It’s 11:30 Somewhere

It’s 11:30 pm. Friday Night. 1991. I’m a eight year old kid. Whose parents have basic cable. And
the only thing to watch is USA Up All Night.

Sure, there might be episodes of I Love Lucy, a smattering of late night talk shows bullshitting or
infomercials for knives that can cut through a god damned submarine. But I’m watching USA Up
All Night.

For those uninitiated, USA Up All Night was a program on the USA network hosted by the lovely
Rhonda Scheer or the even sexier Gilbert Godfried. Rhonda or the God, much like Joe Bob
Briggs, would host the presentation of low budget movie (Critters, Evil Dead, Porkys II: The Next
Day and to a lesser extent Assault of the Killer Bimbos. It was the 90’s, a time where a planetoid
fucking rug got more recognized than most minority groups.)

Regardless, much like Tales From the Crypt and Beavis and Butthead. My Liquid Television
hardwire compelled me to join in on the brainless rebellion against the fourth grade. Fuck
cursive. Tonight my teacher is Jordy Verrill. The principal: Romero.

I had made it a ritual. On Friday and Saturday nights, USA Up All Night would show me the way.
From People Under The Stairs to Class of Nukem High. I would meet Tommy Jarvis. Chuck the
bounty hunter. And god dammit, be initiated into the Sorority Babes Slimeball Bowl O Rama,
cause my fathers a legacy!

I would follow Gilbert Godfried road all the way to Rhonda Scheer highway. I would learn about
improper line deliveries and how fake blood looks. I would have dreams where I would make
friends with the Ghoulies. Nothing lethal. Just them and me making pancakes for my mom.

Freddy Kreuger became the person I confided in the most. I wouldn’t feel right without saying
“goodnight” to the crypt keeper after he regales with some absurd tale of murder and mayhem.
All with that alluring, death rattle he would joust out as the end credits rolled. Jason Voorhees
was the one I knew was protecting me and my family when we would camp in Colorado. Cause
I knew where the machetes were. The rebellion lead to me learning to not be afraid, to not let
my imagination get too much of me. I’m a brave little weirdo, sitting in a dark room, the glow of
Fright Night engrossing my brain for an hour and a half.

I made friends with the monsters.

And here’s the weird thing...

It would lead to my wife.

Timeline: I met my wife in the August of 2011. I slowly began to lead her into this weird cult of
knowledge I knew of the low budget cinephilia. Or why Evil Dead is the same as Evil Dead II but
not really. Ya know?

She’d know about American Werewolf in London. She’d inherited the knowledge from me about
Return of the Living Dead. And why, whenever we pass a cop car, idling on the street in New
York City I mutter, “Send More Cops”.

She got it. She understood. Sorta. But her interest was minimal. So what better way to bombard
her with my obnoxious cognition when it comes to John Carpenter films or what the hell
Sleepaway Camp is than to do a podcast with her? It spurned as a stupid reason to talk to her
about something that I love. But ended up really being something where she would share my
memories of my youth with me.

Bloody Date Night, the podcast, officially debuted on September 17th 2015. Where I would
make my girlfriend at the time (now wife) watch a horror movie that I love. And she’s never seen
before. And we’d meet to talk about it. Cause I love to slowly torture the people I love.

After talks about the absurd fever dream of Sleepaway Camp, the cornball grossness of My
Bloody Valentine and the seasonally wonderful Silent Night. Deadly Night: We had accumulated
over three years of episodes. Each episode would delve into the discussion ranging from
retribution of the mistakes of the adults in Nightmare on Elm Street to the merits of cannibalism
with The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. She indulged me with the blood play I found so engaging
when I was a kid. I had become more and more in love with her. She had come into my Terry
Gilliam toxicically fused with Tom Waits world and had hadn’t left me.

I always thought my dream woman would be someone who knew everything there is to know
about Bruce Campbell, Tom Atkins and PJ Soles. I was wrong. The beauty about relationships
is that you are able to show your significant other about the things that make you who you are.
To make them fall more in love with you.

It’s 11:30 somewhere. And the monsters are my friends. Meet my wife. Welcome to the family.