Thursday, July 5, 2012
Yesterday, I was waiting for a ride just down the street from the Troubadour (with guitar in hand) when a woman rolled down her window and began to snap photos of me.
The fan was lucky I didn't happen to be Alec Baldwin; after all, I may have thrown a hairy conniption (or bent her car aerial, at least!).
Frankly, I don't mind if folks are inclined to snap a pic - because it's flattering - after all.
But, advance warning would be appreciated so have the precious time to brush my golden locks and ensure there isn't any soup stain on my snazzy designer t-shirt or broccoli stuck between my teeth!
I don't want to end up on someone's worst-dressed list, after all!
Don't ask me for my autograph, though.
Unlike Cher (who practised her "Jane Henry" for years because she intuitively knew she'd be a superstar one day) mine is a sloppy undecipherable scrawl.
Happy Celebrity-hunting, eh?