A loose imitation of "Dear Boy George**" by Amy Gestler
(picture not from the same concert-going experience)
Dear Dave Grohl,
I have a weakness for men with tattoos, musicians, cheesy smiles, and songs that enhance whatever mood I'm in. You, you make me so weak i could just lie in bed all day listening to your voice, looking at the picture of you (the one where you're wearing that "Virginia is for LOVERS" t-shirt). You played the drums with Nirvana, and when you made a come back as the lead singer and guitar player of Foo Fighters, I was actually happy Kurt was out of the picture. I'm sorry, i know he was your friend, but that band would have died if he didn't and Foo Fighters have insane lasting power. The kind you deserve. I think of you as the true survivor of the grunge era. I could marry you. I would cook you dinner and help you write lyrics before band practice. When I saw you in concert, about six years ago, you stopped in the middle of "Generator" and said, "Hey! Give that girl her shirt back, it looks like she wants it," then you went right back into "Yeah, can't you hear my motored heart? You're the one that started it." I was that girl! I did want my shirt back! See, you were looking out for me. I was so pissed when Courtney Love wanted to have all the rights to Nirvana's music. I mean, come on, she didn't make any of it! You and Krist Novoselic did! I'd give anything to be a judge, and just relinquish all the rights Courtney has over the legendary band, and then go out with you to a dive bar to celebrate the release of the 10th anniversary box set. We would sit and smoke cigarettes, talking about broken hearts and drunken injuries.***
**I met Boy George once. I had traveled all day from my parent's house in Indiana and was waiting for a cab company. I reached into my pocket, where I hid the lighter from security, then lit my cigarette. I large, bald white man approached and asked, in an English accent, for the lighter. He asked how I was able to still have one. (This was before they realized what a waste of money it is to collect lighters--from smokers--just to dispose of them.) I knew after 30 seconds it was him, but he wasn't the image VH1 flashed on the TV. He had a large tattoo on his scalp, running from the top of the head down to his neck. It resembled measuring tape, only it was black and white. There was a scrawny man, wearing cowboy boots, with him. He didn't speak.
***I have changed the last sentence about 8 times and I still don't like it, help me please.