I was obsessed with Debbie Harry because my older cousin had been into Blondie, so I felt this was one easy way to be cool. Of course, solo Debbie was very uncool; she couldn't even buy a Top 40 hit. But it was too late, I'd bought all of Blondie's albums and was drinking up Debbie's first two solo record, so was dying to hear her follow-up.
I wrote a fan letter to...somewhere. I don't know. I probably found an address in a British teen mag, the only place you'd find a 40-year-old popstar's address pre-Internet. Months later, a gorgeous postcard arrived with a fab autograph on it, urging me (on the back) to listen for a new album in 1989, which turned out to be Def, Dumb & Blonde.
I was livid that the USPS had stamped all over the autograph and picture, but I was also dying that the Greta Garbo of pop was re-emerging soon. I couldn't have even imagined then that Blondie would reunite and embark on tours so often I could afford to skip some of them, and that I would eventually meet her a few times. If the postcard had said that, I might have dropped out of college.