48 Hours

This has been a very interesting couple of days. Thursday started innocently enough. While procrastinating at work, I decided to look into taking my long-desired trip to Cleveland to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. I found a good, cheap flight and a hotel that had an excellent package deal with the museum. I get home, all excited to book my late-December trip to one of the United States' coldest cities. I go for my wallet and realize it's not there. I check all around my room, and my wallet is nowhere to be found. Then, the mass panic sets in, though trying my best to remain calm. I cancel everything I need to and cover all the bases I can. Everything was in my wallet, and feel so exposed. Needless to say, I get little sleep. I'm actually eager to get to work, hoping and praying that my wallet is there. I get there, and sadly, no wallet. I then make a trip back to the 'Boken to do a final ransacking of my room, to no avail. I make my maiden voyage to the Hoboken Police Station and file a report. I go back to work, breathing a little bit easier, but still bummed.

That evening Erin and I go to 192 Books for an Annie Leibovitz book signing. I have been a major Annie Leibovitz fan for years. The celebrity photography of her and Herb Ritts are staples of my childhood. I had gotten her American Music book a few years ago, and saw an exhibit at the Corcoran in Washington, DC as well. She just came out with a new book that chronicles the last 15 years: A Photographer's Life / 1990-2005. As excited I was to see her, the even itself was probably the most disorganized I have ever been to. When we get to the bookstore, we are told the event is actually being held at a gallery down the street. OK. We get to the gallery and asked if we have a reservation. Neither New York magazine or Time Out New York, both publicizing the event, made no mention of reservations. Instead of making two lines - one with reserved seats and one without, it was like a poor man's Studio 54, with people bunching around a tiny door, while people who do have reservations push to the front. Of course we all get in; no harm, no foul. It started with a slideshow, then a panel discussion and a Q&A. After much confusion about the book signing line, I finally get my book signed. Overall, a lot of waiting, but in the end, worth it.

I slept well, accepting the lost wallet fiasco. Nothing was going to keep my excitement down. Because I was going to have yet another encounter with my True Love, Roddy Piper. I go down to Caroline's on Broadway. The event was sponsored by Jakks Pacific, the company responsible for all the wrestling action figures. Before getting to the only reason why I came, I had to sit through a Q&A with Jakks representatives about the action figures. Yes, grown men were asking questions like, "When the Rick Martel figure comes out, will it be the Strike Force Rick Martel or the Model Rick Martel?" And like the comic book convention, I was the prettiest person there -- by far. Roddy is announced and comes out. Still handsome and my heart goes a-flutter. The Q&A was interesting. It was nice to see him in a relaxed atmosphere. I didn't ask a question because I couldn't find a balance between Stupid-Obvious and Trekkie. For the most part, the questions veered toward Trekkie. I had heard a few stories before, but also some new ones. He was very candid, articulate and witty. He even said my most favorite quote, "Just when you think you have the answers, I change the questions." He also spoke of Ric Flair, Bret Hart and the biz today. The whole thing lasted an hour, but I wish it could have lasted longer. There was a photo and autograph session, but I didn't stay. I am content with my photo and got with him, and the one item I wanted signed in June. Below is a picture, but with the dimly lit room, it didn't come out all that well:



I was happy as can be coming home. Any time I can spend in the same room with Roddy brings me tremendous joy. I get home and go through my mail. Bill, bill, Entertainment Weekly, and a mysterious package with no return address. I open it to find MY WALLET. Some good-hearted saint of a New Yorker sent me back my wallet, with absolutely everything in tact. I was beyond elated. Someone is definitely looking over me. A good, good day.

Quote of the Day:
"Too few people understand a really good sandwich." - James Beard