(Reprinted here as the original host site is gone. Also If I posted this before, I apologize for the duplicate. - I can't remember where I cross posted this a few years back.)
Bruce Campbell: A Female Fan's Perspective
When Matt asked me to write an article on Bruce Campbell, all I could think of was a quote from Kalifornia. David Duchovny said, "I'd always wanted to be a writer, but there's a big difference between writing a magazine article and writing a book. I know I wrote a magazine article."
I, on the other hand, have never even written a magazine article. In fact, the last time I picked up a pen and wrote something was in high school, and that was a paper on Hamlet. What the hell did I know about Writing?
Start at the beginning, I guess...
"Ever hear of Evil Dead?" this was the question poised to me from my friend Sue, an obsessed Xena fan.
After a long conversation about B horror movies, we rented the trilogy. Watching the movies with wide eyes, I was in love. Give me a deadite and a gallon of homemade Karo syrup blood in the face and you'll see a smile from ear to ear. After that it was Xena, Hercules, and Jack of all Trades. I'm not a fan of these shows by any stretch of the imagination, but I can sit though the unnecessary sound effects (example: Xena rubs her eye and there's a kung-fu sound) if Bruce is on the screen. Mr. Campbell's role as Autolycus was, in my opinion, written for him.
I was excited to see his guest appearance on The X-Files. I've followed David Duchovny's work from Red Shoe Diaries to the X-Files. Pair Mr. Campbell with David's deadpan dry-humor, and they seemed perfect opposites. Much to my surprise Bruce's role was quite serious. He played a demon, obsessed with the dream of a normal human child. It was refreshing to see Bruce's versatility as an actor.
I felt like a stalker with my newfound obsession on Bruce. So, in true stalker form, I decided to procure an autograph. I surfed the web, reading article after article on how nice and humorous he is. Much to my disappointment, I found out that he no longer takes mail-in requests for his John Hancock. I was a little let down, but I understood the amount of mail he must receive on a daily basis (I'm just a normal girl and I get at least thirty pieces of crap in the mailbox every week). After a deeper dig into the realm of Bruce, I read that one can send him e-mail (bcact@aol.com).
"This is awesome," I thought.
I booted up my e-mail client and set out to send him a message. After staring at the screen for twenty minutes I realized I have no idea what to say. I didn't want to be the typical fan and find my nose was stuck up Bruce's proverbial ass, but I certainly wanted to express my admiration and respect. I finally gave up and didn't send anything.
A few days later, my Xena-obsessed friend told me I was going to a convention with her. Even though Bruce was going to be there, I was less than enthusiastic. I explored my options. One, I embrace the character look-alike contests and tables of porcelain busts to procure the autograph I've been lusting for. Two, I don't go, and my friend shoves an un-greased floor lamp up my ass. I opted for the former.
Upon arriving at the convention in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, I was second-guessing my decision. The line of fans seemed to wrap around the hotel twice. Sue and her boyfriend were loaded with cameras, posters, promo photos... you name it. I, on the other hand, brought a 35mm camera, and my 2-year-old son Connor.
It seemed like decades until Mr. Campbell's speech. We waited like cattle in a cramped auditorium watching clips from the show and hearing from other bit characters. It felt like a record stuck in a grove, and it didn't help that a particular fan kept asking the actors the same question pertaining to the sub-text of bisexuality between Xena and Gabrielle. Honestly, who the fuck cares?
Finally, Bruce graced us with his presence. Despite the repeated sub-text question, I was highly entertained with his stage presence and wit, and decided to wait the hour or so for an autograph. An hour-and-a-half later, I was next in line.
Panic! I realize that I don't have anything for him to sign! He's
saying, "Next," and looking at me.
Shit! THINK FAST...
"Mr. Campbell... would you sign my ass?" I say, half-joking, my face beginning to glow red.
He looks startled, "What?" his eyebrows quirked skyward.
I repeated myself, figuring I had dug this grave so I might as well follow though. A smile breaks forth on his face and he says, "Sure! Get over here and bend over."
So, there I am, bent over in Bruce Campbell's face, and he's writing on my ass with a sharpie marker. My friend Sue looks like she is about to shit herself, the boyfriend is shaking his head and pointing. My face is a red as a beet.
Then, just as I'm about to stand up he says, "Wait, I'm not finished yet." He proceeds to write the words "Spank me" between the pockets of my pants, underlining it twice.
I thanked him and went on my way, pleased with my autograph. When I got home, I booted up my computer and wrote him a piece of mail.
I wrote:
Bruce, I wanted to thank you again for signing my ass at the Cherry Hill convention.
Aimeé.
After several months of waiting, I got a response.
He wrote back:
Don't get cheeky with me!
Bruce.
I saved that piece of mail for almost a year. I figured that was the end of it all...
Leave it to the Xena friend to tell me I was in his new book.
"WHAT!?" my brain was reeling!
At first I thought she was pulling my leg, so I went online to confirm or deny her sighting. Looking through the book's official links, I found www.eSpudd.com, in particular their article on Bruce's book tour. Reading over the transcript I saw my name. It was spelled wrong, so I sent Matt a piece of mail. He responded with extreme enthusiasm, and I quote:
You're Aimee! You're THE Aimee! Bruce Campbell signed your ASS! You're, like, famous by association! He's been mentioning that butt-signing at EVERY reading, not to mention putting it in his book. Your letter to ME made MY day. Hey... I've got an idea...
He offered me a signed copy of the book in exchange for an article on Mr. Campbell. Even as I write that article now, the whole situation feels like a scene in a movie. Define irony: an aspiring actress whose only moment of fame is six degrees of separation though a B-actor signing her ass.
Matt asked me once how I felt about having my e-mail in Mr. Campbell's book. After all, I'm the underdog, the everyday person who got Bruce to sign her butt. As Matt pointed out, "It [speaking of my ass] left such an impression that he [Bruce] talks about it to this day." Personally (I laugh at myself for saying this), my touch with fame has left me with a smile on my face, and the desire to get back on stage.
Thank you Bruce.
When Matt asked me to write an article on Bruce Campbell, all I could think of was a quote from Kalifornia. David Duchovny said, "I'd always wanted to be a writer, but there's a big difference between writing a magazine article and writing a book. I know I wrote a magazine article."
I, on the other hand, have never even written a magazine article. In fact, the last time I picked up a pen and wrote something was in high school, and that was a paper on Hamlet. What the hell did I know about Writing?
Start at the beginning, I guess...
"Ever hear of Evil Dead?" this was the question poised to me from my friend Sue, an obsessed Xena fan.
After a long conversation about B horror movies, we rented the trilogy. Watching the movies with wide eyes, I was in love. Give me a deadite and a gallon of homemade Karo syrup blood in the face and you'll see a smile from ear to ear. After that it was Xena, Hercules, and Jack of all Trades. I'm not a fan of these shows by any stretch of the imagination, but I can sit though the unnecessary sound effects (example: Xena rubs her eye and there's a kung-fu sound) if Bruce is on the screen. Mr. Campbell's role as Autolycus was, in my opinion, written for him.
I was excited to see his guest appearance on The X-Files. I've followed David Duchovny's work from Red Shoe Diaries to the X-Files. Pair Mr. Campbell with David's deadpan dry-humor, and they seemed perfect opposites. Much to my surprise Bruce's role was quite serious. He played a demon, obsessed with the dream of a normal human child. It was refreshing to see Bruce's versatility as an actor.
I felt like a stalker with my newfound obsession on Bruce. So, in true stalker form, I decided to procure an autograph. I surfed the web, reading article after article on how nice and humorous he is. Much to my disappointment, I found out that he no longer takes mail-in requests for his John Hancock. I was a little let down, but I understood the amount of mail he must receive on a daily basis (I'm just a normal girl and I get at least thirty pieces of crap in the mailbox every week). After a deeper dig into the realm of Bruce, I read that one can send him e-mail (bcact@aol.com).
"This is awesome," I thought.
I booted up my e-mail client and set out to send him a message. After staring at the screen for twenty minutes I realized I have no idea what to say. I didn't want to be the typical fan and find my nose was stuck up Bruce's proverbial ass, but I certainly wanted to express my admiration and respect. I finally gave up and didn't send anything.
A few days later, my Xena-obsessed friend told me I was going to a convention with her. Even though Bruce was going to be there, I was less than enthusiastic. I explored my options. One, I embrace the character look-alike contests and tables of porcelain busts to procure the autograph I've been lusting for. Two, I don't go, and my friend shoves an un-greased floor lamp up my ass. I opted for the former.
Upon arriving at the convention in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, I was second-guessing my decision. The line of fans seemed to wrap around the hotel twice. Sue and her boyfriend were loaded with cameras, posters, promo photos... you name it. I, on the other hand, brought a 35mm camera, and my 2-year-old son Connor.
It seemed like decades until Mr. Campbell's speech. We waited like cattle in a cramped auditorium watching clips from the show and hearing from other bit characters. It felt like a record stuck in a grove, and it didn't help that a particular fan kept asking the actors the same question pertaining to the sub-text of bisexuality between Xena and Gabrielle. Honestly, who the fuck cares?
Finally, Bruce graced us with his presence. Despite the repeated sub-text question, I was highly entertained with his stage presence and wit, and decided to wait the hour or so for an autograph. An hour-and-a-half later, I was next in line.
Panic! I realize that I don't have anything for him to sign! He's
saying, "Next," and looking at me.
Shit! THINK FAST...
"Mr. Campbell... would you sign my ass?" I say, half-joking, my face beginning to glow red.
He looks startled, "What?" his eyebrows quirked skyward.
I repeated myself, figuring I had dug this grave so I might as well follow though. A smile breaks forth on his face and he says, "Sure! Get over here and bend over."
So, there I am, bent over in Bruce Campbell's face, and he's writing on my ass with a sharpie marker. My friend Sue looks like she is about to shit herself, the boyfriend is shaking his head and pointing. My face is a red as a beet.
Then, just as I'm about to stand up he says, "Wait, I'm not finished yet." He proceeds to write the words "Spank me" between the pockets of my pants, underlining it twice.
I thanked him and went on my way, pleased with my autograph. When I got home, I booted up my computer and wrote him a piece of mail.
I wrote:
Bruce, I wanted to thank you again for signing my ass at the Cherry Hill convention.
Aimeé.
After several months of waiting, I got a response.
He wrote back:
Don't get cheeky with me!
Bruce.
I saved that piece of mail for almost a year. I figured that was the end of it all...
Leave it to the Xena friend to tell me I was in his new book.
"WHAT!?" my brain was reeling!
At first I thought she was pulling my leg, so I went online to confirm or deny her sighting. Looking through the book's official links, I found www.eSpudd.com, in particular their article on Bruce's book tour. Reading over the transcript I saw my name. It was spelled wrong, so I sent Matt a piece of mail. He responded with extreme enthusiasm, and I quote:
You're Aimee! You're THE Aimee! Bruce Campbell signed your ASS! You're, like, famous by association! He's been mentioning that butt-signing at EVERY reading, not to mention putting it in his book. Your letter to ME made MY day. Hey... I've got an idea...
He offered me a signed copy of the book in exchange for an article on Mr. Campbell. Even as I write that article now, the whole situation feels like a scene in a movie. Define irony: an aspiring actress whose only moment of fame is six degrees of separation though a B-actor signing her ass.
Matt asked me once how I felt about having my e-mail in Mr. Campbell's book. After all, I'm the underdog, the everyday person who got Bruce to sign her butt. As Matt pointed out, "It [speaking of my ass] left such an impression that he [Bruce] talks about it to this day." Personally (I laugh at myself for saying this), my touch with fame has left me with a smile on my face, and the desire to get back on stage.
Thank you Bruce.
4 | comment?