08.08.23 – Tue. – 5:58PM – Newark Airport

Got a new camera bag — notably not a Jansport backpack with some bits of extra foam stuffed into the bottom. Hey, gotta have a soft landing.

That cosmic backpack, which served me so very well for however many years, met its end this summer when The Pecan took it to camp and the bug spray that went with her — along with a ton of other stuff, which is why she needed the bigger bag in the first place — spilled out. It was organic hippie stuff, but whatever lemon verbena/ginger-smelling crap was in there, that smell was never coming out. It got washed in the sink, left outside in the rain, on and on. I lost a couple tags that were on the zipper pulls — a My Sleeping Karma one was particularly treasured, along with a bunch of old fest wristbands that I’d probably never do anything with but that I liked seeing anyhow — but so it goes. Let a fire sweep the earth to make way for this harder-shell floral wonder. The Patient Mrs. found it. It’s way more comfortable than was the backpack. Will not smell like roses by the end of this weekend, I’m sure. Doesn’t now, except for fun-pretend.

I am headed out in a few hours to SonicBlast Fest in Portugal. Even accounting for the experience of a new bag — and if you don’t think that shit matters to me, I’ve got 14-plus years of backlogged neuroses for you to check out — and the fact that I’ve never even been through Portugal on my way elsewhere, let alone to this festival, I still feel excessively nervous.

It’s not music. It’s people.

You know what happens? People come up and say hi, and I get so worried I’m gonna screw it up. Bands, people who read the site, label folks, promoters — I hope at some point to run into the people behind this thing, so that’s a social interaction — and I just feel like anything I say, if someone knows me from this site, I’m just going to disappoint. Then I’ll forget someone’s name I’ve met before. I’ll stumble and say something stupid, or I’ll just look funny with my lazy eye and uneven face, my ever-growing fat ass and my general air of ‘here’s a guy who probably doesn’t think much of himself and is right on nearly all accounts in that’ and my lack of eye contact because who the fuck am I in the first place to look anyone in the eye.

I thought maybe that kind of thing would get easier when I hit middle age. I put on weight? I’m 41, who gives a fuck? What, someone’s gonna try to nail me and then see me and be like, nah, forget jigglebelly? Of course not. And what the hell is even the point of being this old if I’m still such a mess in my head? But I’m terrified of meeting people and coming off wrong, of not meeting whatever expectation someone might have. If you’re reading this, please say hi so I can tell you thanks in-person, which is very, very important to me, but please be gentle and go slow. I’m in a new place with new people and there’s a reason I spend so much time in front of my laptop (and writing on my phone, which I am now and will likely be all weekend) and it’s because that thing everyone does where they function in society on any level whatsoever, well, it’s just not really where I’ve ever been at.

Funny story though and quick: a woman a couple people in front of me on the security line. Total wreck. Flailing with three or four bags, taking stuff out to put in the little trays, telling the TSA people what’s in there — her makeup was the black bag, which was brought back after she put it through the machine because there was a Bluetooth speaker in it, on and on. Flowing shawl was the key. I saw her and immediately recognized: this is a person who writes. And you know what? A little while ago, I walked past her sitting at the edge of the wine bar near these gates and there was the laptop with the word processor open.

Sad part of that is I didn’t fit in grad school either. But, as I told my mother the other day when she asked innocently if I was looking forward to this trip — short answer: yes — and I unloaded a rant about how nervous I am for it, once the music starts, everything is okay. All this? The airport, the packing, the days of nervous mental list-making that definitely should have been actual list-making, etc. All of it evaporates tomorrow night when the first band goes on.

This will be fun. I know it will. And the people will be great. People I meet at shows say the nicest shit. Sweethearts, all. Amd I’ll be on the Iberian fucking Peninsula for the first time! With Acid King! And Ruff Majik! It’s like my two favorite records of the year so far, plus Sasquatch and a god damned ton of others. Yeah, I’ll make an ass out of myself in nearly every conversation I have, maybe lose a social media follow or two, but the music will be there and that’s where I want to be.

So me and my new bag are on our way, and if you’re there and you see either of us — me or the bag — please know that while I’m a big weirdo even among a deviant subculture comprised almost exclusively of weirdos, I appreciate your support more than I’ll ever be able to say. Thanks for reading.

Tags: Âncora, Portugal, SonicBlast Fest, SonicBlast Fest 2023, SonicBlast Fest 2023 Trip

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 8th, 2023 at 6:37 pm and is filed under Features. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.