Having grown-up in celebrity rich Marin County, I'm fairly unphased by hang-out seshes with famous peeps, however it still is always surreal and bizzare to find myself, oh, say, accepting a strawberry licorice whip from Alice Cooper, in the snug waiting room of a voiceover studio. I was catching up on US mag, which I'm hoping Best Gay Friend subscribes me too for my bday so I will always be flush with the latest Brittney, Paris and Sienna situations, waiting for a vo sesh, chitchatting with the delightful owners of the studio, when tromping (pretty accurate adjective) in the front door comes Alice, as Lindsey (fab studio-owner) calls him. I'm not too familiar with his genre of music, favoring more melodious and youthful bands, such as my new favorites, Of Montreal and Architecture in Helsinki, however,
I now know who Alice Cooper is, sort of. He's a very nice leathery-ish man with 3 kids, acid-reflex and a penchant for licorice and diet coke. He also likes dogs, wears black and red cowboy boots and agrees with me, that the strawberry licorice whips are indeed the same color as drunken Brittney's couture lingerie outfit in the US mag. We made small talk for a bit, dogs, kids, and japanese advertising tendencies. Then I worked, drove home on the 134, which thankfully, Nicole Richie was not driving on, and wrote a tiny toy piano song called Licorice.
Love The UkuLady
PS: The strawberry licorice whips were not those dark red, satisfyingly-chewy ones that I can't recall the name of right now, but the same brand that you get in the movie theater. They weren't as good as the dark red oddly-satisfyingly chewy ones. But they were soaked in fame!