On The White Horse Tavern

I moved to New York City in 1996 with $400 and a fist full of dreams. In addition to my Big Rock aspirations, I though I wanted to be a writer. I networked like crazy. I remember meetings at The Daily News and The New York Times and thinking “Oh my God — this is IT!?! I’ve ARRIVED!”

The first meeting that mattered was at the Whitehorse Tavern (“Where Dylan Thomas drank himself to death”) in the West Village. Tonight I was in that ‘hood again with the the full MTV News team, and it took me back there. I was 24-years-old. I was writing features for The Saratogian. And I was green. I met with Peter Wilkinson, than a contributing editor to Rolling Stone. And as far as I was concerned, he’d made it. Big time. We talked for a few minutes, he hooked me with the name of the intern coordinator (which later became my in at rollingstone.com), and then his friend from the BBC showed up fresh from covering the then-developing Oklahoma bombing story.

That was then. Now, here I am, Director of Production for MTVNews.com (for what that’s worth), releasing my umpteenth record, happily, a full-fledged New Yorker.

Every time I walk by, I remember that time, that feeling. It was all so much bigger than me. I couldn’t imagine making the city my own. It moved too fast. It was too loud. There were too many people to me to make a mark.

So I walk by and I think, “Was that me? Is <i>this</i> me?”

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