I walked in from checking my email on the balcony with bad news for my husband, a self-proclaimed metalhead: Jani Lane of Warrant was found dead in L.A.
"What?! Where?!"
I filled him on the few details - he had been found dead in a hotel room at the age of 47.
"He asked me to play cards once...," my husband said, his voice trailing off.
Ah, yes. The card story.
It's a story I've heard at least 500 times, a tale from my husband's glory days. He worked as an inventory manager for The Wall record store back in the 90s and often found himself hanging out in the tour buses of his childhood heroes.
As the Warrant story goes, my husband ran to Denny's for the band to grab some food. He was munching on a Moons Over My Hammy and was watching "The Mask" with a few co-worker friends and the rest of Warrant when Jani Lane entered the tour bus and asked if anyone wanted to play cards with him. Everyone blew him off, so Jani Lane went to bed.
I'm pretty sure turning down the lead singer of one of your alleged favorite bands makes you a diva. Just sayin'. But nothing gets between my husband and his Moons Over My Hammy.
Upon hearing the news of Jani Lane's passing, my husband looked at me and said, "I feel bad now."
I patted him on the shoulder and said, "Somehow I doubt Jani brought it up in therapy."
Still, that would be like me turning down Amy Grant's offer to paint our nails and talk about boys when I had dinner with her and the band back in March.
RIP, Jani. Scott says "sorry."
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