My flight pulled into Phoenix Monday night and I wanted to grab something simple and quick to eat so I went to the hotel bar. I looked around. You know how in the "Sixth Sense" the kid saw dead people? So did I. And they all wore credentials that identified them as members of the media.
So I asked the concierge where a decent neighborhood place was, a basic place where I could grab a sandwich and a beer, and he sent me across the street.
I didn't really want to talk to anybody. But it's the kind of place where you have no choice. And I'm glad I did. I met a man and woman from Phoenix, a guy from Venice Beach, Cal., and a guy from Worcester, Mass.
The Venice Beach guy was cool because, when he's not selling souveneirs he works on the road crew for Billy Idol. Man, can you imagine that life, traveling by bus through the U.S. and Canada, "White Wedding" and the trademark Idol sneer every night?
I can't. That's what makes it interesting.
In a few days, Phoenix, Scottsdale and Glendale will be inundated with fans. But the neighborhood bars, the kinds of places at which your dad drank, often are ignored.
I hope I still can find an empty seat at this one.
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