April 27
You all know I don't make friends too easily. I mean, people like me well enough, but I have a lot of problems actually getting around to the Let's Be Friends And Talk on the Phone and Make Plans to Do Stuff on Weekends phase of the game. Maybe I'm too impatient. Maybe because I'm an only child, I'm more amused by my own company and would rather spend my weekends staring out the window silently cursing my loathesome neighbors across the street (to add to their already obnoxious habits of, say, leaving their dog out ALL NIGHT UNLEASHED and then screaming for it at the top of their lungs at no matter what time it happens to be, or instead of telling their friends to PARK AND RING THE BELL, think that it's perfectly acceptable to be alerted to company by LISTENING FOR THE REVVING CAR ENGINE AND HONKING HORN, they recently added some of those two way cell phones AND several motorcycles!) than calling someone up and seeing whether or not they want to catch a movie or go get a beer or shoot some hoops or go for a drive up the sunny countryside or something. I'm getting away from my point, here.
The point is, I don't make friends easily, and in February I made a friend. Two friends, really. Right at the same time. Awesome Doug and I have lead parallel lives up until the point where I left NY and got married and he stayed on, eventually getting married (and to prove I'm not that great of a friend, I have no idea what his timeline for meeting and marrying beautiful Shandy [the second of my two new friends!] was. I know they've told me but sometimes I just don't listen. Sorry!) We went to all the same shows, hung out at all the same places and had a few friends in common. Where we differed, as teens, was that I was an angry fight in the mosh pit, beer bottle throwing skinhead, he was sensitive and posed for photographs with flowers and probably wept bitter, Morrissinian (hah!) tears at the plight of the world when the Thundercats were taken off TV. Did we make out at the arcade in Kings Plaza in 1986? It is entirely possible. Are we brother and sister? We're cautiously questioning our mothers about it.
Doug is exactly the kind of friend you'd call if you were in jail. Not, of course, because he'd come bail you out, but because you'd miss him and want to hear him make all kinds of fun of you. Doug is the kind of friend you'd drive through Coney Island with at 4 in the morning, blaring Spirit of the Radio, drinking a 40 (note: Drinking and driving is bad. Don't you do it. This is a strictly HYPOTHETICAL situation. Maybe). Doug is a talented, funny writer and a quick, sharp person. You all could do a lot worse than to have Doug as your friend. Doug is also a musician, and the point of this little love letter is that his band, Public Domain, have made it to the next round of a contest on Z100, a GIANT (admittedly shitty) radio station in New York. Again, proving that I am not such a good listener, I don't know all of the details of what they would win, other than, oh, a RECORD CONTRACT and some other stuff, I DO know that if they win, you are enabling Shandy, as wife of the Rock Star and Dana--as good friend to the Rock Star, a Gerri Hall lifestyle and bragging rights, respectively. Also, I might be able to score some free beer and a meetup with Tom Waits out of it. What? It could happen!
So, I know I asked you all to do this once before, but please, go vote for Doug's band, Public Domain, over here. Vote OFTEN. Send email. Stalking by telephone is perfectly acceptable. Do it for me, poor old friendless Dana who finally made some friends! Come on! You know you want to. I've been writing this page for almost 5 years FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT!! Don't you think you owe me one? DON'T YOU??? Are YOU going to keep me from meeting Tom Waits?? DO YOU WANT THAT GUILT ON YOUR SHOULDERS?? I didn't think so. Go vote.
In case you missed the Z100 link, here it is again.
the other day - home - email - soon