January 28, 2010
Last night was a Marigrace night. I am so in awe of this heightened woman that I was inspired to devote a blog to her in the infancy stage of my 365 day blog challenge. I wrote an entry entitled “Marigrace” on Day 4. Here it is:
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 it..it must be true.”
Plus, she always calls me a “skinny bitch.” What’s not to love?
Yeah. So that’s Marigrace. She knows me. She gets me. She loves me. She sees me as a little sister and just wants me to always feel, as she says, “comfy cozy.” Last night, Mari (passionately) was encouraging me to go darker with my blog entries. She thinks I’m ready for it, my readers are open to it and the world needs it desperately now. She’s not suggesting that my themes should be angry or crypric…she just is gently begging me to tap into the deepest(often unexplored) depths.
This is scary for me. First of all, some family members really support this endeavor while others are concerned that this honest project puts me in an incredibly vulnerable position. I get that. But putting your soul on the line is the very nature of being an artist. A good one at least. Creative types love the feedback so this seems like the appropriate time to give a genuinely heartfelt thank you to my readers for positive feedback, encouragement and, in some cases, even thanking me. It fuels and validates my momentum.
I’m not going to promise for the rest of this project to go all Donnie Darko because I like writing about bacon fetishes, Jesus and Moses having lunch at T.G.I. Friday's and my interest in starting a baby doo-rag business. For babies. In baby gangs. Even with these “lighter” entries, I do hope that I am saying (as they say in the comedy biz) something.
So, how do I go darker? Here’s my agenda. I need to walk up to Darkness and shakes its hand. This will take Darkness by surprise because this rarely happens. I convince Darkness to join me for a latté. And a scone. Darkness turns out to be a pretty nice noun. Just misunderstood. We’ll end up back at my apartment where I conduct a Barbara Walters-like interview. With my Flip Video. In fuzzy lighting. With a stage prop plant hitting my face. I make Darkness cry. I’m that good. I was a Journalism major.