet off the ground… every time, no matter how much I fly, I think it's the last time i'm getting on a plane. hopefully i'll get really lucky and get a middle seat. 

To someone that hasn't been to Europe with their band, I definitely sound like a real douche, but to guys that have been there, they know exactly what I'm talking about. Yes, I am absolutely grateful for my life, but just like anything, after a while, it becomes a job, and with that job, comes hassles… I'm trying to stay positive these days, so I'm not going to get into it, but if I can't watch the 2nd season of Daredevil on this journey, I might just have to choke someone out with a donor kabob…

I promised myself i wasn't going to kill myself like I normally do on these runs. Doing nothing but jerking off, smoking cigarettes, chugging coffee, and staying up all night staring out the window, so I look 25 years older when I arrive back in the states.. normal sleep hours, only 2 cigarettes a night (aftershow), and running and push ups every day. We’ll see how long that lasts, if it even gets off the ground at all. 

6.5 hours left in flight, and stuck in the window seat.. better than the middle, but not as good as the aisle, my fidgety ass can’t handle not being able to get up when I want. It's not even about getting up, it's about knowing I can't that makes it a terrible experience. 

One time I was in a rehab, and all I wanted to do was play my fucking guitar. If I could play my guitar, that would make everything better… my fingers were actually aching to play it. I was writing song after song in my head, racks of lyrics would appear in black sharpe on the inside of my skull, and with every cursive letter that was stroked out, I would curse the poor, underpaid, technicians, with every vile, disturbing, thought, about getting loaded I could muster, until, they finally let my mother bring me my acoustic. 

I think I played it once for about 6 minutes, then it leaned against a portable toilet chair in the corner of the room for the remainder of my stay. The lyrics stopped appearing in my head, my fingers stopped aching, and I became deliberately stagnant. Then, when I got out of that rehab, I sold that guitar for a couple of bags of heroin…

I remember a lady there that had a massive crush on me, she was a soap opera star or something of the sort. She would throw notes into my room asking me to meet her in the bathroom after bed call, she would dramatically scream from the end of the women’s hallway when I would try to leave against medical advice. She would sit in the hallway outside my room and play the Tom Waits version of "Jersey Girl" on this little walkman type transistor. I would sit in my room and cry listening to the words... I wasn't in love with a Jersey girl, but I still got it. 

12:28pm London time. During our layover to Dussledorf from Heathrow, we got the news about the multiple terrorist attacks in Brussels this morning, which is 2 hours away from Dusseldorf, and also where we will be in 2 to 3 days…

Everyone is on high alert, talking about the attacks, reading about it on their phones, and keeping a close eye on all the people in heavy scarf attire. You cant help but be a tad racist in times like these… I find myself looking on the ground for children running with backpacks. People are smiling, and pretending not to be worried, but the fear is so thick in the air, I can barely breathe, and we can only pray that what happened to our dear friends in Paris, doesn't happen to us. I'm not really scared, it's more of an aware fear. You become so blindsidedly coddled in America, people talk about the ghettos and the rough neighborhoods they grew up in. I get that, people getting shot and mugged every once in a while, sounds totes scary. It's a whole different animal out here, the real ghetto, the real badlands… where you have to worry about your grandmother getting blown to bits on a bus with 26 children. I'd rather live in a neighborhood that kills for money and drugs, then one that kills for god and religion… it’s a much safer hang.

Ugh, take off's on smaller planes, so much worse than regular 707'sThere's a baby in first class screaming it's face off. I'd be pissed if I shelled out the extra 500 pounds for this flight, and it was ruined by a dirty diaper and an earache.