We’re going in a slightly different direction today. I mean, for a variety of artistic and intellectual reasons I’d love to have dinner with the greatest bands ever – The Fabs, The Stones, The Who, Zep, Floyd, U2, REM, Van Morrison, and a bunch of others. Then there’s this class of really cool, past and present indie artists from then and now, like Jeff Foster and Don Dixon and The Lost Patrol and Jag Star and Paul Lewis and Fiction 8 and Space Team Electra, but I have had dinner with some of them (and have reasonable expectations of dining with the rest of them some day).
But today, I’m thinking about personal realities. I’m in the final stages of wrapping up a painful divorce and have damned near forgotten what it is to be in the presence of a woman who might actually like me. I work alone at home and none of my friends exactly fall in the “wing man” category, so when I go out I’m Steve Martin in The Lonely Guy. I have given up on the idea that I will ever have another date, let alone find Miss Right.
So what I’d love, re: day 26 of the challenge, is to have dinner with a band comprised completely of beautiful, talented single women who have a thing for bald blogger/poet/marketing strategists. Problem is, I don’t know what band fits that bill (best guess – none that ever did or ever will exist). The first part – pretty female musicians – is easy enough. I loved The Go-Gos and Bangles, and only partially because of their talent. Some of those late ’80s hair metal chick bands, like Britney Fox and Poison and the Nelson twins, they were all really smoking, too. As I noted the other day, Alison Goldfrapp hots me up just fine. Somewhere Micki Berenyi labors away, having no idea of the love I secretly harbor for her.
So many wonderful women. All married or oblivious to the existence of the man who could give them years and years of happiness. Or failing that, who they could give a few hours of happiness. Either way.
I learned some time back that one of my favorites, a woman who has retired from music for some unfathomable reason, is married to a professor who was apparently not far away up at CU. Now they’re in California, says Wikipedia. I hate that she gave up the band, because they were awesome. And I hate that she never found me, because I’d be so much better for her than the jerk she married. Whoever he is.
So here’s to Justine Frischmann what might have been. And Justine, if he doesn’t make you happy, call me…