Dear Stewart,

So, a long long long time ago (last year?) I found a website connected with your (I think) talent representatives where one could enquire about hiring you for a personal appearance, or performance (!) or something. I don't know, I don't know how this celebrity crap works, and as you can see, I'm apparently not in possession of my memory anymore either. Anyway, though I don't remember when I did this, I do recall that I put in a (incredibly low-ball) bid of $200 for your presence... somewhere.

Needless to say, I received nothing in response.

And seriously, I wasn't surprised. In fact, I was mostly just glad that a pissed off intern/assistant/agent/Miles Copeland didn't contact me and berate me for being such a cheap-ass. The dollar amount, believe me, wasn't a reflection on what I believe to be your worth as a person and/or entertainer; it was more like, "I want to do this for laughs because it's the type of thing someone who writes daily to Stewart Copeland would do, but Patrick will kill me if I put an actual reasonable amount and they take me up on it and then I have to fork over the dough because OH MY GOD Stewart Copeland!" Yes, this is how my brain works. When it works. Anyway, all that is meant to say that I didn't mean to offend. It was a complicated process for me, filling in that online form, and kind of reminded me of some of the excitement and yes, shame I felt during my high school experiences writing anonymous letters to the cute senior boy in the drum section of my marching band.

Oh, yeah, that happened. (The Police were involved in that whole debacle but it's a story best left untold, I think.)

Anyway, then I saw you last year and gave you the (apparently lost and forgotten) tickets to see a show at City Garage, where I am the resident light/sound booth operator (can I say "extraordinaire"? No, I guess I can't), and I thought, well, this is at least a $200 value (tickets are $25 per adult), and I felt a little better about the whole thing.

But time, well, as you know, it's passing.

In December, we will be packing up everything at City Garage and moving to an as yet undetermined new space (don't worry, we'll still be somewhere in Santa Monica, just no longer in the awesome little alley location), and the current (and final) show there is closing relatively soon (November-ish) (go to http://www.citygarage.org/ and sign up for the mailing list. You'll be guaranteed to get information about the new location that way). And you know, I'm having a baby. I'm not going to be able to hunt down your appearances at Guitar Center and Amoeba records quite so easily with an infant strapped to my body ("Hi, Stewart! Can you hold on a sec? Junior needs his diaper changed!"), and I'm not going to be dragging my baby three nights a week to the theater (though, I did consider it, and am still leaving it a tiny bit up in the air; sssh, don't tell Patrick yet). Since you and I haven't, unfortunately, struck up a (real) personal relationship, I think it's safe to say that unless we happen to go to the same flute repair shop, my chances of meeting you again in the next 5-10 years are looking pretty dismal.

All this is to say, again, time is running out.

My friend Sarah is going to be planning my co-ed baby shower soon, and if you'd like to attend that, I'd be happy to send along the information as soon as we know what we're doing. I've already requested NO GAMES, not necessarily for your benefit but rather, for MINE (I hate baby shower games!). I just want to hang out with my friends, hear their funny parenting stories, and be the center of attention one last time. Or if, after the new year, you'd like to see a show at City Garage with me as your, oh, I don't know, date, that could be arranged as well. Hopefully by then I'll have lost the baby weight and have a decent haircut but let's not get crazy. Contact information for me is available if you click on my bio on the right side of this screen.

(Third time's the charm:) Time's a wastin', my friend.

Love you,
Irene