Don't get me wrong; they weren't rude, not at all. John D. jumped up and hugged me. I hadn't really met him before, so we talked to him for a little while. Well, he and Tim talked, and I listened. And smiled nervously. And said "wow" a lot. I spent a few minutes convincing myself to ask John Vanderslice how he liked touring with the Dismemberment Plan — my favorite band of the past few years. When I finally got it out, alas, 'twas in a little squeak of a voice. I don't even remember if he replied... I was too busy sinking into the floor. Seriously, I was feeling so Larry David. Just awkward, anti-social, unable to say anything for fear of saying the wrong thing. At least backstage at, say, a Mötley Crüe show, they'd all be snorting coke off of a stripper's tits or something. In the moment, that seemed preferable to a roomful of indie boys blinking in my general direction.

I should tell you that I spent a year as a tour promoter. Going backstage should feel like going home. But no, I was never comfortable back there.

con't