The allure of sending updates in pictures and snippets is just too great. And with summer in full swing, Barbie business is ramping up. I just wish I had more hours in the day to tell my cool stories, brah.
I made two airport runs on a Friday afternoon. Seatac to Everett and back. Twice. The real fuck of it: Californians. I used to question Seattle’s California hate, but I’m starting to understand it now. Actually, I’m embracing it.
ANYWAY, once I got set up at the event, I met some fabulous folks. I saw amazing amounts of creativity, mostly in the form of cool costumes and makeup:
And also some great photographers:
Last but not least, I met Chuckles DeClown, who… I… he really… yeah. I don’t know what to say. We hit it off though, and we shot a commercial together. Good (read: strange) times.
Red, White, and Dead Zombie Walk
I tried to do my own makeup for this and failed miserably. At one point, my eyes had soaked up so much black eyeliner, it had gotten into my nasal duct and the evidence was written on the tissue in black and green. That’s right, I’m so goth my snot is black! I’m hardcore!
Thus, I was a couple of hours late, but then again, so was the festival. Since I couldn’t get in touch with the organizers after multiple tries, I assumed I would just park outside the main entrance. However, disorganization worked in my favor for once and I ended up with a sweet spot by the stage, where I could promote the hell out of Barbie and watch my friend David play host to several thousand of the undead. Here we are taking a duck break:
If you’re on the Foosbook, you may have noticed my whirlwind week-long marriage to a sword-making zombie-killer. He was at the zombie walk too (of course), playing kind of a morbid Pied Piper for the those in search of brains. Ever the elusive one, here are his remains on my face. Who’s the zombie killa now!?
My hearse-partner in crime Adam brought his coach, along with an assortment of nerf guns and body parts. Here I am, suited up and ready for action:
I was also reunited with my favorite clown Chuck whose fangs are a lot sharper and attention-grabbing when they’re puncturing my leg.
Although the event was fantastic because I got to see a bunch of people I wanted to see, and I got to meet some new folks spearheading the initiative to keep this world a weird and wonderful place, it lent itself to a couple of problems.
First, whoever thought it would be funny to splatter blood all over my white paint and vinyl top just so you could get a cool picture in front of it, you need to die a second death. This is my only vehicle and the focus of my business. Even drooling, flesh-eating zombies are raised to have better manners.
Second, whoever got me sick last weekend should go ahead and die too. I stayed in for the 4th of July, blowing my nose and telling everyone to leave me alone. I spent all day Tuesday in meetings with a nasty head cold, taking breaks to remove fake blood from a 22-foot-long car with mild soap and elbow grease before the sun baked it in.
The day before, I drove to a friend’s barbecue and didn’t realize the entire passenger side of my car was splattered with blood until I got there. That explains the weirder-than-normal looks I was getting from folks on the street.
When I got home, I happened to pull into my space at the same time as my neighbor was arriving home. I live in a condo, but if I had a house, I’d be one of those neighbors with an overgrown lawn and cars parked all over the street because my garage was too full of crap to fit them. So when my nice Prius-driving neighbor pulled in next to my giant, blood-splattered hearse with a disassembled mountain bike and large dog crate in front of it, I had to say something.
“I just wanted to say that I realize everything about this is offensive, and I apologize.”
She laughed and said it was fine, and we had a nice conversation. Her name is Kat, too.
I’ve encountered quite a few people in the parking garage (all of whom live in the building) wanting to see my car. I’m surprised to find people so happy about having it there. I’m not out to piss people off, but it seems to be a byproduct of everything I do that’s fun.
However, I talked to one girl awhile back who said she saw an article about me in a magazine. That would have been cool, except I’ve only given one interview and it was done on video at Crypticon. So that’s a little weird.