Sometimes the stars align and magic happens. I had been wanting to attend a horror convention and was browsing the internet for options and there it was: a dream come true!
Months ago I had said to Jim “If Spike is ever at a dork convention, I AM GOING” and go I did to the Fangoria Weekend of Horrors. I carried the flier around with me for weeks and tried to get friends excited to go, but only got one taker (thanks Laura).
There were horrors to be had, but not the ones I expected. The first was the terrible realization that the convention was miles from the Meadowlands, at the dismal Crowne Plaza hotel, a fact we at first refused to believe. It was my own fault for having expectations of dorks in costumes, rows and rows of merchandise and semi famous people around every corner signing glossies.
It was more like a Magic Shop opened their basement with pity to fifteen friends to sell their shit. The makeup artists that were there to peddle their wares didn't even have someone in makeup to show off their skills! They had lumps of plastic flesh just strewn across their fold-out card tables to represent various wounds.
Not all sellers were so terrible, we purchased a three sheet original Blood Beach poster from a guy with a really decent collection.
We attended one panel of current young independent horror movie makers and, in an attempt to avoid being rude, I'll just say it made me realize that anyone can make a movie and it inspired us to start a new one.
The town of Secaucus itself is a cruel labyrinth of roads that go nowhere except depressing condos or back to the highway you just got off of. We got lost both on the way to and from a god awful Chili's (we should have gone to Hoolihan's). The stress almost caused me to cry, as I thought we would be too late for the real highlight of the trip, the photo with Spike. We waited near the end of a very long line, compromised of giants and middle aged women who wore pantyhose with sandals.
When we finally had our 30 seconds with the man, life was perfect. He's a bit older, but looks amazing–he's like a strong imp with boundless energy, the kind of energy that makes you wonder if he was on drugs, but I refuse to believe it.
He kept calling Jim 'brother' and said this chapter in his life was awesome. He was more than happy to create a scenario for our photo and insisted Jim choke him “for real”. As we parted, glowing in his aura, we said: “Take it easy”. His response: “I never take it easy, I take it good”. He also liked my dress and said we were some of the coolest people he'd met all day. Well, James Marsters, you made up one of the coolest thirty seconds of my life.