Thursday, December 16

3:10 am
My Room

Stumbling back in after a fun night.  Lyric show was good, lots of friends in the crowd.  Best part was I got to hide out before the show and didn't have to do press shit -- there were enough other Aussie stars that I didn't have to show my face until we took the stage.

Show was just what I needed, no pressure, just a short gig for friends and hangers-on.  Practically sleepwalked through it, though it didn't show.  My mind just wasn't quite there, with all that happened during the day.  I'm past the bitterness but still disappointed, of course.  That will take time.

The post-show party was damned fun.  Made the rounds, shook hands, took pics, then snuck off into a corner with the band and Russell and Sir Bob and just hung out, talking sports and music and family.  Russ and I played the "look at my kids" game with our iPhones.  His boy Charlie is a little pisser, just like him.  Can see his Daddy's mischievous sparkle in his eyes.  Just like me and Jakey, the apple don't fall far from the tree, ha ha.

Of course I couldn't escape the elephant in the room, the HOF news.  Everybody seemed to need to say "I'm Sorry."  What the fuck are they sorry for?  Wasn't their fault.  I just tried to be gracious and shrug it off, but I'm pretty sure a little disappointment showed through.  Sir Bob was the best, though.  He just clapped me on the shoulder, leaned in, and said "Ya know what?  Fuck 'em.  They'll get it right eventually."  That made me chuckle.

So anyway, we all hung out and shared a few bottles of wine, played a few hands in the casino, then everybody headed for bed.  We're Old Farts, after all, ha ha.  Got back to my suite and called Cate to say good morning and thank her for earlier, but got her voicemail.  She sent me her customary good morning text earlier, but I didn't see it until she was already at work.  She must be in a meeting.  Guess I'll have to talk to her later, after I get some sleep.  Miss her.

9:45 am

My Room

I GOT IT!

Know exactly what I'm gonna give Cate for Christmas.  Came to me while I was in the shower, thinking about next week.  Something she's gonna LOVE.  And if it all goes right neither one of us are gonna forget it anytime soon, heh heh.

Gotta make some calls.  And find somebody to take my picture.  Somebody who won't ever, EVER tell what he's about to see...


1:00 pm
Back in my Room

I'm Rodney Fucking Dangerfield.  I get NO respect around this place! NONE I tell ya!  I'm the Goddamn Boss and do you think I can just ONCE snap my fingers and get somebody to carry out one simple fucking covert task?  NOOOOOO.....

All I need is a little fucking discretion.  It's for a good cause -- my wife's Christmas present.  For my lovely wife Cate, whom everybody here knows and loves and respects.  But they fucking turn on me in a New York minute.  Now everybody's laughing their asses off at me, wolf-whistling every time I stick my head outside my door, smacking me on the ass, asking me to do my runway strut.  Fuckers.

Though I gotta admit if the tables were turned and this was Sambora I'd be ragging him mercilessly too.

Yeah, guess I didn't really think this through.  Was so excited that I came up with this great idea that I wanted to get started on it NOW.  In reality I could have just made the calls and waited until I got back to NYC for the photos.  But NO, I had to go charging off like the hard-headed Guinea I am... and now I'm paying the price.

Can't even trust my own Blood, Man.  What's this world coming to?  All I needed were a couple decent full-length snapshots.  Nothing racy, nothing pornographic, nothing sexy.  Just a head-to-toe shot of me standing in front of a wall.  I'm not stupid, I know better than to ask Richie or David to take these pics because that's just asking for trouble. Hughie was my first choice, but he's out golfing with Teek.  So I try to get ahold of Tony, he's not here.  Finally end up texting Matt.

Little Brother shows up to my room and promptly bursts into laughter when I explain what I need him to do and why.  When he stops laughing he demands a bonus 'cause photographing Big Brother in his skivvies ain't in his job description.  Just to shut him up I agree, though I know he's kidding and he knows there ain't no fucking way I'm giving him a penny for this.  So Matty fires up the camera, we have a quick little photo shoot, wardrobe changes and all, and then he asks me what to do with the pics now that they're on the camera.

Huh?  Well, shit.  Didn't think of that either.   How the Hell am I gonna get these pictures printed out and duplicated like I need to?  Not like we can waltz down to the local Photomat and have them do a one-hour job.  The pics would be in the press in about a second flat and I'd be laughed off the damned continent.

So Matty suggests I email them to Obie and have him print them and cut them down back home.  Probably the only useful suggestion he's made all tour.  And since I let Obie head back to Philly after the Kiwi shows he owes me.  Matt says he'll take care of it and disappears with the memory card from my camera.

I'm so fucking stupid.

Not realizing what I've just done I go about my business:  a couple calls for the Foundation, read through some emails, ignore some boring paperwork shit. About 45 minutes later Matty comes back and hands me my memory card, telling me it's all taken care of, Obie has the pics and will print and cut them, even giftwrap them and deliver them to me when I get home next week.  Of course he can't keep a straight fucking face, so I know something's up.  I ask him what the hell he did, and away he runs.  Coward.

A half hour later I get a call from PK, telling me I'm urgently needed in the press suite, something about a short-notice project.  I know we don't have press until later this afternoon, but of course I don't ask questions because PK is on the job, and if he says something's urgent it's urgent.  I stroll down to the suite and barge through the doors and find most of the band and team assembled around the table, looking solemn and worried.  Except Davey, who is smirking like he just fucking ate a canary.  That guy can't keep a secret for a second.

I ask what's up and sit down at the head of the table, then flip open the folder in front of me.  Everybody busts out laughing and my jaw hits the table.  I'm staring at a printout of one of the almost-nudie photos Matty took of me an hour before, mocked up like an album cover.  It's the proposed art for my new solo album,  "But At Least I Still Got My Hair."

Motherfuckers.  Richie was in tears he was laughing so hard at my expression.  Davey about fell off his chair in hysterics.  PK raised a toast to Little Brother Matt, who finally figured out how to get even for all the shit deals he had to handle for me.

Once I recovered from my shock I had to admit, it IS pretty damned funny.  And I'm a complete stupid fuck for leaving myself open.  I have nobody to blame but myself.   Apparently Matt took the camera card straight to PK and Richie and they jumped on Photoshop.  Then they all ran to the hotel business center and printed out a bunch of copies so they could share their creation.

So now I'm gonna hear about it for the rest of the damned trip.  I know it's all in good fun.  I'm not worried about it getting out or leaked to the press or these pics showing up on the front page of some rag.  It's all in the inner circle, and even though these guys will take every chance they can get to punk me, they know how to keep family business in the family.

And I know they won't tell Cate; they won't ruin my surprise.  Richie even admitted he was impressed by my idea and he knows Cate will love it.

But I'm not gonna live it down now.  Shit.  So much for being The Boss.