Open Love Letter Valu-Pak (Part 4)

I originally planned to offer up a dish of open hate mail. (Don't think you've escaped just yet, Corregidora). However, I spent last night rockin' with Rasputina in Carrboro, NC, and now all is full of love.

Dear Michelle and Eric,

You guys, I'm so seriously--no, really, thanks for the martinis and the Mexican food and the letting me sleep on your futon after the driving me to the Cat's Cradle to rock out. They should bottle and sell your kind of cool.

Rock the Casbah,
Sam

Dear Hot Drummer from Tarantula A.D.,

It took me a moment to get used to your sound, but more importantly, you are smokin' hot. You got it goin' on.

Call Me,
Sam

Dear Dancing Goth Guy,

Check you out.

When I spotted you playing air cello and air piano while simultaneously holding a tai chi pose and mouthing the lyrics of "The New Zero," I wanted to talk smack about you. I wanted to tap you on the shoulder and say, "Hey, buddy, you look ridiculous."

But I didn't, and you know why? I was there with you. Bless your heart.

But You Still Looked Ridiculous,
Sam

Dearest, Most Beloved, and Rockin'est Rasputina,

My friend, Stephanie, and I have a plan. Actually, this plan is one of many, but it could happen: the two of us travel to Hollywood for the expressed purpose of being anti-Hollywood. We are as enamored of celebrity as we are disgusted by it. We are too jaded to be genuinely starstruck.

You are the exception. I have an irony-free desire to get your autographs, to take pictures with you backstage, to buy a concert tee-shirt (check), to ask you to make inane lists of your favorite things.

(You are the reason why I talked a minimal amount of trash about Dancing Goth Guy. He should write you a thank-you note.)

I found you in 1998. I ordered $80 worth of goodies from delia*s and received a free CD with your cover of "You Don't Own Me" on it. I heard you on Buffy--Drusilla's birthday jam--and because I was completely wild about Buffy, I bought all of your albums. I first saw you play at the Echo Lounge in 2003. That day was the second-best day of that year. After watching you work those cellos, bang those drums, I felt like I'd found you all over again.

Come Back Soon,
Sam