Henry
I started listening to Rollins Band in late junior high/early high school, back when Headbanger's Ball used to play the video for their quasi-hit with "Liar". In high school, I started reading Henry's books and listening to his spoken word. By the time I got into college, Henry Rollins had become a fundamental part of my life. I can't recall the number of nights I fell asleep while listening to Get In The Van. By the time I started attending San Francisco State University, I started developing a germ of an idea for my student film, called "What Would Henry Do?" which would focus around a young man who imagined Henry was inside his head, speaking to him. That film would eventually fall by the wayside as my life continued to shift and move beyond my control again and again. Through all of this, his works, his words and his music remained constant, true.
I was determined to see Henry live, but forces kept conspiring against me. In 2001, while I was writing for the San Francisco Herald, I was promised a press pass to his gig at the Palace of Fine Arts. My friend Steve and I made the ridiculous MUNI ride out to the place and arrived only to find that my name had been left off the list. The employees at the Palace offered to let us into the back row for five minutes, but this was no way to see the man. Defeated, we left. It took us about three hours to get back across town. From about 1998 to present, every time Henry has come to the area, I have been forced to miss it one way or the other.
This past October 14, I was visiting the 2.13.61 website on a whim when I discovered that Henry was in the midst of his current spoken word tour, which was celebrating his 25th year on stage, and that he would be coming to Santa Clara in just over a month. I bought two tickets on the spot. Unable to take my girlfriend with me, I decided to ask Steve along, since we had both missed out the last time. He said that it sounded like fun.
Two weeks ago I had a dream that I went to see Henry Rollins speak. For some reason, he was speaking in a Costco, but I think this point is irrelevant to the rest of the dream. Just before he started speaking, he was crouching on the stage, chit-chatting with a random person. I waited for him to finish, and then approached quickly. I shook his hand, which was smallish in mine, and I can't remember exactly what I said; I just remember that it all came out of me in a rush of emotion. It felt as though my adoration for him was a tangible thing, and he was taken aback at my intensity. I told him it was an honor. In one of those dream moments that you will never forget, he looked at me for a long moment, still gripping my hand. Finally, he nodded slightly, and he said to me, "You can do anything, you know." "I know," I replied. He nodded to me and I took my seat. Upon waking, I realized that I was truly affected.
Last night I made my way out to Santa Clara, to the Avalon nightclub. Just as I was leaving town, Steve called me to inform me that he had to work a double shift unexpectedly and would be unable to attend. I was disappointed for a moment, but then I realized that this was probably for the best. This is the way it is meant to be. I must soldier on alone. I arrived a good half-hour before the doors opened, but joined a line of about thrity or forty people. I waited anxiously, and when we were let in, I was amazed to find that there was a seat available in the front row. I sat myself down and was bursting. I looked at the stage, a scant two feet in front of me. I was off to one side, but Henry would be standing [i]right there[/i], right in front of me. The show wouldn't start for another hour, so I put my jacket on my seat and went to the merch table, where I bought his newest "talking" CD, his newest book, and a poster made exclusively for this tour, the latter two signed by the man himself. I casually asked if there was any chance that Henry would be around to meet people after the show (not expecting that answer to be in the affirmative, since the last time one of my heroes came to town...Christopher Daniels...he promptly skedaddled when his time was over). To my complete shock, the merch guy kind of gave me this knowing half-smile, and pointed in the direction of the parking lot. "If you go wait by that giant black bus out there after the show, he'll be there." I couldn't believe it.
I took my stuff and returned to my seat, my mind racing. I wanted to call everyone I know: "I'm in the front row, about to see HENRY ROLLINS!" I couldn't believe how giddy and anxious I was. I tried reading from the new book, put it down, checked the time, picked up the book again. I repeated this process uneasily for an hour. Finally, I checked my phone one last time. 7:59. I turned off my phone, sat forward in my seat, and waited. The crappy, too-loud house music went off. The house lights went down. The stage lights came up. Henry Rollins leaped through a curtain and onto the stage. He was right there. He was now completely gray, in fantastic shape but no longer the monster hewn from stone he had been in the nineties with the Rollins Band. For a moment I was reminded of when I finally saw George Carlin live and he had been so small and frail and...OLD. Henry was not old, just older. He was still my hero. He placed a timer and a bottle of water, which he never touched, in front of the monitor. He removed the mirophone from the mic stand, as I knew he would, and with the microphone cord, made two loops around the middle, ring and pinky fingers of the left hand that was holding the mic, as I knew he would. He was right in front of me. Finally, here was the man who has done everything in his life that I intend to do in mine. I was seeing him. Not on one of the DVDs or tapes I have of him, not hearing his voice on the countless spoken word CDs I own. It just didn't seem real. He went on for two hours and forty minutes without pause, his unwavering intensity holding the crowd in the palm of his hand the entire time. His wit and incredible mind careened from topic to topic, from anti-war demonstrations to Wal*Mart to BassPro to how men are full of shit when they're having sex with a woman, to his adventures on the Trans-Siberian Express, to the most accurate and lengthy story about everyone's personal history of vomiting, to Katrina, to Bush again. It was amazing. It was also possibly the most solid set I've ever heard from him, and I can't wait to hear this material on CD.
When the show was over, I was one of the first on my feet, applauding him. I headed out to the parking lot to wait by the bus. At first I felt stupid, but gradually about twnety-five people or so were standing there with me. I found myself wishing I had brought my camera. I waited for about half an hour, so much going through my mind. I couldn't believe I had just seen him live, had even more trouble believing I was about to meet him. My eyes kept moving to every possible exit. Finally, the merch guy emerged, and walking next to him was a smaller man in a fleece pullover, carrying a huge gym bag. I knew it was him, but couldn't believe it at the same time. The group of people slowly moved together as he approached. He handed his bag off to the other man, who disappeared inside the bus, and turned to us. The rest of the people were just as timid as I was, it seemed. I was one of the people closest to him, but I couldn't be first, I just couldn't. I slunk back a bit, next to a man holding a camera. I asked if he wouldn't mind taking a picture of me with Henry and emailing it to me. He said sure. The first man approached with a DVD, apologizing that he didn't have a pen. "Already got one," Henry said, pulling a sharpie from his pocket and holding it aloft. It was a line I've heard him say before, referencing a Coke, but here he was, being humble and funny and patient. Here was my hero, somehow managing to be both the most intense person I've ever seen, and also the nicest.
Finally it was my turn. My knees were shaking. I couldn't believe how it felt, and I couldn't believe it was actually happening. I shook his hand and told him he had no idea how much this meant to me. I told him I had a dream about meeting him and I frightened him with my intensity. He said that's pretty hard to do. I took my picture with him. He signed my poster...again. He told me to hang in there. I shook his hand again. Just like that, I had met my hero. I hated to walk away, but I did. Thank you, Henry.
You can do anything, you know.
I know.
I was determined to see Henry live, but forces kept conspiring against me. In 2001, while I was writing for the San Francisco Herald, I was promised a press pass to his gig at the Palace of Fine Arts. My friend Steve and I made the ridiculous MUNI ride out to the place and arrived only to find that my name had been left off the list. The employees at the Palace offered to let us into the back row for five minutes, but this was no way to see the man. Defeated, we left. It took us about three hours to get back across town. From about 1998 to present, every time Henry has come to the area, I have been forced to miss it one way or the other.
This past October 14, I was visiting the 2.13.61 website on a whim when I discovered that Henry was in the midst of his current spoken word tour, which was celebrating his 25th year on stage, and that he would be coming to Santa Clara in just over a month. I bought two tickets on the spot. Unable to take my girlfriend with me, I decided to ask Steve along, since we had both missed out the last time. He said that it sounded like fun.
Two weeks ago I had a dream that I went to see Henry Rollins speak. For some reason, he was speaking in a Costco, but I think this point is irrelevant to the rest of the dream. Just before he started speaking, he was crouching on the stage, chit-chatting with a random person. I waited for him to finish, and then approached quickly. I shook his hand, which was smallish in mine, and I can't remember exactly what I said; I just remember that it all came out of me in a rush of emotion. It felt as though my adoration for him was a tangible thing, and he was taken aback at my intensity. I told him it was an honor. In one of those dream moments that you will never forget, he looked at me for a long moment, still gripping my hand. Finally, he nodded slightly, and he said to me, "You can do anything, you know." "I know," I replied. He nodded to me and I took my seat. Upon waking, I realized that I was truly affected.
Last night I made my way out to Santa Clara, to the Avalon nightclub. Just as I was leaving town, Steve called me to inform me that he had to work a double shift unexpectedly and would be unable to attend. I was disappointed for a moment, but then I realized that this was probably for the best. This is the way it is meant to be. I must soldier on alone. I arrived a good half-hour before the doors opened, but joined a line of about thrity or forty people. I waited anxiously, and when we were let in, I was amazed to find that there was a seat available in the front row. I sat myself down and was bursting. I looked at the stage, a scant two feet in front of me. I was off to one side, but Henry would be standing [i]right there[/i], right in front of me. The show wouldn't start for another hour, so I put my jacket on my seat and went to the merch table, where I bought his newest "talking" CD, his newest book, and a poster made exclusively for this tour, the latter two signed by the man himself. I casually asked if there was any chance that Henry would be around to meet people after the show (not expecting that answer to be in the affirmative, since the last time one of my heroes came to town...Christopher Daniels...he promptly skedaddled when his time was over). To my complete shock, the merch guy kind of gave me this knowing half-smile, and pointed in the direction of the parking lot. "If you go wait by that giant black bus out there after the show, he'll be there." I couldn't believe it.
I took my stuff and returned to my seat, my mind racing. I wanted to call everyone I know: "I'm in the front row, about to see HENRY ROLLINS!" I couldn't believe how giddy and anxious I was. I tried reading from the new book, put it down, checked the time, picked up the book again. I repeated this process uneasily for an hour. Finally, I checked my phone one last time. 7:59. I turned off my phone, sat forward in my seat, and waited. The crappy, too-loud house music went off. The house lights went down. The stage lights came up. Henry Rollins leaped through a curtain and onto the stage. He was right there. He was now completely gray, in fantastic shape but no longer the monster hewn from stone he had been in the nineties with the Rollins Band. For a moment I was reminded of when I finally saw George Carlin live and he had been so small and frail and...OLD. Henry was not old, just older. He was still my hero. He placed a timer and a bottle of water, which he never touched, in front of the monitor. He removed the mirophone from the mic stand, as I knew he would, and with the microphone cord, made two loops around the middle, ring and pinky fingers of the left hand that was holding the mic, as I knew he would. He was right in front of me. Finally, here was the man who has done everything in his life that I intend to do in mine. I was seeing him. Not on one of the DVDs or tapes I have of him, not hearing his voice on the countless spoken word CDs I own. It just didn't seem real. He went on for two hours and forty minutes without pause, his unwavering intensity holding the crowd in the palm of his hand the entire time. His wit and incredible mind careened from topic to topic, from anti-war demonstrations to Wal*Mart to BassPro to how men are full of shit when they're having sex with a woman, to his adventures on the Trans-Siberian Express, to the most accurate and lengthy story about everyone's personal history of vomiting, to Katrina, to Bush again. It was amazing. It was also possibly the most solid set I've ever heard from him, and I can't wait to hear this material on CD.
When the show was over, I was one of the first on my feet, applauding him. I headed out to the parking lot to wait by the bus. At first I felt stupid, but gradually about twnety-five people or so were standing there with me. I found myself wishing I had brought my camera. I waited for about half an hour, so much going through my mind. I couldn't believe I had just seen him live, had even more trouble believing I was about to meet him. My eyes kept moving to every possible exit. Finally, the merch guy emerged, and walking next to him was a smaller man in a fleece pullover, carrying a huge gym bag. I knew it was him, but couldn't believe it at the same time. The group of people slowly moved together as he approached. He handed his bag off to the other man, who disappeared inside the bus, and turned to us. The rest of the people were just as timid as I was, it seemed. I was one of the people closest to him, but I couldn't be first, I just couldn't. I slunk back a bit, next to a man holding a camera. I asked if he wouldn't mind taking a picture of me with Henry and emailing it to me. He said sure. The first man approached with a DVD, apologizing that he didn't have a pen. "Already got one," Henry said, pulling a sharpie from his pocket and holding it aloft. It was a line I've heard him say before, referencing a Coke, but here he was, being humble and funny and patient. Here was my hero, somehow managing to be both the most intense person I've ever seen, and also the nicest.
Finally it was my turn. My knees were shaking. I couldn't believe how it felt, and I couldn't believe it was actually happening. I shook his hand and told him he had no idea how much this meant to me. I told him I had a dream about meeting him and I frightened him with my intensity. He said that's pretty hard to do. I took my picture with him. He signed my poster...again. He told me to hang in there. I shook his hand again. Just like that, I had met my hero. I hated to walk away, but I did. Thank you, Henry.
You can do anything, you know.
I know.