Wednesday, October 10, 2007

The Memory Skips Away

We did get one piece of good news yesterday, as a matter of fact. A Feast of Flesh is playing Saturday, October 20, at 12:00 noon at the Rhode Island International Film Festival (preceeded by a shrot from Rue Morgue editor Rod Gudino)! This is a fairly big and really cool film festival that I wish with all my heart we could go to. However, Splatter Movie: The Director's Cut will be premiering at the Hundred Acres Manoron the 19th, followed by our wrap party, so there's no way we could fit it in. Still, it's there, it's playing and that's awesome.

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After weeks of wishing that the weather would catch up with the calendar, the temperature finally dropped last night (just as my car's air conditioning gave out, coincidentally). As a result, more comfortable climes ... and a sinus headache that has spread through my entire body. So my winning streak continues. This weekend coming up is Rock 'n Shock weekend in Worchester, MA, just outside of Boston. I've never been to R&S, or Boston for that matter, so I'm really looking forward to it. It may be our last show of the year as well, the way things are looking. A Feast of Flesh will be on sale there too, so if you're in the area... Actually, even if you're not, you should make a special trip and come down. Although, I am a little nervous about the Red Sox game playing at home that weekend. Will that kill traffic or just kill attendence? Any insight there, Boston fans?

This past weekend was the wonderful world of Cinema Wasteland. As usual, a terrific time was had, though the show itself seemed a little "off". Nothing bad--not at all. But some vendors we expected to see, like Stanlee Houston and the Low Budget Pictures crew, were not present and others, like our usual neighbors, Frank and Steve and their classic monster designs, were in a different area altogther. This meant our comfort zone was shifted fairly radically right off the bat. And because the Indians were playing and doing, I'm hearing, well, a lot of the expected "waves" of bodies through the door were spread out more evenly. As a result, there was never that encouraging, though overwhelming, rush of people. Numbers weren't down, I'm told, and we did particularly well. But, just the same, slightly "off".

It was great to see everyone, though. Ken and Pam did their usual stellar job of putting the thing together. Staff Tom, Laura, Henry and Joe (and all the others, but those are the names I remember) did their own stellar job.

Our particular highlights: hanging with Wayne Allen Harold and Toby Radloff--right after Toby's 50th Birthday celebration--along with the guys from Cypography. Meeting, briefly, Tommy and Todd Brunswick from The Skeleton Factory (the former of whom I covered in Sirens of Cinema #8 (on sale now!)-- Thanks, John, for the intro! Giving Tom Sullivan his copy of Splatter Movie, albeit the cut minus most of the music. Meeting Ted V. Mikels (Astro-Zombies, The Corpse Grinders) again and him remembering me from my Femme Fatales days. Seeing Leslie Easterbrook again and cementing something really cool in writing (more to come on that hopefully soon). Dinner with Pam and Jeff from Hell's Orphans. Absinthe with Mike and Carrie of MNEtching. Drinks with Pete, Roland, Ron, Cathy and Joe Knetter...The list actually goes on.

Lowlights, unfortunately, started on Saturday when I checked my email and discovered that the last company I did PR for is closing its doors and, suddenly, I'm no longer a working publicist. Shock hit first (it was tempered by good news from Fangoria) then gloom settled over me a few hours later. Gloom turned into extreme frustration when I found myself encountering about a half-dozen "what have you done for me lately" type people--at least four reviewers and a good couple of indie filmmakers who take and take and never--ever--give anything back to me. All of a sudden, I was in a very dark place that refused to lighten no matter how hard I tried. I was feeling pretty good after dinner, with some booze in me, until a couple of guys I barely recognized invited me to do a shot.

Lemme tell you about my good friends Rum and Vodka. They love me but don't like each other. They fight over me. It makes me sad. Sad, coupled with career frustration and delusions that I am entitled to a thank you occassionally from people we've helped out, equals hysterical anger.

I wound up lashing out at a good friend who, I perceived half-correctly but mostly incorrectly, had slighted me earlier that day. Bad, bad scene. Couple this with memory skips. Sunday morning had more than its share of gray gaps between events--doing the shots, suddenly outside with Bryan and Nikki and Tom (formerly of, suddenly at my car searching for... something, suddenly in a "what are you looking at?" loop with a skinheaded guy I didn't know (the loop, in case it isn't self-explanatory, was just me saying "What are you looking at?" in a demanding tone whether he was looking at me or not), then expressing my anger with the aforementioned wronged party, then, miraculously, Amy and I back at the room and in bed while the ceiling drifted in a lazy, counter-clockwise manner. Memory skips are the worst part of drinking. Hangovers I can deal with. You feel crappy and tired but that goes away. The memory skips are little holes filled with "Oh, fuck, what did I do?" I don't drink to the point of memory skipping that often. For precisely that reason.

Sunday, the low-level shittiness was upon me, along with remorse and dread. As usual, we just wanted to pack up the table and hang out. We might as well have. No one came to the table to buy anything on Sunday. Not a soul. Which is nobody's fault, of course. Sundays are always slow. Usually, we make a few extra bucks right before we leave, but not this time around. Which was fine. We'd done our share the two days prior--I'd love to say that we broke the bank with the new Feast of Flesh DVDs, but that just wasn't the case.

I walked around and got a few interviews for the upcoming Resurrection Game DVD -- hitting up Charlie Fleming and Tim Gross (The Bastards of Horror), Michael Felsher (Red Shirt Productions) and Art Ettinger (Ultra Violent). After that, I was ready to split. The trip home felt like forever, but we had dogs and cats and Boston Legal waiting for us, and it was nice to finally be home. And now I have the April Wasteland to look forward to (Dyanne Thorne and Jack Hill!!).

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