When my mom would go to parties in the Hollywood Hills, if there was a person there who she thought I was a fan of and would want to meet, she would call me to get out of bed in the middle of the night to come to wherever she was. One night after I had fully gone to bed, somebody came in with a phone for me. “I’m at a party,” my mom said, “and you’ll never believe who’s here!” “Who?” I said groggily. “Marilyn Manson! Do you want to come meet him?” At the time I was a big Manson fan. So even though it was a school night and an hour’s drive from Hidden Hills to the Hollywood Hills, security took
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