Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Day 4- Marigrace

August 12th, 2009

Last night was one of those nights where I was reminded that it all makes sense. All of it. I was in the presence of the divinely beautiful and otherworldly wise Marigrace. This might conjure up the image of this Jew stumbling into a Catholic church with rosary beads(or Mardi Gras beads) and sobbing at the altar like Nancy Kerrigan, “Why me? Why me?!” If I ever partake in an act of such lame overdramatic proportions..just shoot me. It would be for the best. Really.

I spent the evening with one of those people that is so beyond special and really validates that something much bigger is going on. I introduce to you: Marigrace Dineen. We lived in the same building on West 13th for eight years and met in our elevator as the towers were burning on September 11th. My inner photojournalist was heading out with the camera and she was going to get liquored up. God bless her.Mari "gets it." She’s a few years older than me, has kick ass untamed red hair and is a rocker in every sense of the word. She was part of the real East Village transformation in the 80’s when authentic “Rent” hard core artistry was in full swing. I hear stories about CBGB’s, loosing friends to AIDS, telling Bette Miller “At least I’m a real fuckin’ redhead” and her many many lovers.”. Disclaimer: there is nothing whorish about Ms.Dineen. Her life is devoted to experiencing the feast of the senses and transmuting it to this heartfelt brutally beautiful singing voice that puts Janis Joplin to shame.

In my 20’s, I’d show up at her door just hoping to feed off her energy. Her apartment is a safe haven with the fluffiest pillows, phenomenal feng shui and(I’m sure this won’t come as a surprise) award winning weed. It’s Fantasy Marigrace Camp. Sometimes I’d come to her in good spirits. Sometimes in tears. Either way, I’d I always leave a little more confident that I am on the right path. She’s committed to being my constant cheerleader and has always FELT success for me. Not in the blow smoke up my ass kind of way. I break it down to, “Well if Marigrace said must be true.”

Plus, she always calls me a “skinny bitch.” What’s not to love?

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