Rock star schmock star
I’m in the process of being stood up by Jamie “Hotel” Hince. He won’t pick up the phone.
I should have known I wasn’t cool enough to talk to a real life badass rock star. I’ve threatened that I will quit my job if he doesn’t come through, which isn’t much of a threat considering it’s not a real job and it’s my last full day. At least I’m not the nice PR woman who’s trying to track him down for me.
Where could the great Mr. Hince be, I wonder? Sleeping off a week-long hangover? Having some private time with too-cool-for-me-too girlfriend Kate Moss? Frantically scribbling down his latest bursts of brilliance? Chain-smoking and rocking out with once-again-cooler-than-thou bandmate Allison “VV” Mosshart?
On that note, you might wonder why they go by Hotel and VV. I know the story—starting a new, year zero in their careers, bla bla bla etc.—but not the actual basis for those particular names. Well, dear readers, I had every intention of asking “Hotel” about these names, and still will, if only he’ll answer the bloody phone.
Wish me luck. I’ll be sitting here by the phone, gnawing on my Flash Power can, listening longingly to the Kills…—AG
