Seattle owes me a voice.

I've never really been renowned for my ability to take care of myself (I eat one meal a day and it's usually fast food). But last night in Seattle, the combination of lack of sleep, lack of nutrition, a day of running around in freezing rain and a week's worth of shouting our free subscription deal to fans who seem highly suspicious that it's actually free (oh, but it is. Please believe.) in the same room that five bands are playing at extremely high decibels has stolen my voice.

It's gone. Completely. To be fair, it was never really that great a voice in the first place. But now the fans in Salt Lake City (at least) will never get to hear it. All that's left is this raspy whisper that makes my chest and soul hurt when I attempt to communicate.

Luckily, we have a day off today and we're somewhere in Boise, Idaho, so I've been mostly able to throw my hoodie up, lay in my bunk listening to DJ Shadow and refrain from having to speak.

Aside from the fact that my throat feels like a Space Needle has been lodged inside it, Seattle was actually a great time. The venue (El Corazon) was at maximum capacity and was the first time for me on this tour in which I literally could not move. It's a rad place in a town with history that a grunge kid like me dreamt of seeing (Jason Pettigrew, you'll be happy to know that I did visit Stone Gossard's studio and I did take a picture). All the people there, too, were insanely chill. That possibly excludes everyone who was in line for our All Time Low signing and began pseudo-rioting Hayley-style when we ran out of posters. I tried drawing a picture of the guys on a few napkins, but nobody was having it. 

For those of you worried about the lack of ATL swag at the AP table, I'm working on it. Of course, I have to work on getting a dry erase board first, so that I can communicate tomorrow. 

If you've got any remedies, please help. I told my mom about my voice and asked for some maternal wisdom. Her solution: "Smile a lot."