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| Grindhouse galore. 42nd Street. |
I am addicted to movies. I have been for a long time.
The first time I set foot in New York City, I went searching for a fix.
Winter 1998. 15 years old. Jake's family invited me along. Kevin came too.
We split quick from his folks. Basement VHS marathons led us here.
We trudged through the slush. Sidewalks swarming. Tourist trap junk stores. Sad sex shops. A glimpse of grimy days gone.
Cinematic chaos no more. Bummer.
Cinematic chaos no more. Bummer.
We turned the corner onto 8th. Port Authority Terminal.
"Hey fellas," he said from an alley. "Wanna see a live sex show?"
We considered. Follow this guy. Wind up MOW fodder. No thanks.
Went home dreaming of this:
Gene Siskel hated Maniac. He watched 30 minutes and walked out.
I've never walked out of a movie. Thrown out for sneaking in: plenty of times.
2006. Outside CBGB. An old friend walked by. He just moved to the city. Said he was a film snob now. I never saw him again.
I watch a lot of movies. I will write about some of them here.
So far this week I've watched:
I am a failed Hollywood screenwriter. You can be too! Here's how to order.
I still like to make movies. Real cheap. Read this.
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