Gina "Gizzo" Izzo's Backseat Bender

I was at the ticket table for the majority of the festival. I use "at" liberally. I was at, behind, beside, under the table most of the festival. Tuesday began moving chairs, chilling beers, allocating shots, vomit-proofing the theater, preparing for pornstars to destroy bad movies, and generally fumbling like a shy and nervous intern. I very quickly became Sailor Jerry's bitch and woke up drunk in a sound room Wednesday morning.

After finding my car I learned the throb in my head was actually from last night's sidewalk--twice--and made the executive decision to carry Heaven's Hill for the rest of the week. Fuck that sailor.

Wednesday I had the privilege of chauffering Doug, ambushed with blue eyeliner, majestically sporting his ring-master blazer, waving his PBR like revolution flag, weaving between trollies, wobbling across the tracks, to the Fire in a wheelchair. There I saw some totally solid bands like The Old Souls and Bitter Sweathearts, danced, drank, and assisted in relocating Doug from his rotating naptime spots.

Being at the ticket table I regrettably saw very few movies. One I did see in its entirety was "The Voice Inside." It was righteous and fucked up and I totally dug it. I caught parts of "Irish American Ninja," "Pot Zombies," and "Portal" and was thoroughly impressed. Until five minutes ago I thought I was not in attendance for "Die You Zombie Bastards!" Apparently, or so Nick tells me, I was definitely present, in the theater, and having an excellent time. So there that is.

I have to say my favorite afterparty was at Whiskey Dix, partly because I remember it. The Amazing Wid was indeed amazing--everything the legends promised and just a little bit more. Bartenders breathed fire, swords burned in throats, bars were in flames--shit was hot.

The rest runs together. I've since stopped trying to fill in the hours I lost during my Backseat Bender. I know there was drinking, movies, porn stars, arm wrestling, vomiting, yelling, cleaning, shame, drinking, swaying, falling, music, rum, dancing, bourbon, laughing, ninjas, robots, rockstars, mutants, drinking, drinking, whiskey, zombies, tits, cocks, blood, brains, beers, and some really awesome fucking cats doing some rock star shit I'm proud to say I could be part of. And if I could remember all of what happened, I'd do it all again in a second. I think.

Join the Backseat Conceptions mailing list.