I'll admit that I didn't react to my recent marital separation with the courage and dignity one would expect from the world's most heroic record reviewer, Mark Prindle. However, I ask you to please recall that (a) it came as a complete surprise, and (b) it hurt like a filibuster. That is how I've chosen to preface the revealing paragraph you are about to enjoy.
I've had my run-ins with Henry Rollins over the years, even though he has no idea who I am and any sort of acknowledgement between us is entirely inside my head. The pinnacle of my achievement in temporarily annoying him occurred a couple of years back, when I foolishly emailed him a high school photo I'd found of him online, along with the note "How did THIS get online!?" His impatient response read something like "Mark, It's obviously a yearbook thing. I am famous, and people like you put things like this online. That's how it got there. Please, get out there and get something new going on. Thanks, Henry." I was so offended that I vowed I would never buy anything related to him again, but then I got over it like a week later.
But here's the important thing that ties the previous two paragraphs together, as well as making me feel obliged to respond whenever I see a Facebook comment like "Henry Rollins is an asshole" or "Henry Rollins is a nogoodnick." Facebook often makes these arguments; I don't know why the company hates him so much. But here's what happened:
One day in early June, my asshole boss was an even bigger asshole than usual, so I -- already under severe emotional strain due to my failing marriage -- quit on the spot and walked out at 11:25 in the morning. I then walked down to my estranged wife's workplace, where she informed me that our marriage was over and she was never coming home. In shock and seeing no future for myself (no wife, no job, no way to pay for an apartment, etc), I walked to the Empire State Building, bought a ticket to the Observation Deck, and was chagrined to discover that they'd made it completely impossible to jump off. I tried a few of the windows inside too, but they were sealed shut. Down but not out, I walked to the Chrysler Building, where I was informed that they don't have any sort of tours of that sort. So my next stop was Rockefeller Plaza, where I paid my admission to visit "Top Of The Rock" some very many floors above sea level. And AGAIN there was no way to safely jump off to my doom. There was one space between a fence and a wall where I could've squeezed through, but there was a landing about ten floors beneath it, meaning I'd have to jump, land and probably break my legs, and then jump again, which hardly seemed worth the effort. Eventually I gave up and went to hang out with Jim Laakso.
So then a few nights later, full of vodka and self-pity, I sent this email to Mr. Henry Rollins:
From: Mark Prindle
To: two1361
Sent: Tuesday, June 08, 2010 2:33 AM
Subject: Henry
I know you hate me, and I'm very sad about that but I probably deserve it. I just wanted you to know that I'm getting my come-uppance. My wife recently left me after 15 years, and all I can think is "You didn't need to do that to me."
I tried to kill myself four days ago. Pretty wimpy. I know you'd never do that, but I felt my life was over.
Go ahead, make fun of me. I know it's fun for you.
Best,
Your fan,
Mark Prindle
When I awoke with a clearer head the next morning, I dreaded his mocking angry response. But instead, I found this in my inbox:
Mark, you can't kill yourself no matter how bad you feel. I know those kind of break ups make you feel that nothing is worth doing. It may feel like that for quite some time. You need to work against it to work past it. Perhaps you have a gym membership, you can use. A place to go and get the blood moving. Always good for the morale. That's a long time to be with someone. You probably feel like there was a death in the family or something. I know it's very hard but really, no suicide. There's a lot left to do. Hang in there. Henry
At first, I naturally assumed it was from Henry The Dog. But once I realized that Henry The Dog can't type, I knew that only one thing could be the case: Henry Rollins isn't an asshole at all. As he'd be the first to admit, he's not a people person, but when the stakes are down, the guy tries to help. How many other entertainers would bother to send a response like that to a troubled fan? So up your nose, Facebook.