An Open Letter to Marilyn Manson

Marilyn Manson's crotch in my face.

Last Friday, I had the opportunity to attend the Rockstar Mayhem festival and an even better opportunity to review your set and photograph you from the pit. I was pretty damn excited to say the least. I can't say I'm a fan of your band per se but I was a fan of you. I read The Long, Hard Road Out Of Hell and enjoyed it. I researched your long-awaited movie Phantasmagoria: The Visions of Lewis Carroll. You're erroneously taken as dumb but I know otherwise. You're a very intelligent man and I was really looking forward to discussing music and art with you, among other things. When I found that you weren't giving interviews I was a little disappointed but I understood. You're a pretty major figure and I'm sure you had other things to do.

Let's fast-forward to the last set of the Mayhem Festival: yours. Now. I know you had been a bit temperamental in the past but I was hoping we could all put that behind us and focus on your new album and subsequent set here at Mayhem. We were all waiting with anticipation to see what you'd bring for this, the final hurrah of the evening. The curtain dropped. The fans screamed and there you were: a vision in black. I narrowly avoided being trampled by the other photographers but I patiently waited my turn and by the end of the song, you and I were face to face. Well, face to crotch as you can see from the photo. Either way, we shared a moment. I snapped your photo, you looked at me and for a second, I smiled at you. What happened next was something not even I could predict.

The song ended in a flurry of screaming and you went to get a bottle of water. You turned to face the crowd, took a swig and then threw the bottle of water at me, soaking me and my camera. I think you hit the guy next to me, too. I looked at you as if to say "what the fuck was THAT?" as the other photogs were leaving and before I could, you turned to me and addressed the audience, saying "I guess she must be an angry lesbian." Wait, HUH? REALLY? YOU throw a bottle at ME and then call me an "angry lesbian," as if that were some kind of insult? I figured I'd let that go, as you were probably just jealous that my balls were bigger than yours and I walked away. Then you said, "Oh... well we wouldn't want to piss off the journalists. Let's everyone say goodbye to the journalists," and proceeded to lead the Susquehanna Bank Center in giving me and the male photographer next to me the middle finger salute. That's when I left.

Let's face it: you've got power over your audience. Tell them to drink the Kool-Aid and a lot of them will do it. If you told them to kick my ass, they probably would. I might play roller derby but not even my ninja blocking skills would come in handy then. Frankly Marilyn, I'm a little disappointed. All you could come up with was "angry lesbian"??

I know you have a vendetta against journalists and personally, I don't care. You need the press. Without us, you'd be just another washed-up 90's has-been (except for that stint on The Wonder Years. Oh wait...that wasn't you?) and we'd have all forgotten about you. You think I value my right to free speech? Absolutely. And baby, I'm Jersey-born and bred and I am not afraid of you so bring it! I'd be more than happy to hash this all out with you, if you had the ovaries to man-up on that "promise" you delivered on your MySpace. So this is an open invitation: E-mail me at leigh@phillyist.com and we'll set up a time and place to conduct a civil interview. I'll bring the water.