Dear Jim,
I still remember the first time we met. Actually, that's totally a lie meant to pull at the nostalgic strings of your heart. I don't remember it at all. But, because I've known you in some capacity for the last 15 years, I can well imagine you walked up to Robby and me fighting in a corner somewhere, put your big friendly arms around us and said, "HEY GUYS! What's GOIN' ON?" We probably laughed and went on to have one of the greatest nights of our college life. Again, a lie. I probably went on to throw up in the bathroom of Taco Stand and Robby and I probably fought again when we got home, but the point is, for just those few hours, the Jim Pickens magic saved the day.
Well my tall, fatherly friend. You have the opportunity to wash, rinse, repeat ALL OVER that act of good humor.
As I'm sure your ever-lovely wife has told you, the one true jam band is making their appearance for 2 nights in Charleston in early October. You should know, Panic coming to town a month after I move to my favorite city is a straight up gift from the universe and you have the power to put the cherry on that universal sundae, my friend.
Here's the thing. Robyn and I, much like the two of you, didn't realize we were soulmates until later in life. Perhaps, had we figured this out in 2001 instead, we would have had our fair share of Panic shows together and this request would seem unnecessary. ANOTHER ONE?!, you'd think. Sadly. There have been none. And now, not only is there one, but it's in Charleston and Renee AND Sheena can BOTH make it. Do you know how much I love these girls? Do you know what levels of awesomeness and ovarian type bonding things could come out of a weekend such as this?
Now, I know as husband, the idea of your pretty wife out with me and my wanton ways probably seems a little daunting. So, as I hear lawyers like facts, let's lay this out by the stats. I have been to somewhere around 80 Panic shows. I have never smooched a single random. I have never gone home with someone from a Panic show (with whom I did not arrive). I have never been arrested, in a car accident, nor have I, despite REALLY wanting to, hopped on the tour bus and said "WHERE TO, FELLAS?" I have, however, had 100% success rate with the follwing: Dancing my ass off.
Do you know what dancing is for women, Jimmy? I'm sure you're starting to see KM finding her own little rock out world to the kick ass tunes of Fisher-Price. Here's what happens. You are on an island of best friends, in a sea of your favorite tunes, and all the best feelings you've ever felt in your life, need to escape through your limbs. IT'S MAGIC. Can you really deny, magic, Jim?
I hear you guys are going to Athens the week before and this weighs on you. Hey, I understand. I am booked, including a move, every single weekend until the end of October now. I'm gonna be tired. But I'm gonna be glad! We have our 80s to recover from all the livin' we did.
Anyways, on behalf of all the married moms out there (because you know I TOTALLY speak for them), and their still single friends who miss them more than words, please make this Charleston Panic Extravaganza a reality for us. I'll bake you a pie. I'll make you a mixed CD. I will stand up on a booth in Taco Stand this year and toast you as the GREATEST MAN ON EARTH. You'll make all our lives. Or at least our one very special weekend.
Do it, Jimmy. Do it.
