Dont Mince Words

Before the internet and widespread MTV adoption, college radio was what we relied on to hear new and different music. It is what prompted me to DJ at my college and at the all-boys school seven miles down the road. It’s also when I started my 25 year long-distance relationship/obsession with Henry Rollins.

My shows were a smorgasbord of punk, new wave, world music, cool pop, and rock. I admired Henry for leaving DC and moving to LA to stalk Black Flag, eventually becoming their singer. There was a poetic anger about him that kept me interested. I watched his career continue to move in various directions and was proud he didn’t become a punk flame out.

I watched us both get old.

I now admire his politics and his hunger for social understanding. Most of all, his musical knowledge is probably unmatched. As a DJ, the stuff he has is amazing. Old vinyl and obscure foreign music; the guy is a musical encyclopedia.

Friday night I finally had the opportunity to meet him. The myth in my head finally met reality face to face and I wasn’t sure what to say. I regressed into a stupid 15 year-old girl. What do I say? Do I request a song? Do I comment on his views on apartheid? Do I thank him for moving his show to KCRW? Three vodkas into the evening and I was off my game.

“I’ve never seen a shy side of Marna,” a girlfriend commented.

I realized it comes back to LA. I’ve never had a serious conversation with a smart person since I’ve lived in LA. I was verbally paralyzed. The best I could do was walk up to him while his DJ cans were off his head and say “Hi Henry. I’m a Navy brat from DC and love your stuff.” His response was a smile and “Right on” with a thumbs up.

My girlfriends weren’t satisfied and a half-hour later, my friend with the camera approached Keith Morris and said, “My friend is shy. Do you might a photo together?” I was pushed in between the Black Flaggers, stooping down so Keith could reach my shoulder. The result was confusion and crazy elation.

The Rollins demystification is over. Now I need a new crush.

I’m going to pitch a new TV show to the networks.  “Are you better at Wii than a 7 year-old” will feature gaming unsaavy adults playing Wii against their younger relatives.  I discovered during Easter, in my attempt to be hip with the nephews, I need to upgrade my Ms. Pacman-era gaming skills.

While everyone in the house was sick, the youngest nephew who is 7  took it upon himself to keep us entertained by “teaching” me some of his Wii games.  He enjoyed talking a lot and telling tips and tricks, but leaving out a few details to ensure he’d win every game.  Whatever.  I get it.  He gets crushed by his older brother so this was the first time he had an equal-skilled opponent.

After my day-long tutorial, my brother came downstairs laughing.  Apparently, I was in the kid’s evening prayers.  “And thank you for bringing me Aunt Marna so that I had someone to play with whose butt I could whip.”

Just you wait kid.  I vow never to be in 12th place again in Super Mario Cart.  I’m going to find someone to play with here so I can start my driver’s ed.

I think everyone has a love/hate relationship with New York. I have had three visits since leaving because I miss it so much, but need to stay away long enough to remember why I left six years ago. It’s getting harder to remember why.

Within 30 minutes of getting out of JFK, my incense-burning cab driver had me in the east Village for PubNight – a tradition I used to share weekly with my technology dotcom friends.  I was drinking drafts with a half-dozen old friends and another dozen acquaintances.  They all asked why I had left.

“I was committed to getting out before I was 40.  I didn’t want to become a bitter Woody Allen cliche,” I admitted.  But what I realized was I left a great social and professional network for a sun-infused lifestyle that leaves me feeling very isolated.

The next morning I attempted some early shopping at Century 21 until I could meet a Wall Street friend for beers at 10 a.m.  We talked business until I dashed uptown for a lunch meeting with a former LA friend.  In addition to tempting me with some freelance writing business, she rattled on all the benefits of getting out of LA and mentioned the isolation she felt as well.  After lunch, I walked 30 blocks just taking it all in.  I missed it.

What was most apparent to me during my visit was blatantly heterosexual men.  I saw men in bars and on the street that were quite obviously straight.  I suppose I’ve been tainted living in West Hollywood, but man it was nice to see real men talking business, not hair products and jeans.  Don’t laugh, but you know what else I miss?  Real Jews.  Seriously.  Not these Hollywood Jews-of-Convenience or my Russian Jews, but real, obnoxious Lox-loving Jews.  Smart, fast talking Jews.  God bless ’em.
Straight guys and Jews aside, it’s still not the same New York for me.  I still have a habit of coming up subway stairs looking for the Towers to guide me.  Now I kind of resent having to travel underground.  I want to be above and see everything.  I don’t want to miss anything.  I’m not sure why I left.