Last year, I went to see X and Henry Rollins. I stood in the front row for all of it, in the burly, densely-muscled shelter of a giant family of jolly, tattooed bikers--WWF men, glamazon women--who adopted me as their mascot. You know how that goes? You weasel up to the front in a polite, forgetful fashion and someone tells you, "This spot is saved, they went to the bathroom." Then you get to chatting and suddenly one of them tells you, "Hey! You don't take up much room, I can see over your head, move up here!" Okay, if you're 6'7 you've never experienced this, but you have slam-dunked a basketball, my friend, and I will never know that sweet, sweet savor. Anyway, it was a GREAT concert.
Afterwards, I was driving on a quiet country road around 1:00 a.m. I could hear the crickets, the air was soft and fresh-cut grassy, and I decided to pull over into a flower shop's parking lot, take my hot, sweaty concert boots off, and put my sandals on. As I sat back up from taking my boots and stockings off, I saw the blue light in my rearview mirror. ACK! I hadn't been drinking (or that or that), yet still I felt guilty. Giant beads of flop sweat began to pour down my forehead. That looked bad, I knew it looked bad, twitchy, and guilty and the more I thought that, the more giant flop sweat poured off of my forehead.
Sparkle: "HI!!! How are YOU???" (tries to suppress nervous tic)
Cop: "What are you doing?"
Sparkle: "Changing my SHOES!" (which, although I paid for 'em, suddenly felt like I shoplifted)
Cop: "Huh? License and registration."
Sparkle: "SURE!" (fumbles in a suspicious way, as if to conceal an abducted child hidden in the glove compartment)
Cop: "Why are you here?"
Sparkle: "I'm driving back from a CONCERT! It was really GREAT!" (flop sweat begins to soak through front of red dress)
Cop (training his flashlight in the backseat): "Well, DAMN!"
Sparkle: "WHAT?"
Cop (pointing to the poster shown in photo): YOU SAW ROLLINS TONIGHT? GODDAMN! Hey, is he still ripped? Does he still look like he's lifting? How did his arms look? "
Sparkle: "He was great! Uh, his arms looked firm and well-muscled. He looked great, he is really very fit. He SWEATS a lot. I was in the front row, and sweat just spewed over us."
Cop: "DAMN, I wish I'd been there."
Sparkle: "Oh, please. Why don't you take the t-shirt in the back seat? I bought some extra ones for friends."
Cop (he wants to): "Oh, noooooooo, miss. Nooooooooo. I really shouldn't."
Sparkle: "Oh, c'mon, really! Please do."
Cop: "Was he wearing shorts? How did his shins look?"
Sparkle: "They looked great. Yeah, he was wearing shorts and he took his shirt off."
Cop: "Oooooooh!"
Sparkle: "You bet!"
There is a brief silence. Where do we go from here?
Cop: "Okay, miss. You're okay to drive?"
Sparkle: "Oh, goodness gracious, yes. You sure you don't want the shirt?"
Cop: "I just can't take the shirt. You have a good night."
Moral: Despite his specific lyrics to the contrary, at least some peace officers appear to see Henry Rollins as a lifemate--or at least as a physical culture god. Always carry a poster featuring Henry Rollins in the back of your car.
