The Memory Remains There are two things that I am certain of:1. In a past life, I was a rock star or rock star’s girl2. I have really great karma I was in LA this week for the usual routine. Each day I work long hours, sit in traffic, check into Chez Hilton Checkers, and then go to the whiskey bar. Late Wednesday afternoon, I discovered that Metallica was doing a benefit concert at the Wilten. You know that I love Dave Matthews Band and other guitar playing males. However, what many do not know is that I love Metallica. They are rock stars. If there was a “Rockstar” element on the periodic chart, it would need to be named Metallica. Lars on the drums, the big vocals of James at the mic, I swoon. The music doesn’t make me want to punch or shove people, but it definitely makes me do a light head banging and loud singing/screaming. The music is BIG. I rock out, like the rock-star I aspire to be. So there I am, without a ticket and without a clue to the location of the Wilten. Anyone else might have settled in for American Idol and room service. I put the Prada heels on, a whole lot of black eyeliner, and probably emptied a full can of hairspray into the blonde locks. Three miles later my cab driver dropped me at the Wilten. My strategy was to hold my index finger in the air, and stand on the corner of Wilshire and Western, watching the all black-clad fans file in. Up walked a group of rowdy friends, with their extra $500 VIP ticket. I gave them all the money in my wallet (which wasn’t anywhere close to $500) and we all went in together. And that’s how it’s done. FuelMaster of the PuppetsSeek and Destroya little appearance by Flea a two hour showa trip to Tom Bergins silly debauchery 36 hours later, my ears are still ringing and I am still smiling.

The Memory Remains

There are two things that I am certain of:
1. In a past life, I was a rock star or rock star’s girl
2. I have really great karma

I was in LA this week for the usual routine. Each day I work long hours, sit in traffic, check into Chez Hilton Checkers, and then go to the whiskey bar. Late Wednesday afternoon, I discovered that Metallica was doing a benefit concert at the Wilten. You know that I love Dave Matthews Band and other guitar playing males. However, what many do not know is that I love Metallica. They are rock stars. If there was a “Rockstar” element on the periodic chart, it would need to be named Metallica. Lars on the drums, the big vocals of James at the mic, I swoon. The music doesn’t make me want to punch or shove people, but it definitely makes me do a light head banging and loud singing/screaming. The music is BIG. I rock out, like the rock-star I aspire to be.

So there I am, without a ticket and without a clue to the location of the Wilten. Anyone else might have settled in for American Idol and room service. I put the Prada heels on, a whole lot of black eyeliner, and probably emptied a full can of hairspray into the blonde locks. Three miles later my cab driver dropped me at the Wilten.

My strategy was to hold my index finger in the air, and stand on the corner of Wilshire and Western, watching the all black-clad fans file in. Up walked a group of rowdy friends, with their extra $500 VIP ticket. I gave them all the money in my wallet (which wasn’t anywhere close to $500) and we all went in together. And that’s how it’s done.

Fuel
Master of the Puppets
Seek and Destroy
a little appearance by Flea 
a two hour show
a trip to Tom Bergins 
silly debauchery

36 hours later, my ears are still ringing and I am still smiling.