Written by: Uncle Bill

Let me first start off by saying that I knew from the moment I drove into the parking lot of the Crowne Plaza Hotel in beautiful downtown Louisville, KY, that this was NOT my crowd. Sauntering somewhere between a cowboy mosey and a sloth-like crawl were several packs of middle-age white men with fanny packs, glasses, Bermuda shorts, and looks of quiet desperation not seen since the Great Depression. CK and I arrived at the con doors before any of our friends, and we quickly made our way to the admission line. The tickets were $20.00 for one day and $28.00 for the two days the convention was held- not a horrible price by any means. We made our way into the vendor area and it was jam-packed with merchandise. The only problem, for me anyway, was that the merchandise was mostly model kits, sculptures, and classic horror imagery. Far be it from me to besmirch the intentions behind anyone’s hobby, but I couldn’t find it within myself to pay $100 for a model kit, or upwards of $400-600 for an assembled model. Of course, logic dictates that for every one horror model in sight, one must have five hundred sci-fi models to choose from- and logic, my friends, was in full bloom on this day. Ray Bradburry would have creamed in his jeans at the collections of Star Trek, Star Wars, Battlestar Galactica, Deep Space Nine, and Fuck Force Five (ok, I made that last one up) memorabilia readily available to purchase. Still, my mind wandered because I had a mission and that mission was to meet the one woman who personified horror throughout the 1980’s- the scream goddess herself, Linnea Quigley.

Making our way to the celebrity area was no easy task.  We had to dodge swarms of storm troopers, predators, comic books characters, and surly old folks with varying degrees of eczema. Still, the jaunt was short and the task was large. Inside the celebrity area sat Claudia Christian (most known to uber-dorks as some chick from Babylon 5 but to me as the hooker from “The Hidden”), Lou Ferrigno (more on the Hulk later), James Karen, and Linnea Quigley (who was not at her table when we arrived). We met up with a few friends and CK and I walked over to James Karen. He was coughing quite a bit and complaining about the air conditioning, but he was an incredibly nice man. We spoke at length with him about Thom Mathews, George Clooney, and closets…just listen to our last show for elaboration. The best part was that James was signing any and everything for free- can’t ask for more than that. We gave James our business card, and he agreed to do an interview in the near future. As we were saying our goodbyes, it happened. The seas parted and in she walked. I have to say, Linnea coming through a crowd is almost movie-like. She’s a very small-statured woman; I’d say slightly under five foot and no more than 110 lbs. soaking wet. She is still in amazing shape, and to her credit, she looks a million times better in person than recent pictures give her credit. So, she sits down and CK and I just freeze and begin talking to other people. To be honest, I was intimidated not only by her presence, but by the fact that if she turned out to be an asshole (as some other “icons” of mine have), I would never be able to forget it. So, we waited forever, until it seemed like she might leave, thus leaving us with our proverbial dicks in our hands. We stood in line behind a man/woman hybrid that would make Boy George weep like a small child, and then finally, the best possible thing that could happen (aside from her boobs falling out) happened. She remembered us and being talking immediately about our show! Let me be the first to say that Linnea Quigley was an amazingly nice, courteous and friendly woman. I got my French ROTLD poster signed, but at a cost of $25.00, which was steep, no doubt, but very little to pay to meet an icon…and one that lived up to the billing. Speaking of which, right beside of Linnea’s table sat Lou Ferrigno, who never had more than one or two people at his table the whole time, and in my experience, never really said anything to the people who came up to talk to him. So, passing the “Incredible Sulk”, the next step for us was to attend the famous “Rondo Hatton Awards”.

When I got to the room, Michael “Slipcase” Felsher had shown up and was sitting with the Deadpit crew. In typical Slippy fashion his first words to me were, “You late bitch”. The awards ceremony commenced, and I watched a ton of people I’d never heard of accept Rondo statues. I guess a part of me was very respectful of the “old guard” of horror hosts, writers, and stars that won awards: the other part of me wanted very badly for them to wrap the dry comedy bits up so I could go party. Anyway, Slippy won a Rondo for Best Commentary on “Night of the Creeps”, and he delivered the classic sardonic, Slipster speech. Our buddy Rob Scott, you might know him as Scottra, won the Rondo for Best Fan Artist. He ended up giving what I consider to be the best speech of the whole night, in which he solemnly thanked his predecessors and competition. Of course, Rue Morgue won everything and further engendered their reputation among the “dirty over thirty” crowd. They made a special video segment deriding our show, which I thought was special since it made fun of Kentuckians…and we were in the heart of Kentucky. I sincerely hope that they continue to win just for the irony of that last statement. Anyway, as a whole show, the Rondo Awards were ok. The show may have been a little too much vaudeville and not enough spiked punch for my liking, but at least a few friends picked up some very nice statues. Oddly enough, the convention itself shut down at 5:00(presumably b/c Firefly re-runs come on at 5:30?), thus ending our first day of Wonderfest.

Sunday afternoon, CK and I went back to the convention area to just walk around a few laps, look at the merchandise, and try to get one more autograph from artist William Stout. So, unfortunately, the merchandise hadn’t changed that much during the one day waiting period (I did find a “Dream Child” standee for $15 but it was already taken), so we walked over to the “artist room”. For whatever reason, this particular room is never really crowded, although it most certainly contains the most talented people at the convention. I approached William Stout’s table with my ROTLD poster, and I noticed that he had actually drawn the poster for one of my favorite cult films, “Rock N Roll High School”. In a completely fortuitous twist, I had the DVD in the car, so I went to fetch it. When I got back from the car, nearly ten mins. later, the only person talking to Will was the same guy from earlier. So, I waited. CK joined me with his stuff, and we waited...and waited...and waited. Fifteen minutes later, the same guy is talking to him, and we’re still waiting in the damn line. This is the point where I, a complete nerd, actually thought, “Wow, I fuckin’ hate nerds”. The guy wouldn’t shut up, and much worse, he wouldn’t get out of line. Finally, with Bill Stout making no attempt to hurry the guy along or even make eye contact with us (the only other people standing in his line), we just decided to ditch out.  Thus, ending our Wonderfest experience on the same note in had begun on- utter apathy and confusion.

 

Ratings (out of *****):

Celebrities- **

Events- **1/2 (for the Rondos, though they were kinda lame)

Fanaticism- ***