Happy Anniversary! (to me)

Without a text from a fellow Greenpointer yesterday, I may have forgotten the significance of this weekend, that it marks my completion of four years as a New York City dweller. Never mind that I've been away for the majority of the last year, or that I celebrate this anniversary from the back of the bus on a seven-hour drive to Atlanta, it's all about where the rent check goes. I left Ann Arbor, MI the rainy morning of September 1^st, 2003 along with a friend of mine and drove the U-Haul as far as Jersey, where we spent the damp night camping in a State Park. By this time on the 2^nd, I had successfully negotiated the streets of Manhattan and Brooklyn, unloaded the truck at what would be the first of four apartments in my first year, and tasted Polish beer for the first time. Four years later, still kickin', and I'd say life's been good so far.

We're watching the David Bowie: A Reality Tour DVD here on the bus. It's amazing. And it was filmed at The Point theater in Dublin, one of my favorite venues from the European leg. Ahh, nostalgia.


Nope, I know these guys have very little to do with Bowie, but they performed at a venue right across from the Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Tampa where we were staying, and several of our crew went to see them on Friday. After the show, Bret Michaels appeared in one of the casino bars, shaking hands and signing autographs, undoubtedly on a variety of surfaces, organic and inorganic. The reception line wrapped all around the casino. In the early afternoon on Saturday, I went down to the gym for a workout and was happy to have the entire thing to myself. That didn't last too long; another guy showed up after 15 minutes, then another, and finally a women who sat down at a bicycle. Our tour manager poked her head in for a minute and knew the second guy to come in, so he and I started chatting. Turns out he works for VH1, knows a few people in our group, and is traveling around with Poison for a bit. Come the end, he then asked me, "Oh, did you get a chance to meet Bret?"

So that's my fun story for the weekend, pumping iron for an hour with the guy who crooned and penned "Every Rose Has Its Thorn" and gave Pamela Anderson a well-documented boffing. And I hadn't a clue.