Henry Rollins, �Smile, You�re Traveling�
In July of 2002, I made the statement that I would never EVER purchase another book by Henry Rollins. Then I followed that with the statement that I would still buy Get in the Van if it came in. It did come in the store in December, I bought it and read it, and that book sucked too. So why am I reading another Henry Rollins book?
Because I�m too dumb to learn by mistakes, that�s why. Besides, I looked through this before it came in � there was no poetry, and it seemed that this would be a narrative about traveling around Africa � no punk rock shows, and no complaining about dopey 16 year-olds with mohawks.
I�ve already stated that Rollins spoken word can be incredibly funny, so I couldn�t see why his writing was so dour and hate-filled. Skimming though this book and reading him talk about his tent being surrounded by baboons, I thought this, finally, would be a book that captured his comedic voice.
And it did � for about 25 pages. But then his trip to Africa ends, and we�re back to him writing and complaining about the trials and tribulations of a rock god. All sense of narrative fades into �Played show in Seattle, the crowd sucked. A kid asked me if I wanted a beer. Stupid kid. Beer is for losers. Wish I could have worked out before the show. Maybe if I hit the kid in the face, I could count that as a work out. I�m so lonely.�
In the age of blogs and online journals, this is nothing more than an expensive version of diaryland, complete with poor grammar and worse spelling. Here�s an actual quote, which I found quite amusing, though only because of the error, not because of the content:
�Because they changed their image as they �evolved� from the Southern Death Cult to the Death Cult, to The Cult. It occurs to me that if you changed a letter in their name you could get in a lot of trouble so you journos, watch those typos. One t-shirt designer did and lost his job over it (even though the shirt sold rather will [sic] in the UK.)�
The blog analogy works rather well for this book, because that�s essentially what this book is after he returns from Africa. Entry after entry about who he talked to, who he saw, and lots of complaining. I practically expected the entry to complain about his mom making him get off the computer so his sister could do her homework.
The weird dichotomy from Rollins manifests itself in his self-loathing, however. He repeatedly writes about how he hates everybody, and doesn�t let himself get close to anyone, but then complains that he is alone. I think he wants to be liked, but he�s built up such a tough guy image that he�s now stuck in that mode. This is most apparent when he brings up a woman who reviewed one of his books:
�The woman said that I write in that �adjectives are for girls� type of writing or something like that and then said I was like Ernest Hemingway. [...] I read the rest of the review and decided fuck all of you. You don�t live in my reality and of course you and I will never see eye to eye, so fuck it. I�ll always come from another planet. I�m never going to get any closer to your world than I am right now and I�m going to do my thing and you can check it out or not. [...] So fuck you, review bitch, my blood pays your rent.�
So he�s performing his spoken work stuff in San Jose on the day before my birthday. I know from this book that he likes to check out used bookstores in the area, and we�re the closest one to where he�ll be speaking. If he comes into the store, I�m gonna give him a hug.
And then he�ll probably knock my teeth out.
