Part 6

I spent the first half of 2016 delivering Edible Arrangements across the Grand Rapids metropolitan area. It was a great way to deepen my connection with the place in which I was born, the city streets becoming as familiar to me as the back of my own hand.

When I first got the job I was blown away by how much freedom it allowed me. I listened to any music I liked, scheduled my own lunch breaks, and my boss would never know if I picked up JD to ride along with me. The authority to do these things was never bestowed upon me by anyone but myself, of course, but I can assure you that each and every customer got their chocolate-covered fruit in the end.

Meanwhile, the decision to move to California had been made. JD and I had talked about it since high school, but we took the responsible route set forth by our parents to attend college first, which amounted to a big waste of time and money for everyone involved. Neither of us made it past our first year. It was always clear to us that we were destined to become world famous musicians. 

That instinct was all the more confirmed by a phone call I got from JD one afternoon. "Dude, Dude! I just got a message from my uncle! He said that if we move to LA we could stay with him while we look for our own place, and that he would introduce us to anyone we wanna talk to!" 

Anthony had been driving down the PCH that day, listening to his own new music and, feeling inspired by life's infinite possibilities, magnanimously offered his young nephew and I the opportunity of a lifetime. It had always occurred to JD and I how much his uncle could help us if he wanted to, but we never presumed anything, nor did we ask for any favors up to this point. The prospect of pursuing my dreams in LA was exciting enough on its own, but now that life had dealt me another wildcard, I became self-assured that nothing I dreamed of was too big, or out of reach.

The new music that Anthony had been listening to that day would become the Chili Peppers' 11th studio album, The Getaway, the release date of which happened to coincide with the first day of that summer's family vacation on Lake Michigan.

I picked up a CD copy at Vertigo Records for JD and I to listen to as we drove out to the beach. The length of the album matched the length of our drive almost perfectly, so that the last song was playing as I parked my car in the driveway of the beach house. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and everyone was outside when we pulled up. The last thing I expected, though, was for Anthony to walk up to my car, lean in through my window, and start headbanging to "Dreams of a Samurai". 

When you're with a famous person, as many people already know, sometimes you're not sure how much you should acknowledge their fame, but the more you avoid it, the more awkward things become. I froze up a bit, and when the song ended all I could muster was, "Yep! First listen!" No compliments for AK.

Over the course of the next week, though there had never been a shortage of this kind of behavior, the new album's publicity seemed to cause an influx of nervous fans asking for photos, which was almost always declined. Waitstaff at restaurants fell to pieces. People screamed Anthony’s name outside of our house. As crazy as it was, it felt like an absolute privilege to be along for the ride, and to associate with such a high level of rock-music royalty. 

The biggest pitfall I perpetually fell into, though, was thinking that my association with celebrity is what made me interesting to others. I always had a story to tell about some famous person I had met backstage at a show, but the high status experiences I frequently had, my supposedly amazing adventures, were never borne of my own accomplishments. I can see why many people secretly accused me of “riding coattails”.

But the ride continued. Later that summer The Chili Peppers were booked to headline Lollapalooza in Chicago. From a young age, JD and I never failed to take full advantage of backstage amenities. We ate free gourmet meals, took joyrides on “borrowed” golf carts, and brushed shoulders with countless rappers and rock stars. Lollapalooza 2016 was no different, and we took pride in being part of the in-crowd. 

One memory sticks out from this particular weekend. We were in the RHCP compound (each headliner gets their own exclusive space), when who should walk in but the loveable and charismatic rapper, Mac Miller. Him and JD made conversation, and Mac openly admitted that he was trying to get clean, and now had a few weeks of sobriety under his belt. There were little kids running all around us, and in a few minutes Mac started playing with them, goofing around, hitting ping pong balls back and forth with JD’s little cousins. Unfortunately, in a few years he would become another example of a seemingly sweet-hearted man who met an early grave due to drug abuse. 

It wasn't my first time seeing RHCP headline a music festival, but this one was particularly spectacular to behold. A certain rumble tends to rattle through your soul when approximately 100,000 people gather together and scream in your direction. JD and I stood side-stage, affording us almost the same vantage point as the band itself, facing the dazzling Chicago skyline. 

Anyone in my position would have had a hard time resisting the allure of what the rock star lifestyle has to offer: fame, money, and most of all, power. I couldn't help but imagine a future where I was the one standing center stage. 

Two weeks later I was California bound.