Dear New York, we need to talk. I really wanted this tour to overwrite my feelings of disdain towards you, but given this week's transgressions, I'm afraid we need to see other people.
In no more than forty-eight hours you have:
- taken my wallet with about $100 cash and my credit cards and ID that I need to get into the venues that I'm playing on this tour
- fined us $205 in parking tickets
- made me get up at 7 in the morning to move my car (two mornings in a row), and then made it impossible for me to find a new space for two hours
- charged us over $40 in tolls
- made us open for amateur comedians
- charged me $9 for a toasted bagel with tuna fish on it
- charged me $500 to fix my transmission
- charged me $40 for an oil change that I'm not sure you even did
Normally, that would not be enough to get me down, since the audiences in you are usually cool, but now you've taken Brett Michaels. Yes, after $800 in upkeep this week (hello two new tires), you've left us on the side of the New Jersey Turnpike with only first gear sort of working (no reverse, either). So we drove 40 miles in the breakdown lane at 20 mph to make it to our Philly show, where the minivan of my dreams will probably rust away forever as I figure out how I'm going to get my band to our remaining gigs on this tour. I guess the upside is that I won't have to look for parking tonight when we return to your dark streets, but I just want you to know that you are horrible and you are an economic rapist and I think I will avoid you from now on if somehow I can ever afford to tour again.