Gearing Up For Scarefest

I’ll bet you think it’s easy to sally forth and wind up behind a table at a horror convention and sign autographs for cash. Well, it basically is pretty simple. The flying is the hardest part. It takes forever if you start adding up the time from portal to portal as we used to say. I usually add two hours to the departure time because I hate panic.  So, I wind up drinking coffee that costs more than most of my schoolbooks in 1952.  And because I fly courtesy of sponsors or convention organizers, I never ask for first class tickets and that means I wind up flying with the people I am going to meet at the conventions. 

When I first started doing these things, only a few years ago, I was hesitant about who these horror fans might be: serial killers in waiting? Wife beaters? The badly socialized? Actually no. They turned out to be people very much like me before 1980 when Friday the 13th went and changed my whole life. I have stayed current, thanks to Facebook, with many of them and look forward to seeing them at the next venue.  They are much more entertaining than I am. (To me, at least).  I also get great pleasure out of meeting actors and artists from other horror films, people whose lives have been spent on the shiny end of the camera. I love the way the fans crowd around them, asking what it felt like to be Michael Myers or Jason or an American Werewolf in London.  Truth be told, fans love the actors much more than the people who gave them their lines.  Back in the soap days, when I would walk out of the ABC studio in the evening, the fans with their cameras would ask me if I was anybody. My wife once replied on my behalf, “No, he’s just a writer.” They scurried away, hoping to catch a moment with Vickie Buchanan or Clint or Erica Kane.

So, I am packing my goodies—photos for autographing, stickers (a new item I just added to my travelling kit) and all my vitamins and nutritional and herbal goodies that have kept me active all these years.

See you in Lexington this weekend?

Why Nothing Ever Goes Right

Because it is bad form to criticize any other religion in the world, I must assume that all religions are real and, therefore, all their deities are operative in my universe. And yours… That clearly explains something that has bothered me all the days of my life… We are dwelling in the house divided by numerous superpowers in the sky or beneath the earth or in the fiords and none of them much care for each other’s take on life, death and what happens afterwards. 

So, let’s say you pray to The Episcopal God (who smokes a pipe in the shape of a bulldog and wears tweeds with elbow patches) to help you pass a geometry final (as I did) and the Muslim deity happens to hear you while helping one of his flock? No way is He going to let Episcopal God walk away with a geometry victory, so he makes you nauseous during the exam and you blow it and chunks. Now, multiply this and don’t forget to add in Joseph Smith and a golden tablet, a tower of Babel, Saul, Paul, Thor and a Dervish in motion and we are so screwed. So, with gratitude to H.L. Mencken, I rest my case and abandon hope. It is safer to have Them all competing for my belief than having all but One mad at me for making the wrong choice in the popularity contest.