This week, punk icon, spoken-word artist and human locomotive Henry Rollins takes your questions.
Welcome to the latest installment of “Superstar RADvice,” our advice column written by a superstar. This week, punk icon, spoken-word artist and human locomotive Henry Rollins takes your questions. Please Hank, don’t hurt ’em.
Everyone’s always on my case because I don’t feel like doing a damn thing. If I manage to pour myself a bowl of cereal in a day, that’s a major accomplishment. What’s wrong with me? How do I get myself motivated? - J. Spicoli
My first inclination was to say you’re a pathetic fucking loser. But I'll let you in on a little secret: Deep down inside I’m as soft as an 8-week-old kitten and as lazy as a tree sloth. In a perfect world I would sleep 14 hours a day and be a total wastoid. However, I was cursed with being born with the most intense-looking face in the history of mankind. When my parents showed people my baby pictures, they’d tremble in fear. They knew I was destined to be an Army drill sergeant or a homicidal maniac. Or a crazed punk-rock singer. Or a hyper-agitated dude who rants on stages and on your TV screen for hours on end. When you have a perma-scowl like this, you can’t just be a bum. So I forced myself to be productive. I trained my body and mind hard—27 hours a day, 428 days a year. You know when I sleep? From 1 a.m. to 1:15 a.m. You know what I did this morning? I bench-pressed 500 pounds for three hours. Then I came up with a screed about how shitty Nickelback and Harry Potter books are. Then I read a 900-page biography of Ché Guevara. Then I wrote 12 poems. Are they any good? Fuck no. But I did it. And maybe the 12 poems I’ll write tomorrow will be good. Anyway, I did all that before 5 a.m. In the past year I’ve traveled to every country on earth, and when I ran out of countries I invented a few more and traveled to them, too.
I might have to get in a fight with this dude named Glenn Danzig who just moved in next door, but I’m not that tough. Any suggestions how I can win? – C. Carrabba
Funny you should bring that up—over the years, a lot of people have even wondered who would win if Danzig and I ever got into a fight. The thing is, I believe in nonviolence. But if you must fight him, I suggest getting in a quick punch to the jaw before he can use that black magic of his to put you in a real world of hurt. The other thing is, Glenn and I are actually friends. So I’ll give him a call and see if I can get him to leave you alone.
My wife says I dress too casual. She wants me to start buying nicer clothes and be more stylish. Do you have any good fashion tips? – M. Moore
Are you fucking kidding me? I’ve spent the better part of my adult life being seen in public with little more than a pair of black shorts. I’m like Richard Simmons except way more buff and way more straight. Getting dressed up means wearing a black T-shirt and some really basic dark pants. If that gets me into the What Not To Wear Hall of Shame, so be it. Fuck clothes. The more time you spend worrying about clothes, the less time you have to grab life by the balls. You ever see a cheetah obsess over scarves and pocket squares? No. You see a cheetah bolt 70 miles an hour to take down a gazelle and shred it to fucking pieces. Be the cheetah.
Thurs., March 11, 7pm. $20. First Unitarian Church Sanctuary, 2125 Chestnut St. r5productions.com
Others of us just aren’t as blessed—they’re desperate, no-talent hacks who look more and more like Fergie the more plastic surgery they get.
We just can’t do without Caribou