I came home last night holding an envelope. And that envelope and the 3 sheets of paper it contained (my printed ticket, directions, and something else), especially with all that was written on it with the black magic marker I'd carried, seems to tell everything that happened to me on August 19, 2003:

• The envelope came from the agency where I bought my Def Leppard ticket at the last minute. The last time I saw them was 15 years ago this month, though I've been listening to them since I was in the 3rd grade in 1983.

• I had an hour to kill before the show started. They still weren't opening the doors. So I went to the expensive seafood place down the street (it was either that, or the tiny cheaper place that I wasn't so fond of last time this happened). While I was waiting for my $23 delicious yellow-fin tuna, I do what I usually do at restaurants: doodle some math. I borrowed a pen from a rude waiter and tried to prove the old wine and water glasses problem. The asshole later wanted his pen back, to add to his collection of 7 on him. So I tried to finish the equations in marker. And that was on one of the sheets of paper.

• On one of the sheets of paper was also the URL for Marc's band's website. I was best friends with Mark around the time of junior highschool and college. I was wandering over to the T-shirt stand when he recognized me and called my name from behind me. Good to finally run into him again.

• I was right in front of Vivian Cambell, so for fun I decided to write "HOLY DIVER?" in big letters on one side of the envelope. (That's the name of the first Dio album, which he happened to play on.) He saw it, and nervously kind of smiled as if to say "Yeah, I guess I did THAT one too. Heh, heh."

• After the show I ran into another friend and the folks from his circle. Some of the many regulars I knew from The Station, who thankfully was not there that night of the fire. I jotted down his new phone number on the other side of the envelope.

• I walked by somebody sticking his VIP pass on the wall and leaving. I took it and stuck it on my shirt, though the sticker wound up on the envelope by the end of the night. These things don't always let you go where you really want to go, but what the hell, it couldn't hurt.

• I waited around the front for a long time, hoping for a chance to meet the band. They're one of my few long-time favorites that I haven't met yet. The gates were being shut. Where the hell is the tourbus? This place is on a pier! What do they do, sail the equipment in? I asked around and found out that there's a place down the street and around the corner where the busses come in and out. So I waited down there. We (myself and 4 others hanging around) couldn't go down the long road where the busses actually were (security man said no-no). People upon people kept exiting, each wearing backstage passes. Our only hope, that a bus would stop before pulling out, was fulfilled! Phil Collen jumped out and signed our stuff, including the back of one of my sheets of paper.

• Fortunately one of the security guards handed me her Sharpie. Much better than the pen I'd brought. I met two women that night who had a camera, but nothing to sign. So I gave them some tears of my papers, and they took a picture of me & Phil.

• More torn strips of paper went out o them and the other couple, containing my email address so that we could all be in contact.

• Somebody said upon leaving that the band was going to be at the Four Seasons hotel, or at least there at the bar. So after the Phil Collen encounter, despite the fact that it was well after midnight and I had work the next morning, I tried to find the hotel. After driving around Fannuel hall, then over to the commons, and asking several people for directions, I found it. And it turns out the bar closed at 11:30. And that was true; I saw the bar and restaurant through the window outside.

• Heading back to the car, I ran into a very nervous but seemingly well-dressed man. White guy, maybe late 30s. He said that his car got towed, and that he just needed $5 to get himself straightened out. He kept flashing his license. Of course I suspected a hoax, so I asked him questions about where he lived and checked his license. I told him where I live. He knew a location right down the street. He was a realtor and gave me his website URL (his name, dot com). When I added everything up, it seemed legit (and as I found out this morning, it was). "I only have a ten." But I gave it to him. He profusedly thanked me and told me about good karma and all that. "I don't believe in karma." "You're a very kind man!" "No, I'm just in a good mood tonight, because-" "No, no, you're a very kind person!" "No, I'm just in a good mood tonight from meeting one of my favorite rock stars."