On Saturday night, overcome by sheer boredom and a gnawing morbid curiosity, we slinked into the Bret Michaels set at the Meridian. This concert was part of a tour to promote the sometime Poison frontman's ongoing televised quest for romance, the VH1 masterpiece Rock Of Love.
Predictably the audience was a motley crew (bad pun intended) of pop culture gawkers and aged former hair metal battle horses: ladies who may have been backstage the first time Poison hit town, now making calls, in between Jager Bombs with the girls, to the sitter to make sure the kids were in bed; dudes with luxurious manes that rivaled those in the equine family, sitting at the bar holding vinyl copies of Look What The Cat Dragged In hoping to get them signed.
Then there were the girls, seemingly clipped out of a copy of Maxim magazine and made reality, a la Weird Science. Never mind they looked like they were probably conceived to the strains of "Unskinny Bop." Funny how rock and roll is just one big Lion King-like Circle of Life.
Oh, and we took pictures. – Craig Hlavaty
Doc Brown gets out of the DeLorean long enough to find love. I saw him from the street as I was parking and I swear I got goose bumps.
It's 10 p.m. Do you know where your PTA president is?
Then you see someone so invariably cool, dripping with that special Danny Trejo vibe, that you wanna see him start a fight with someone just to get your mind blown. He probably used to be a bounty hunter and worked security for Ozzy on the Blizzard of Ozz tour.
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And just five minutes later........
If you need crutches, get some crazy industrial ones made of iron and leather that would make Mad Max drool.
Here's Bret's assistant Big John before he used me as a human foot stool.
Sitting this one out. Talk amongst yourselves.