Dear Mr. Noth,
Can I just tell you what an honor it is to be speaking with you? Well, not speaking, but just knowing you’ll read this. We met briefly at your club last night and, wow, all I can say is good job, man. I mean, really. I was totally digging that 10’ by 15’ painting of you hung over the door. I liked how it was you, but younger. And thinner. With more hair. I thought that was cool. I mean, it’s your place, right? Why shouldn’t there be a larger-than-life glamour shot from the door frame to the ceiling? My friend says that was lame. That only a self-obsessed douchebag would feel the need to do that. But don’t listen to him. He’s just mad because our band didn’t get to soundcheck before the gig. Hey, not that I’m complaining. We totally understand why your private party for Sex & The City extras, acting buddies, and random skanks had to go two hours late while we stood with our gear in the street. I mean, it was a private performance by Suzanne Vega. Dude, we get it. That is so fine with us. And we are completely over our 40-minute set being cut in half so that you could use our instruments to jam with the gaffer and writer’s assistant from Law & Order before the soundman went home. Again, totally your prerogative. By the way, I meant to tell you, you played “Mustang Sally” really well. Those sure were the right three chords.
I think I’m a fan because we have so much in common. I’m part Jewish too, but like you, I also have none of the wisdom, passion, or comedic ability so often attributed to our people. And I’m also under six feet, but if I had a bio online, I would totally tell people I was like 6’1” or even 6’4.” I mean, you stand next to elfin Sarah Jessica Parker and smurfy Annabella Sciorra all day. Who’s gonna know? Is that why it’s always Vincent D’Onofrio or you on Law & Order: Criminal Intent, but not both? That D’Onofrio’s one tall dude. Smart.
That reminds me. My girlfriend says there are absolutely no hard feelings. I explained to her that, from behind, you probably thought she was in her 30s or at least mid-twenties, because a 51-year-old dude knowingly hitting on a 23-year-old would just be creepy. But hey, that was a pretty good line, though. About why they call you “Mr. Big.” Have you used that one before?
Well, anyway, just wanted to get that all down. I’m sorry we didn’t have any “chronic” on us. We totally would have loved to take “mad bong hits” with you, but it was late. Yeah, like I said, we pretty much just went straight home after that. There wasn’t like an after-party with killer weed and hot N.Y.U. chicks on Avenue A or anything like that. All right, man. Gotta go, but keep up the good work. And no problem. You can give us our cut of the door the next time we play. We totally understand.