Dear Majestic Angel Karen Dalton,
I wish you were still alive because if you were still alive I wouldn’t have to pretend that we were sitting together, singing “When A Man Loves A Woman,” stoned on my roof. We could actually get stoned together and share that moment. And I wouldn’t have to pretend that you were going to sing at my wedding to Josh Hartnett in 2 years (watch me). You actually would be there, slur-singing at my wedding. I remember when you used to come over to the house and play my dad’s guitars in the great room. You gave me my first sip of gin. I was 5. I’m just missing you today, Karen, and I think you’re the best singer that my psychos have never heard. You must be heard. Maybe your spirit is trying to reach out via my body? You were so misunderstood. You kidnapped your own kid and moved to NYC when you were 19. Personally, I think that’s totes major and strong. Here’s to staying chic and slightly filthy in the afterlife. Bye for now. Amen.