Mildly Rocked and to a Lesser Degree, Shocked

It’s been a while since I’ve updated, I know, but I’m back and with a vengeance, at that! First off, you may have noticed the new image at the top of the page. For that I’d like to throw out muchas gracias and tons of props to Mark “Wet Mess” Richards, Jack-of-all-Things-Weird. Unfortunately, I can’t provide a link to his website or his blog because he currently does not have either, but fret not! I’ve been assured that a site is in the works right this very moment, ensuring the masses will be assaulted with images of disgusting, barf-worthy nature in no time flat. ‘Bout time! Dude’s got pizzaz.

Secondly, I recently started writing for Metal Sucks, something I’ve been pretty stoked to keep up with. So far, it’s only been reviews and one interview, but I’m happy with it and actually looking to branch out to more sites and publications.

Now, on to business.

I had been asked a couple weeks ago to help out my friend Mike Pecci man (woman?) a table he had secured this years Rock and Shock Horror Convention. We would be selling some of his Grindhouse Shorts DVD’s that he had directed over the course of 5 or so years, and one of which I actually starred in. Not only was I happy to help out a friend, I had never actually been to a Rock and Shock convention, despite it being an active Halloween-time event for nearly a decade. For those of you not in the know a/k/a those of you from outside of New England, The Rock and Shock event as a whole is located in Worcester, MA and consists of a Horror convention and at a separate venue, arguably terrifying (to most) musical acts. I checked the schedule of events, as well as the celebrities that would be in attendance and what bands would be playing the Palladium down the street. On the up-side, GARY BUSEY WAS GOING TO BE THERE!!! Then I scrolled through the list of bands and was then thoroughly horrified. Mushroomhead, ICP, Twizted. Pretty much the worst line-up ever. But, I didn’t have to subject myself to the musical aspect, thankfully, just the fans that would be meandering the DCU Center for the actual convention. Close call! Who would subject themselves to that garbage? Oh, well, I guess I was going to find out!

Saturday morning, I woke up planning on being at the DCU center at 11 am sharp. It should be noted that this is a near hour and a half hour drive for me, so for a Saturday – well, for me on a Saturday – this was a bit ambitious. I guess my body thought the same thing, because I woke up with my eyes swollen shut. TMI moment: for the past couple months I’ve been occasionally suffering from some sort of ocular allergic reaction, causing my eyelids to swell up, get all gross and bleh, etc. After back and forth trial and error, I now think it’s my moisturizer. At any rate, I’m sure you can imagine transforming into a bombshell video vixen with gross, swollen eyes could be problematic. Maybe I could go as a zombie? Eh. After a few hours of chamomile tea compresses and cursing, the swelling went down enough to hussy myself up for the convention, and hit the road.

Let me say right now that although I may not understand or care for a number of different musical tastes, I fully support individuality and different lifestyles, no matter how outlandish. As long as you’re not hurting anyone else in the process of your soul-searching – go for it, buddy.
That said… I never want to be subjected to that many Juggalos again, ever, in my entire life. I was recently made aware of the eye-opening documentary American Juggalo and thankfully I watched it, because I had at least some sort of inclination of what I would be subjected to.

… though, actually, not a lot of them came to our booth. Sorry for all that build up, but that’s the truth of it. That’s not to say our booth wasn’t bangin’ – it was actually pretty on point. The location was great (right in front of the entrance and between two bathroom areas), the set up was eye-catching, to say the least. We had two swanky newfangled flat-screens playing clips from the DVD and some of the videos Mike helped direct with his partner, Ian McFarland. It was pretty fucking rad.

All this made for a pretty busy and eventful day – lots of autographs to sign, pictures to be taken with fans, weirdos to fend off, and so on. I had forgotten what it was like for people to actually know who you are, recognize you, and be excited about meeting you. It’s an interesting phenomenon, one that many close friends encounter often enough being in various touring bands. It’s a good feeling having people appreciate what you do, whether it be modeling, acting, or shredding people’s faces off in a metal ensemble. I always forget that sometimes the people I’m relaying a certain situation to go through it far more often. But I digress: after about 6 hours running around in my thigh high leather stiletto boots (yeah, that’s right, don’t hate) I was done for the day.

The next day would be shorter, and actually proved to be way slower, which personally, I wasn’t complaining about. More time I didn’t have to be running around in heels! PLUS I actually had time to meet and possibly take a picture with Gary Busey! Finally!
Of course, being the hot-shot, nutso celebrity he is, he was charging for autographs and pictures. I would probably do the same thing if I was asked to do a convention and had that level of notoriety Who knows, it’s not like that’s ever going to happen. Mike was nice enough to pay for both me, and our booth-mate Tony take pictures with the infamous loon. So, we meandered over, positioned ourselves in the very short line and waited for our turns. Taking up all of Mr. Busey’s attention was another group of vendors, all female, giggling and awkwardly flirting with the guy, which of course he was all about. Even knowing all about Gary’s unorthodox social skills, I was surprised to see these tactics in action. Frankly, I started to worry about what I was in for, after the mild groping and whatnot that was taking place in front of me. Finally, the ladies left, and after a couple people ahead of us, it was my turn. I shyly asked Gary’s assistant if he would be so kind as to allow me to take a picture with Mr. Busey, and ten bucks later, this became reality. I sat down and allowed him to put his arm around me, and smiled for the camera. Snap! Done. Attempting to get up, I was stopped. At this point, Gary stroked my face while uttering something about my “sweetness” and went in for a kiss. Dear lord. He did get me on the cheek. Ah well.

After a few more photos and autographs, it was time to be on my way, but not until Mike presented me with a huge, HUGE print of myself to take home. What am I going to do with a huge print of myself? Who knows. It’s a pretty awesome shot, either way:

The rest of October actually looks pretty busy, as well. Concerts, parties, all that jazz. Another Halloween in Salem, though. I’ll soldier through… maybe I’ll be a sexy lobster this year?

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