Journal: August 5/24
Relax, Nothing Is In Control: Meeting Shannen Doherty and Other Early 90's Memories, Planting Seeds.
August 5, 2024
New York City
Greetings Earthlings,
Actress Shannen Doherty died of cancer recently. She was only 53, which happens to be my current age. Gives one pause.
For those too young to remember, “90210,” the television program that made her a household name, was a cultural phenomenon in the early 90s (her other notable performance was in the cult-hit film “Heathers,” another Gen-X touchstone.)
The Aaron Spelling-created show featured a selection of attractive actors, many well into their 20s and 30s, playing high school students in Beverley Hills.
It was a campy, poorly written soap opera, but for perpetually so-bad-it’s-good irony-soaked Gen-Xers, those were attributes rather than criticisms, and it was a big hit.
My fellow acting school friends and I would gather in our tiny New York apartments for drinks and weed and to make sarcastic comments as we watched each week. I remember us even dressing up, all in black, for a “very special” episode that featured a funeral.
I met Ms. Doherty once, here in New York in the early 90s, when she came into a clothing store where I was briefly employed.
The shop specialized in of-the-moment clothes for raves, nightclubbing, and hard-to-find hip-hop-type stuff but was only in business for about two years before it went under. I was fired well before that for “doing too much talking and not enough selling,” according to the big boss of the place, a snippy queen from LA. His description of my work performance was entirely accurate.
The staff consisted of me, a young woman my age from Brooklyn with a lot of attitude, one perpetually stoned straight hip-hop dude from Harlem, and 5 gay guys that all did drag, one of whom only had one arm, the other lost in a farming equipment accident as a child in whatever flyover state he was from. Only in New York.
I had longings for the Brooklyn girl, taken with her short skirts, knee-high socks, and flirtatious ways. The flirtations were not specific to me, however—I think she could probably have flirted with a lamppost—but I was a young man and was caught in her spell.
With persistence on my part and some reluctance on hers, I finally got her number and took her out once. While she definitely exuded sex appeal, we just didn’t relate at all. The conversation was like pulling teeth for both of us.
To be fair, I was probably a bit of an awkward twerp at the time (not unlike now.) So, while I did get a little kissing on the street out of the deal, otherwise it was no dice for yours truly. Like many short-term characters in my life story, I sometimes wonder what became of her. Probably a mom in menopause now.
It was also in this shop that I experienced a “grab and dash” theft when four guys walked in and, within a matter of seconds, grabbed every article of clothing they could scoop up and ran away. I sure as shit wasn’t going to be a hero and try and stop them.
It was generally a fun place to work, though. They let me control the music when I was working, so it was a mixture of funk, disco, house, and techno most of the time. I got to meet some cool people/celebs like Ms. Doherty, various members of Deee Lite, and some famous basketball person that I don’t remember.
I could also often finagle getting on guest lists at various nightclubs through my co-workers and connections through the store, which allowed me access to the cool nightclubs at that time—Limelight, Tunnel, etc. without paying a cover. Not to mention occasional access to VIP rooms, which, despite their velvet-rope exclusivity, always seemed about the same as the rest of the club.
But I digress.
I noticed that Ms. Doherty was reading Kerouac (the paperback could be seen through a mesh bag she was carrying), so I started chatting with her about that as I cashed her out. '
“On The Road” had a big impact on me at that age, imagining myself the same sort of “mad for it” life adventurers in the book.
We both smoked Marlboros. Hers were Reds—hardcore. She had a rather deep and scratchy voice, not unlike that of Aunt Selma on “The Simpsons,” so I’m guessing was a heavy smoker. Maybe she had a cold. Either way, I’m not pointing fingers; none of us lived healthy lifestyles back then, least of all moi. We all smoked. Such was the nihilistic zeitgeist of the time—“whatever, man,” etc.
Doherty had a reputation for being difficult and bitchy at the time but could not have been nicer. In fact, in my interaction with her, she was very gentle and sweet, though she seemed a bit sad.
Her face lit up when I asked about the book, and I think she appreciated that I didn’t mention the show, which I imagine was all anyone ever wanted to talk to her about.
We had these necklaces with miniature bongs on them (they actually could be used!), and she bought one of those and a top without bothering to try it on.
That was the entirety of our meeting. Quite unremarkable but for her fame, but that’s the nature of fame, I suppose.
It’s a strange sensation when a famous contemporary dies. Despite not knowing them, one often can’t help but reflect and remember days gone by.
I wish her well on her journey. I hope it’s one worthy of Kerouac.
What To Do, What To Do.
I find myself yet again in a moment where the universe seems to be telling me that I need to be doing something new or to take a new path. But, as is its annoying habit, it thus far has only revealed closing doors and not given any indication of where I should be going next.
For reasons I will never understand, my life has always featured surging supernovas of change, in which everything happens at the same time. I see such a moment on the horizon as the way I earn a living, where I will live, and how I will manage both of those things all look to transform in the next few months.
Because there is so much to think about, it can be hard to even know where to begin. I revert to my self-soothing “Gardener of life” philosophy and frantically distribute seeds hoping to see sprigs. Thus far, just dirt.
I have an inclination to continue toward my natural tendency and seemingly unstoppable instinct to create something. Were it not for the pesky matter of money, I know how I would spend my days - writing, creating music, maybe even doing some acting again. Alas, it has been my firsthand experience that these activities do not produce a reliable income. I’ve always had to be pragmatic and fit that stuff in around earning-centric activities.
The human tendency toward creativity is, unto itself, a source of fascination for me. Especially those, like me, who seem to need to create in the same way others need to drink water. This may be a future area of rabbit-holery I may burrow into.
Bjork has a line in one of her songs that always resonated with me: “I don’t know my life after this weekend, and I don’t want to.” As I get older, I find it more of a challenge not knowing what is next. I try to trust that the universe will reveal where I am meant to go and what I am meant to do. While it has generally done so in the past, it has often not been without great amounts of discomfort and stress along the way, and that’s the part that scares me.
In a recent conversation with a friend, I referenced a favorite image I once saw on a T-shirt: an image of the Buddha with the words “Relax. Nothing is in control” written beside it. It’s both humorous and excellent advice. I can accept that nothing is permanent and that I should not try to cling to things as they are at any given moment (or, to get really Buddhisty—as they appear to be). But is some assurance that I will ultimately be OK too much to ask for?
I imagine I am far from alone in this sentiment. Bravely forward we all must go. Om.
Until next time, friends.
XO
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