I found my people

Piercings and tattoos and guitars -- oh MY!

I found my people. Last night I decided to ask people at work if they wanted to check out First Friday. Before I moved here I heard that downtown was where the arts scene was, where there was live music and punk bars and people drinking coffee NOT produced by Starbucks. After I moved in to my apartment and checked out my neighborhood (lovely, clean, quite the picture suburbia and -- most importantly -- 2 miles from work) and my co-workers (lovely, polite, hailing from suburbia and friendly and welcoming) I thought that such a place as "downtown" could not really exist. But it does.

There are vintage shops, art galleries, large rooms with threadbare couches and half-dressed chicks singing along plaintively while a scruffy guy in a hipster t-shit plays the acoustic guitar. One look around and I realized I was home.

And Fremont Street, which for historic reasons is very interesting and is also home to Vegas Vick, the large neon cowboy, is more than just a pedestrian district with non-glam casinos. Beauty Bar is down there -- one of my favorite bars in NewYork and the official hang-out for more of my people HERE. I was so happy to see them I had five screwdrivers and paid a $5 cover.

I'm so happy.

By the way, if you are ever in the mood to learn more about Fremont Street -- or any other part of Vegas -- ask my friend Michael to walk with you. He knows EVERYTHING.