Check Out This F-ing Rock and Roll Connection

Dear Internet,

As you know by now, I have a profound admiration and respect (also known as irrational, weird obsession) with Jack White. For several years now I have been plagued with how to meet him and become a member of his entourage, and then become a permanent fixture in his life, if not one of his adopted children. (I'm completely aware that he already has two kids of his own and doesn't need one that is 27 years old, err, 28 in about 15 hours.)

The first actual opportunity to embark on this endless quest was in July. BBChug, effervescent and brilliant as he is, was prescient enough to know that I would want tickets to The Dead Weather show at Terminal 5 in Manhattan. I never buy concert tickets, but I was fully prepared to shell out whatever I had to to be in the same room as Mr. White. The real reason all of our friends were getting tickets wasn't actually Jack, although that was my real incentive to go. The current and transplanted Jersey Kids' friends, The Screaming Females, were opening for The Dead Weather. And you know what I thought? Ka-Ching -- go to the show, cheer on The Females, go backstage, woo Jack with your awesomeness, and get on the bus to Boston.

In the end, obviously, it didn't happen that way. Although I did get to go backstage and stand in the VIP area. Jay-Z and Kanye West, both wearing Ray Bans (obvs), did happen by and I went all nutty thinking of the insane compilation that would happen if my favorite rock star and rapper got together with the production skills of Kanye. In any event, nothing really exciting besides that did happen. Although... We did exit Terminal 5 through the back door and got to see the tour bus.

So The Females did fail there, but since I've moved to the Midwest I've found a Jack White loop hole. I don't exactly know why it's a loop hole. I really basically just felt like using that phrase. I guess it's more of a "You Can't Meet Jack White" loop hole. But in any event, if it were a loop hole, it would be a good one. Ok, so enough of the semantics and back to the point. So as I was so unintelligibly saying, since I've moved to the Midwest I've met a good handful of people from Detroit. I've been really good about trying to keep my inner sociopath under wraps for a few months now, especially since starting work, so I haven't let the Jack White cat out of the bag just yet. Until today.

My co-worker, whom I work with directly, was born and raised in Detroit. We were discussing the new light rail being proposed by private investors in Detroit's downtown, when I asked: Is Cass Corridor part of downtown, or is a separate thing? My co-worker looked at me quizzically and said, How do you know about Cass Corridor? And on impulse I said, The White Stripes. This response caused a fair amount of laughter, some shock, and a little confusion amongst my comrades in cubes. But listen to what I learned:

This co-worker has a nephew who was big into the Detroit rock scene, has been to The Gold Dollar, and, a-hem, dated someone from The Von Bondies. Which means, at least by association, I know Jack White on two fronts: two degrees of separation via The Screaming Females and four via my co-worker. This basically equates to me being able to make my dreams to come true if I enable the American Dream of working really hard to accomplish something, that in the end, actually means nothing. Well nothing to anyone but me.

Gosh am I excited. Just think of all the possibilities: (1) Jack realizes my inherent talents in hearing great music and hires me to find awesome bands (not likely, since I only listen to a few bands, Stripes/Raconteurs/Dead Weather not included); (2) I love boots and have a great eye for them, so he hires me to find boots for him and Alison Mosshart; (3) I have an unyielding love for The White Stripes, and never get tired of listening to them, so I can put together special compilation vinyls without losing my mind; (4) I don't really know what else I can do with this here aside from just being a member of the entourage and telling the opening acts to get the fuck out of the party.
So with all these possible options, I'm pretty positive that I won't be able to woo Jack even when presented with the opportunity. I work in less than exciting corporate America, buy clothes from The Gap, and love to eat Velveeta. He knew me at "Can I have a pack of Camel Lights?" and was certain that I wouldn't fit the bill. Unless of course, I get rid of these gray hairs and throw on those Frye Engineer 12R boots Mike is supposed to get for me (see left inset), I can't expect much, at least until The Dead Weather play a show in Chicago.

Desperately,
Shelly