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  • "What do you mean, I can't go in?" I said.
    "I have a press pass."

    "No sir... you need a ticket to the show.
    Please move out of the line."

    "This IS my ticket... I'm a photographer."


    Two weeks earlier I was in a lengthy email conversation between my editor,
    Jake and the PR agent for the show, Sara.

    "Sorry guys," she said. "I don't have any comp tickets to offer unfortunately.
    If you can get into the show, let me know and I can arrange the photo pass."

    My editor was distressed.

    "What is with this newfound powerlessness of PR reps?" he said.
    "It's like an epidemic lately! Sorry, we just have no control of letting press
    into our own show... Jeez!"

    "I hear ya," I said. "I don't mind buying a ticket but it's kinda lame."

    "We're press, you know? It's like, I know G. Love is God and all (or, no wait, I
    think that was Clapton...), but I'm guessing most people can use all the press they
    can get. We're friendlies, and it costs them nothing. They can't get you in? Come on."


    Eventually, after much convincing, I got in.
    But it was clear that even after all of that work, I was still going to face resistance.

    "Sir, please delete your photos. Or give me the memory card from your camera.
    Your choice," said the advancing security guard. "Oh you have a press pass... Hmm. OK."


    ...and this brings me to the point of the story:

    Two guys offered me weed while I was at the show that night,
    and one guy was doing lines of coke in the bathroom.
    But I bet none of them went through the trouble I went through to bring in a professional camera.

    Please enjoy the photo of G. Love & Special Sauce at the Fillmore in San Francisco. It almost didn't make it.
    And if you would like, view the entire gallery.
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