first night

C and I went out to see Henry Rollins last night; it was our first night out together since Chicken Licken was born. Almost six months.

Henry has mellowed a bit. He's older, somehow smaller. The bad language has been almost completely excised. It's a spoken word tour, and what he speaks about is travel and politics. The bad-dream stories about growing up, the death-legion stuff of his Black Flag days is gone now. He's doing travel writing in front of a microphone, with liberal doses of apology and hope (for America, for the future, etc).

The one aspect of former Henry which still comes through -- in spades -- is his relentlessness. He walked out on stage, assumed a pose in front of the microphone, and then started talking, with force, with energy, for three hours. He did not pause, he did not pace, he did not get a glass of water. And my ass *melted* into that church pew.

Of course, his best piece was about commitment: about being the most creative force that you can be, and always blitzing that hill, and never phoning it in. He certainly doesn't.

p.s. Thanks to Jill and Jamie for looking after Oona; I'm a little concerned, however, that her first words this morning were "white power."