I don’t know if it was something I did or said, but Axl never again called or gave me his phone number. I wasn’t officially blacklisted, and never had an issue getting show tickets and passes. Plus, whenever I ran into Axl, he never seemed unhappy to see me. We’d chat and get caught up small-talk style. But that was about it, kind of an arms-length operation. At first I thought about it a lot, and at times still wonder WTF. I never could actually pinpoint a reason. I’d think back to a conversation we had in New Jersey. Axl told of friends, not seen or spoken to in years, that would show up out of the blue and “act like everything is still the same.”

I agreed by telling him, “Clearly everything is different nowadays.” I wonder – in hindsight – if his was as an allegory directed my way as a cautionary tale to not read too much into our friendship.

Less than a year after my trip to New Jersey, there were Axl Rose and West Arkeen on MTV, sitting in a bar performing “Yesterdays.” It hit me like a slap in the face. I felt like part of those meaningless yesterdays. So every time I hear Skynyrd’s “Coming Home” or “Am I losin’,” I can’t help but contrast the sentiment.

Before that show, I had always enjoyed unlimited access, but there I was, relegated to second tier.

A month after the Giants Stadium show, Aerosmith and G N’ R rocked the Pacific Amphitheater in Costa Mesa, California. It was the first hint of my downgraded status. Unlike every previous show, I got no phone call or personal invite. I tried calling Axl, but his number had changed. Figuring it an oversight, I drove down to catch the tour’s finale. To my surprise, I wasn’t on the list. I knew enough folks to wrangle my way in, and then found Doug, who gave me a “backstage pass” that only granted access to an area adjacent to stage-right. Before that show, I had always enjoyed unlimited access, but there I was, relegated to second tier.

I did see the guys, and Steven and I smoked a joint that almost got me booted from the venue. It was strange not being able to party backstage at an Aerosmith show. I told Steven, “When I was thirteen, I’d wash down Tylenol fours with Coors while listening to Get Your Wings. Now I can’t even smoke a little pot.”

A few minutes after security put an end to our party, twenty feet from us, Steven Tyler and Joe Perry participated in a meet and greet. I decided to wait in line to score autographs for my little brothers. Not the star-struck type, I bailed from the line after a few minutes. About twenty seconds later, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find Steven Tyler smiling my way. He asked, “What’s the matter, you don’t want my autograph?” I told him I had only wanted them for my little brothers, and he busted my chops. “Sure you do.”

I laughed and shook his hand, then told him I was a huge fan, but didn’t understand autographs unless someone was signing a check made out to me. Tyler laughed and then jogged to his table, and upon his return handed me a tour jersey. “Give this to your brother.”

I thanked him and was so stoked that I didn’t say “brothers,” figuring those little fuckers could cage fight for it.

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