Out-takes from Real Heroes Don't Let You Down:

Before my night started:

Jeff Beck (left)/Meatloaf (right): I'm so close the pic's out of focus!


Next Morning: "What the fuck?"

After (2) full weeks, I suppose its time to put my Jeff Beck night behind me; but I did have some unused material that for various reasons didn’t make the final cut. Most of it is just as described--throw away, but since there’s never a charge here at Stays Put, I don’t see the harm in slapping a few excerpts into a quick post.

So here’s some bonus footage:

When I got back inside Ellen’s I made a bee-line for the shrimpbowl. It was the first thing I saw since I was so freaking hungry. ‘Til then I’d made a conscious decision not to eat and drink since Stardust is such a tourist trap rip-off; so I’d forced myself to choose one, which turned out to be booze. Johnny Walker’s in fact since a $15.00 scotch seemed a better deal than a $10.00 bottle of beer.

But now there was free grub, so I planted myself next to the huge shrimpbowl and built a pyramid of large, peeled shrimp so high I had to make an effort to keep it balanced. Thing must have stood a good 4” or 5” high. Then to my astonishment, the waitress placed a big tray of about a dozen pint-draft beers on the table next to me.

“What are those?” I asked.

“Stella’s.”

“For me?” I asked clumsily, “I mean,...you know, us?” I asked as I gestured to the others around me.

“You think you can drink all those yourself?” she asked with a laugh. “I’d like to see that.”

“Welll, you know what I mean.”

“You want one?” she asked, “take it,” as she motioned toward the tray.

So I grabbed a pint, took a sip, and placed it down next to me.

Only the waitress stayed where she was with her eyes fixed on me.

“...What?” I asked her.

“ C’mon,” she said with a challenging eye, “I thought you were gonna drink these.”

“Well, I ne..”

“Oh my God!,” she exclaimed as she cut me off and gestured for me to move over. “Look--its Meatloaf.”

Meatloaf? I don’t know reader, maybe its ‘cause I’m vegetarian now, but her enthusiasm was a bit of surprise. Hell, meatloaf was never anything to phone home about, even when I did eat meat. So I was in no hurry to move from my prime spot to make way for something as pedestrian as meatloaf.

But the waitress continued to hop up and down and crane her neck, so I turned ‘round to see why she was so excited and my jaw dropped open. Not because I’m so in awe of Meatloaf--hell, has he had a hit in the last (20) years?--but of all the people in the world, there were about 250 billion I’d have expected to see at Jeff Beck’s after-party before Meatloaf.

...Oh but I was perfectly set-up! I mean, I was wedged right between the shrimpbowl and Beck’s booth, so I didn’t even have to approach anybody--they came to me. First it was Imelda May. Imelda you killed! And you’re so smoking hot--mind of I get a picture? Then Warren Haynes. Love that solo you took on Dreams. Then Steve Miller. Oh shit--the gangster of love! Then Paul Schafer. (Goofy smiles exchanged).

And the trays of Stella’s just kept on coming.

By the time Steven Van Zandt approached the table my buzz had kicked in pretty good. I should mention that I’ve met Springsteen a few times in Jersey, and have never watched The Soprano’s, so I wasn’t as in awe of Little Steven as the rest of the crowd.

Still, I have no doubt Little Steven’s an ultra-cool guy, so as he approached my position I stuck out my hand said “Nice to meet you sir.”

He shook my hand, smiled, then rolled his eyes as if to say 'So this is what rock n roll’s been reduced to?' But that was just my interpretation.

I’d held my premier spot (basically leaning on Beck’s table) for over an hour until finally Beck’s handler or assistant or whoever she was slapped my shoulder in a manner more playful than menacing and asked, “Alright, so what d’ya want?”

“What do I want?” I responded, surprised by her sudden attention.

“Yeah, what? You think we haven’t noticed you here for an hour?”

“Oh, well,...I guess I was hoping I could get a picture.”

Her response was immediate.

“Everybody here want’s a picture--what else.”

“Oh, well, uh...”

I stumbled for a second (always a mistake in these situations) since I’d already got what I’d really wanted. The touch of legendary greatness. A recognition. A kind response. Communion as they say.

I certainly didn’t go into the night with expectations of a conversation with the guy; and in fact, if you know anything about Jeff Beck, he’s not a talker. At least, not publicly so. I’ve seen him in concert almost (10) times now and with the exception of the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame show he’s said maybe (10) words in all those performances combined. At several shows he’s said nothing at all. So what did I want?

“Oh--wait! I know what I want.” I told her as I drunkenly fished ‘round in my blazer pocket. “I want him to sign my golden email.”

“What?” she asked with a curious laugh as I continued to search for my Iridium certificate/invite.

“This,” I said as I finally located the certificate and proceeded to unfold it.

Only instead of it being all pristine and clean like I’d remembered it being, now it was all tattered and stained from what looked like Johnny Walker. Regardless I presented it to her.

“I want him to sign this,” I said again as I opened it up and attempted to hand it to her.

The woman looked at my invite like it was a used hankie. Her hands never moved in its direction and she stared me straight in the eye.

“He’s not going to do that,” she responded as she motioned for me to put the email away. “Besides, he’s eating now.”

“Oh my God--is he hungry?” I asked as I reached down to retrieve my plate. “I’ve got a whole plate of shrimp here. Ask him if he wants some.”

The woman’s eyes blinked rapidly like I’ve seen my boss’ sometimes do.

“..I think he’s got someone to get him shrimp if he wants some.”

“..You sure?” I asked as I carefully lifted my overflowing plate to eye level. “I mean, I’ve got so much here.”

Finally she smiled.

“Just get out of here, would ya?”

So I turned to leave, when she suddenly tapped my shoulder. I spun to face her and she placed her hands on her hips as if to chastise me.

“You were gonna have him eat off that plate there?” she asked with mock outrage as she pointed to my dish. “Look at this, you’ve got a dozen empty tails there.”

“Those are at the bottom!” I exclaimed as I picked them off and threw them away. “C’mon man, I must have a pound of un-touched shrimp here. Ask him if he wants some.”

To which she shook her head and gestured with her thumb in the universal sign that it was time for me to leave.

* NOTE: Sorry for that last pic there Jeff--we all know you're a sharper guy than that! Just thought it was so appropriate. Happy Birthday man and enjoy your day!!!