The circus has left town.

The leaf blowers have swept the confetti detritus from the stage.

The amplifiers, the washing machine, the tapestries for the dressing room. The tackle boxes of guitar picks. The lava lamps. The pop-up tents for the T-shirt vendors. The color-coded stickies. The Post-It notes from the bathroom door. The Party Shark. The exhausted helium tank. The racks of cabbage cases with their precious cargo. It has all been packed away – the army of 18-wheelers repurposed for another life.

I am the aunt-by-marriage of a rock star. Patrick’s nephew is Wolfgang Van Halen, who is the full-time bass player for the eponymous super-group. I will not debate the merits of my nephew over their previous bass player as I AM OVERWHELMINGLY BIASED, and this has been discussed ad nauseum in other venues. The band just wrapped up the first leg of their North American tour in support of their new album, A Different Kind of Truth. Late summer and fall dates have been postponed – and no, it’s not because they’re fighting with the lead singer (the original lead singer, David Lee Roth).

With the exception of my 21-year-old nephew, they’re all pushing 60. They’d been touring since February, practicing since long before that, and in the studio for God-kn0ws-how-long before then. I’m sure they’re tired – I know I am, and I only went to four shows.

But wow – those four shows… where to begin?

With an exclusive, unauthorized BEHIND-THE-SCENES LOOK AT THE VAN HALEN TOUR!!!! (ALL-CAPS, natch!) Including ALL-ACCESS reportage from the OFFICIAL tour bus! Secrets revealed! True Hollywood Stories™ told! Behind The Music heard! It’s all here:

And it’s all boring… underwhelming, exhausting and uneventful…

All the fun happened before Wolf and I entered the picture, 21 years and 12 years ago, respectively.

In their misspent youth, my Husband and Wolf’s Dad shared many adventures together – and we hear bits and pieces of these antics in unguarded moments, memories of good times gone by. Hell, Wolf lived about a third of his life without even knowing he was the son of a rock superstar because Ed never played his own records around the house!

Now Wolf and his Dad are making incredible memories together on stage, and Uncle Pat and I are honored to witness them. I still get a lump in my throat every time he thumps out the opening notes of Running with the Devil. I beam when I see the little smiles, the winks and nods, the familiar nudges exchanged between father and son, beamed to a Jumbotron as wide as a football field. These knowing moments shrink a crowd of 18,000 screaming people into a snapshot: the finished attic above the garage where Wolf used to practice his drums (no girls allowed) or maybe our living room where he deployed our dogs’ squeaky toy as a kick drum while he marched around the house playing AC/DC’s Highway to Hell on his guitar.

He was 11.

But you don’t want to hear all the sappy ramblings of a bragging aunt. You want to hear the dirt – so here it is, in a handy FAQ format that everyone can understand:

1) WHAT’S THE TOUR BUS LIKE?

We rode the tour bus from San Diego to Phoenix … and I lived to tell about it, not that there was much to tell: No hookers. No crackpipes. No towering mountains of blow. No mooning the other busses (or the police) out the back window. No close encounters with drug-sniffing dogs on Interstate 8 outside of Yuma.

No scandal. No outrage. No nothing.

I could have had more fun on a Greyhound from Las Vegas to Phoenix – and probably would have had a better chance of contracting a communicable disease.

So with illicit activities off the table, what does one do on the Van Halen tour bus? Well, I watched Wolfgang eat a boneless, skinless chicken breast along with some brown rice and fresh vegetables. Then I played a few rounds of Words with Friends. Then Olivia, Wolf’s girlfriend, showed me how to open the automatic door to the back of the bus, so I could change into my pajamas (I couldn’t figure it out myself and probably would have broken [and bought] it, if left to my own devices). Then I joined Wolf , Liv and Pat to watch a few rousing clips of World’s Dumbest Thrillseekers 4 on TruTV.

No, we didn’t even watch porn on the tour bus – no In Diana Jones and the Temple of Poon, no Lord of the G-Strings, no Sperms of Endearment – I’m serious. Just compilation videos of World’s Adjectivest Fill-In-the-Blank on the satellite dish.

Speaking of porn, Pat and I didn’t even get it on on the bus, because a) there’s not enough room on the submarine-rack bunks for two people and b) I went to bed before he did because I was tired, and by that point, Pat was settling in for a long night of catching up with his nephew. So I brushed my teeth, donned my reading glasses and read an engaging work of nonfiction outlining the collapse of the Eurozone (Boomerang, by Michael Lewis). I was asleep shortly after midnight.

Bus ride = total let down.*

From a comfort standpoint, riding on the Van Halen tour bus was a lot like sleeping on an airplane… or in a car. You’re aware of the motion – the acceleration and braking, the rocking sway of the bus around the turns, the slosh of your bladder from drinking too much… water (I know, I know). You’re not quite asleep; you’re not quite awake; and you know you’re not going to feel quite right the next day when it’s daylight and you have to put together complete sentences. It’s like a hangover… but without the exciting preamble.

Oh, and to answer your other question: Yes, each member of the band has their own tour bus. For a 40-stop tour, it’s a lot like a rolling hotel room, and why would you want to share a hotel room with your Dad and step-mom, or the lead singer, or your Uncle, Aunt and 12-year-old cousin? (That would be Uncle Alex – not Uncle Pat.)

To avoid traffic and make good time, the busses typically roll immediately after the show, arriving  in Detroit, Chicago, Pittsburgh, D.C., at some bleary-eyed point the following morning. The band checks directly in to their hotel rooms to get some real sleep – their circadian rhythms shaken like a sad maraca. You try to calm down after going to work in front of 18,000 screaming people.

So they have four band-busses plus a crew bus and a whole fleet of 18-wheelers carrying the staging and equipment from point to point. For the West Coast swing, they typically jet back and forth to the shows from their homes in Los Angeles as it’s a lot faster and ensures a night in their own beds.

The West Coast swing wrapped up in San Diego and turned east toward Phoenix and then to Texas, with the tour’s final date in New Orleans. It was thus that we rolled into Phoenix around 6:20 AM – I woke up at 6 because I am now 40 years old and can’t sleep past 6, regardless of when I go to bed or how soundly I don’t sleep (like when I went to bed at 3:30 and 4 in the morning in Las Vegas).

So with Wolf and the band checked safely into their hotel rooms, we stumbled across the parking lot of the Westin Kierland (me, still in my pajamas), found the car that we’d dropped off just 17 hours before, drove home, made some coffee and walked the dogs.

Like I said, BORING. I’ve had more antics on college road trips… and speaking of road trips…

2) WHAT’S IT LIKE TO PARTY IN LAS VEGAS WITH VAN HALEN?

Really no different than riding on the bus. This was probably the most crushing disappointment, as I have a slightly unhealthy fondness for the aforementioned Sin City,  Temple of Temptation, Fortification of Fornication.

Fabulous Las Vegas beckoned like a siren – the show was at the MGM Grand on Memorial Day Weekend, serendipitously coinciding with the opening weekend of the World Series of Poker and UFC146. The stars had aligned!

We I burst into Wolf’s SkyLoft™ ready to party!

“Wolf! Don’t you understand? This city was built to please people like you! Your every wish! Your every desire! You’re a high-roller, baby, and they wanna make you happy! We are gonna have so much fun! We can do whatever you want! They will do whatever you want! It’s like The Hangover – only real! They’d even put a naked Chinese guy in the trunk of your car if you asked! We can reserve our own private blackjack table! We can fly in a helicopter! We can have a helium tank and a tiger delivered to your room – RIGHT NOW! No questions asked! This is gonna be awesome!”

“Uncle Pat, she’s scaring me.”

Though I was not able to leverage, “Hello, I’m Wolfgang Van Halen’s personal assistant and I would like to request a kiddie pool of lime Jell-o and three rebus monkeys to be delivered to Suite 71 immediately,” we were seated promptly at restaurants and had premium tables at every meal.

“Bertinelli, party of four.”

The hostess squinted at me and then at her book.

“I’m afraid we don’t … have … a reservation – what was the name again?”

“Bertinelli, party of four – VIP services was supposed to have taken care of this. We said we needed to be seated after sound check so we could finish dinner before Wolfgang goes on stage with the band at 9. Did they not call you?”

“We don’t have a Bertinelli… but wait just a moment…”

The manager walks up with four menus in hand: “Right this way.”

Please note that I was not misrepresenting myself – my driver’s license does in fact say Bertinelli on it.

We were told that the owner of the restaurant apparently gave up his lakeside, balcony table for Mr. Van Halen at Olives at Bellagio. I cannot confirm this – I can only say that it was a nice table.

Actually, the whole team at Olives (especially Russ – ask for him when you make your reservation) treated us like kings and Gabby the pastry chef made a special dessert for Wolf, as well. DELICIOUS!

I did get to do a little bit of gambling while we were in Las Vegas – and thanks to the incomparable Morgan Rose (gratuitous name-drop), I came home with $600 in my pocket – and that was after I gave Uncle Pat $175 and paid for everything else… in cash.

Blackjack, craps, slot machines (?!?) – we killed it! And we managed not to kill the guy who thought it would be a good idea to SPLIT KINGS facing an 8 at our blackjack table. At a $25 minimum, that is an expensive exercise in stupidity. And no, I don’t normally play $25 hands. Morgan asked me to sit down and play with him since we seemed to be the only ones in our traveling party that wanted to gamble – I laid down my money before I looked at the sign… and walked away up $400.

Did I say how much I love Morgan – my own personal box of pink hearts, yellow moons, orange stars, green clovers and blue diamonds?

So while partying in Las Vegas with Van Halen may not be the thrill-fest it was in 1979, I did have a good time… and we did end up with a helium tank and a shark mask.

3) CAN YOU GET ME TICKETS?

Why yes, yes, I can.

They are $150 a piece – eye level with the stage, on either Wolf or Ed’s side. If you send me your email address, I’ll make the request, and if tickets are available, the private broker will send you a link where you can input your credit card information for exactly the number of tickets you have requested and then you can pick up your tickets at will call.

Even though I am the aunt-by-marriage of the bass player, I don’t get free tickets to the shows. But I do get plenty of inappropriate requests!

Like the ad agency that wanted good tickets for Van Halen (June 16, US Airways Arena). They said they would remember this gesture when they were making their media plans for the fall. Really? Does your client know that you’re leveraging their advertising budget for self-gratification – regardless of whether this media buy might help deliver the right target audience?

Because I work in sales for a radio station, I get these requests all the time – monster truck rallies, Toby Keith concerts, Disney on Ice. Unfortunately the radio station that I work for is a PUBLIC radio station (NPR News. Classic Jazz. Classical Music) – so the best I could probably do is hook you up with a nice set of passes to a reading of Susan Stamberg’s cranberry relish recipe. That said, I took no small measure of joy in responding that, although I am the aunt-by-marriage of the bass player, there were still plenty of good seats available – and then I sent them the link to Ticketmaster.

4) SO WHERE DO YOU SIT?

We don’t.

Although I can usually get us seated promptly at the fanciest restaurants despite a 90-minute wait, if we want a seat, we have to pay for our tickets at every show. Even family members… and no, I will not  hook you up (see above) – especially if we haven’t so much as exchanged Facebook likes in the past 20 years, but that’s another story.

If I’m lucky, I can sit on a cabbage case by the stage – or maybe in one of the folding chairs at the sound board, if the band has no guests.

Normally, we gopher.

I’ve fetched bottles of water for Wolf’s guests, like Taylor Hawkins of the Foo Fighters (second gratuitous name drop).  Tracked down errant tickets for VIPs. Escorted VIPS , like actress Faith Ford (third gratuitous name drop), to the sound board. Taken snapshots for Academy Award-winner® Brandon Oldenburg (fourth gratuitous name drop). At one show, I took T-shirt orders for 13 people and delivered them to their seats. Probably the best thing we did this year was grab a fistful of guitar picks and climb up to the nosebleed section to hand out lagniappe from the band. People don’t really know what you’re up to until you flash your “Wayne’s World” all access badge and say, “I’m with the band – it’s a guitar pick – enjoy!”

Wearing his incredibly sexy Indiana Jones hat, Pat tried to get involved in a security altercation in Phoenix after one so-called “guest” kept shining a laser pointer in Wolf’s eyes while he was on stage. Yeah… let’s just say that before Indy-Pat could exercise his indignation, that “patron” was forcibly escorted from his seats by the head of Van Halen’s security detail, Liam.

I do not have a photograph of Liam.

Like a Ninja or a vampire or a secret agent, I am not sure if his image affixes to film. I can only say that his thighs are as big around as my waist… and his biceps are as big around as my thighs… and his biceps don’t have the pendulous triceps wings that I have… and his thighs probably have the six-pack that my flabby abs long for … and my Cousin Ross said he didn’t want to make eye contact with Liam because he was afraid Liam could see into his soul and would know everything he’d ever done wrong… ever.

5) SO CAN YOU NAME DROP SOME MORE, YOU OSTENTATIOUS BITCH?

Why yes, yes, I can.

Working in my limited capacity as Wolf’s part-time gopher / full-time annoying aunt, I got to meet some really cool people – and all of them were so complimentary of Wolf and his talents. They gushed about how cool it must be for him to play on stage with his Dad and Uncle (and to have the peerless skill and ability to be able to carry his own weight in one of the greatest rock and roll bands of all time – at the tender age of 21, which isn’t that much older than Ed was when all this got started).

Despite the two ladies in New Orleans that kept trying to take Val’s picture (and I kept standing in their way) and they kept asking, “Who are you? Do we know you? Shouldn’t we know you?”, I know they weren’t there to see me. I was just along for the ride, and I got to post a few scandalous photos on Facebook en route – the restraining orders are pending – but I do know how lucky I am to have been on this bus.

For me, the names I prefer to drop are Troy, Kat, David P., Richard, Lisa, Morgan, Loren, Kenny, Carl, Brandon, Randy, Candice and Ross. We had a lot of fun and made some great memories. I was glad to have shared the experience with them all – even if it was an exercise in ennui.

But I am looking forward to the next tour – that is, if Wolf (and Uncle Pat) will let me go…

* You were right, Pat!