One Sunday afternoon after a late night of bad decisions and worse luck, I was trying to sop up my hangover with a chili dog at Shady Grove, an Austin, Texas, haunt named after an adjacent trailer park.
Across the kitschy scene, through the fog of last night's margaritas, I see him: Jon. Bon. Jovi. The man-stuff of my middle-school dreams.
Jon. Bon. Jovi. How has the frontman from an '80s hair band from New Jersey managed to stay so cool? Or maybe he's not, and I'm too old to know it. I don't care. I love him. Read more