The Black Mass Premiere

It all started while I was on Facebook one night scrolling through some statuses. Somebody posted an article warning Brookline-area commuters about traffic detours due to a Black Mass premiere. The premiere was said to take place the very next night at the Coolidge Corner Theater! I found this very intriguing. One of my favorite actors Johnny Depp was in Black Mass. Was it possible that he would be in attendance? Naaah, in Boston? Naaah. It was a long shot.

 

I clicked on the article and, to my surprise, it said that Johnny Depp may possibly be in attendance. Hmmm...interesting. I figured that this may be my one and only opportunity to see one of my favorite movie stars in the flesh. Hell, I had never even seen ANY movie star before...well, except Adrian Grenier (of “Entourage” fame), but he wasn't that huge of a star. He was more like an actor, you know?

 

Johnny Depp, however, was a star.

 

The next day I decided that I must try and check the premiere out. I had never been to a big movie premiere before so I figured that, even if Depp wasn't in attendance, it would still be interesting checking out a bona fide Hollywood movie premiere. And if Depp also showed up? Well, all the better. 

 

My plan was to take a 4pm train from Walpole into Boston and then walk to the Coolidge Corner Theater (aka "The Coolidge") in Brookline where the premiere would be held at around 6pm. I would bring a small video camera with me so I could document the experience of being at a Hollywood movie premiere and maybe—just maybe—get footage of the Deppster himself...IF I was lucky.

 

Before I caught the train, I stopped by a liquor store because I figured that I should probably be in (at least a partial) state of inebriation so I could better handle the crowds of people at the premiere. At first, I thought I would just get a tall boy of Natty Ice or something, but then I figured the only proper way to experience the movie premiere was with the help of a watermelon-flavored Four Loco. Certainly the 12% alcohol volume would give me juuust the right amount of numbing sensations amidst thousands of screaming Johnny Depp fans.

 

I poured the Four Loco in a red-tinted water thermos so I could discretely drink the flavored malt liquor in public and people would just think I was sipping on water. Genius, right? Then, I hopped on the 4pm train, started sipping slowly and soon felt some really good stuff going on in my bloodstream. The buzz was on, baby. I was going to a Hollywood movie premiere. This was going to be fun!

 

After about 35 minutes or so, the train brought me into Boston's Back Bay station and I felt pretty "loco" at this point so I kind of floated out of the station feeling like I was walking on marshmallows. I proceeded to float my way in the direction of Coolidge Corner, which was a long walk, but it was a nice, mid-September day. I figured I might as well get the exercise and enjoy the late summer in the city.

 

As I made my way closer and closer to the Coolidge area, I started to hear helicopters hovering in the distance. I looked up into the distant sky and could see about three helicopters flying around in circles like a bunch of hawks. I figured this must have been security for the movie premiere. Maybe this meant there were going to be some big-time celebrities there. Maybe Depp would, indeed, show up!

 

Surprisingly, the walk to the Coolidge from this point was peaceful save for the ominous sound of the helicopters that grew in volume as I got closer to my destination. I thought there would be a long line of people processioning their way down the sidewalk, kind of like in pilgrimage fashion. But this wasn't the case. All seemed normal.

 

Making my way further down Beacon Street, traffic did start getting a tad heavier and then I saw a cop car that was parked in the middle of a lane with its blues on. Shortly after this, I came to an intersection and I saw a stretch limo stopped at the traffic light. Okay, now things were picking up a bit. Now it was maybe starting to look like a premiere might be going on somewhere close-by. 

 

Just a minute or two later, I made a sharp turn onto Harvard Avenue and, holy shit, that was when I entered a completely different dimension, folks. I mean, judging from my relatively quiet walk, it was hard to believe that—just around a corner—there was going to be such a massive mob of people. But there it was. There were TONS of people—probably thousands—and they were all paddocked behind steel barriers.

 

I walked with the flow of foot traffic for a while and then I found a little store alcove I could hang under while I assessed what was going on around me. It may sound weird to say, but one thing that I noticed right off the bat was that everybody smelled very nice; there was an amalgam of perfumes, lotions, colognes and shampoos permeating the air around me. My nose buds had never been so stimulated.

 

I could also hear a lot off buzz, rumor and hearsay about Depp. Some people were saying that Depp had already gone in, which was great because that meant he was present! But it was also not-so-great because I may have missed my only opportunity to catch a glimpse of the big movie star.

 

I decided to hang in the alcove for a little bit and maybe get some footage with my video camera. I did manage to get some good shots of the crowd and also the Coolidge Theater marquis that said “Black Mass” on it. While I videotaped, I could hear much more buzz-buzzing from the fans. Some people said Depp hadn’t shown up yet. Others said he came and went. He was inside. He was outside. All the rumors were conflicting. Nobody knew what they were talking about. They were basically just playing one giant game of telephone and getting all their information wrong.

 

Soon, an older lady came up and stood beside me. She was on the phone with somebody and told the person that, “I’ll call you back, Johnny Depp is about to show up!" I thought this was more rumor and buzz, but I was looking through my camera, using the zoom, and I suddenly saw Johnny Depp’s bodyguard pacing back and forth. Yes, I abashedly admit I knew what Depp's bodyguard looked like. I had seen some videos of Depp signing autographs at other events and premieres. Let's just say I was doing research...for a novel. Seriously. One of my Hollywood novels (Blowtorture, if you want to know the name) involved a big, Hollywood movie premiere and I looked up some premiere footage of Depp on YouTube. Research, folks. Don't judge me.

 

Sure enough, part of the crowd in the distance suddenly erupted into a banshee-like scream and I saw Johnny Depp's wife Amber Heard appear in my viewfinder. Soon after, the banshee screech became way louder and I saw Johnny Depp pop out of nowhere, waving to the crowd. Holy shit on rye! There was the Deppster himself. In the flesh. This was trippy, dude. No, not trippy, did I say that? This was Loco.

Depp when he first arrived at the premiere.

Depp looked like a movie star, he really did. He had sunglasses on and he wore a dapper-looking suit that was the color of orange sherbet. Due to my camera and its excellent zoom, I had a really good view of everything that was going on. In fact, if I hadn't brought my camera, I probably wouldn't have been able to see Depp at all, at least at this point. My trusty video camera acted as a sort of periscope. It was my all-seeing third eye.

 

The old lady standing next to me saw that I was getting some really good footage and she started looking over my shoulder while I filmed. I kind of wanted to tell the old bag to bite the dust (just kidding sort of), but I politely allowed her to watch along because I respect my elders. She didn't just watch in silence, though. She started talking in my ear the whole time, mostly about how bad of a guy Whitey Bulger was. She also said that her daughter had a small role in the Black Mass film. The old bat was a nice lady—don’t get me wrong—but I was really wanting to concentrate on what was going on with the premiere. I didn't want to listen to her buzz my ear off the whole time. I wanted to tell her that I was twisted on Four Loco and the last thing I wanted to do was listen to her talking about God-knows-what.

 

Depp signed some autographs on both sides of the street but soon had to do his whole press thing so he disappeared down a red carpet and, I suppose, must have eventually gone into the theater. I think a lot of people didn’t know if he was going to come back out at all or sneak out a secret exit. A good portion of the crowd even started to disburse, but I decided to stick around for a bit, just in case there was another appearance. I had come all the way into town. What difference would it make if I hung out for another half hour or so? I knew Depp didn't like to watch his own movies so I thought there was a good chance he'd be out of the theater sooner than later. 

 

I spent a little time looking at the footage I had gotten. I was actually surprised that I managed to get some really solid shots of Mr. Depp. I cued up the shots on my little LCD viewfinder and showed them to a couple girls who were standing close to me. I thought they would be impressed and I could score a phone number, but the only person who was impressed was their gay guy friend and I just don't swing that way, brother, no offense.

 

Maybe only about a half an hour later I heard the crowd’s banshee shriek again. Sure enough, I saw Depp and his wife Amber standing beside their SUV, which was parked right in front of the theater entrance. The crowd's shriek crescendoed and held its high pitch like an opera singer. Amber hopped into the SUV and Depp gave her a kiss. Then, his bodyguards huddled around him and he went back over to the fans so he could sign more autographs. 

 

At this point, I was feeling bold, so I decided to see how close I could possibly get to the Deppster. I crossed the street, wove my way through fan after fan and—to my surprise—I could actually get pretty damn close. I mean, there were still about five or six rows of people between me and him—well, probably even more than that, but, still, I was way closer than I ever thought I'd be able to get.

 

Because of all the hands in the air that were waving their posters to be signed, I still mostly had to use my camera and its zoom in order to see Depp at all. In fact, at this point I had been using the zoom so much that it kind of became disorientating. I didn't know how close or how far away things were relative to my actual position.

I'm zoomed in quite a bit but this is when I was closest to Depp.

At one point, I looked away from the camera and I was shocked by how close I actually was to Mr. Johnny Depp. He was only maybe about ten feet or so away from me, but for every foot there was about one whole row of people, meaning that the swarm of people around him was about ten feet deep, or maybe more. 

 

Indeed, Depp was so close, but, at that point, still so far away. I mean—fans aside—he was literally just a hop, skip and a leap away. If I wanted to get to him, I would have needed to be super-aggressive, push my way through the swarm of fans, which—yes—did resemble a cartoonish swarm of bees. I'm not the aggressive type, though, and I'm not an autograph guy either. Maybe it would be cool shaking Depp's hand or saying hello, but I don't think he was a hand-shaking guy. I wouldn't be. I mean, think about how many germs all the people had!

 

So, yes, I stayed back and filmed the whole crazy scene from a distance. Most of the fans acted civil as Depp signed whatever they wanted signed. However, there were a couple aggressive autograph hounds, probably looking to sell autographed memorabilia on eBay. There was one black gentleman, for example, that was being an asshole and he was basically tapping a Jack Sparrow poster on Depp's head in order to get his attention. Depp's bodyguard was having none of this and he grabbed the dude's poster, crumpled it with his fist, thus rendering it worthless for eBay. Surprisingly, Depp still politely signed the poster, but then the black guy started shouting something unintelligible and Depp's bodyguard growled at him. It also appeared that Depp may have even gotten pissed at this point and mouthed the word 'punk' at the guy.

 

Overall, I would say Depp probably spent a good 20 minutes signing autographs. I don't know if he eventually gave his bodyguards a secret code or something because they all silently decided it was time to scoot him away and guide him back towards his SUV. I kind of wonder about that, actually: whether he gave them a signal, like a scratch of the nose. Maybe a scratch on the right nostril means he's good to do more autograph signing, but a scratch on the left nostril means he's tired as hell and wants to get out of there. Of course, it needs to appear as though it's the bodyguards telling him he's done so as not to appear rude to the fans.

Depp surrounded by bodyguards right after signing autographs. 

Once he was safe at his SUV, Depp gave a final wave to all the fans. Everybody was roaring and screaming, "I love you!" Even the men in the audience were expressing their love for this man. I decided to hoot and holler as well, though I contained my "love you's".

One last wave before he leaves the premiere.

Depp gave his security guard a hug goodbye, which impressed me. He was very gracious and very polite. He didn't seem to come off as being entitled in any way. Then, I saw the security and publicity teams giggling and hugging each other, like they were all celebrating a job well-done. They seemed to be all close friends, which was nice to see. It was just kind of weird, though, because—if you think about it—they were all there basically to orbit around one man: Johnny Depp...like they were planets and he was the sun.

 

After his final waves, Depp hopped into his SUV, a security guy shut the door for him and the black Cadillac Escalade with the tinted windows sped off to God-knows-where; fantasy-land, I guess. Mount Olympus, maybe. 

 

With Depp gone, the crowd disbursed and I also left after a few more moments. I turned down into a side street and the buzzing of people got quieter and quieter...and quieter. Soon, I realized I was walking alone. I was just around SO many people and there was SO much excitement and now there was basically nothing. The sudden vacuum of silence was disorientating to the senses since I had just been around so much noise. 

 

Also, I realized my Four Loco was finally starting to wear off. 

 

I found a liquor store on Beacon Street and purchased a 24 oz. tall boy of Yuengling beer. Then, I went to the nearby Boston University campus, my alma mater, and found a dark bench in a grassy knoll-like area known as the "BU beach". Here, I poured my beer into my thermos as discreetly as possible. Then, I took a sip and was glad the beer didn't taste like watermelon since the Four Loco had been in the very same thermos.

 

I sat on the bench a while, sipping on the beer and listened to the silence around me. I felt really…well, alone. Depp seemed so cool. Everybody loved him. Everybody wanted a piece of him. He had all this security around him. Publicists. An entourage. Yes, he had all those people around him and I had...well, not a single soul. I felt so insignificant, un-liked, unimportant and irrelevant. Of course, any self-help book would say that everybody's life is special and worthy, but—let’s face it—Depp seemed so much more worthy. Well, I guess that was what the Black Mass movie premiere would have you believe, anyway. Maybe God found me, alone on a bench, to be as worthy as Depp. Maybe who man adulated didn't matter. God valued everybody the same.

 

After I sat and drank on the bench a while, I got up and walked all the way to South Station via the Public Gardens and the Boston Common. The gardens were nice per usual, but the Commons (also per usual) were a little creepy. Some black teens were playing craps in the middle of the walkway, listening to the Notorious B.I.G and smoking the reefer. There were also some drug deals going on and some bums nodding off, probably from heroin. The scene was a far cry from the surreal world I had just come from at the movie premiere.

 

I could have made a slightly earlier train, but I decided to grab some dollar beers at a bar called Coogan's, which was right in the Faneuil Hall area. Yes, dollar beers in pint glasses and they had free Wi-Fi there, too! 

 

I must admit that there was a point at the bar when I considered cuing up some Depp footage and I thought maybe I could show some girls and they'd be impressed. But I didn't do this, mainly because all the girls seemed to be with dates and also because I was being a pussy. Instead, I mostly just played on my phone a bit while I pounded four beers in about 30-45 minutes. I was pretty loaded by the time I ended up leaving the bar but still functional and I caught the last train out of Boston without any problem.

 

"Good evening folks, this is the Franklin/Forge Park train. Stops will include Ruggles, Readville, Endicott, Islington, Norwood Depot, Norwood Central, Windsor Gardens, Walpole..."

 

I slunk low into my seat while the train started to pull out of South Station at its initial snail's pace. I had Instagram'd some of my Depp footage a little earlier in the night and I saw on my phone that it was getting likes, comments and such. For a little while I felt cool because I had seen Depp and all, but people were only liking the stuff because it was about Depp. They liked Depp, not me. Yes, I was still feeling insignificant, no matter how hard I tried to tell myself I was special like the self-help books say. But could I really blame myself? The whole goal of a Hollywood movie premiere is to make stars look like they're cool and above us. I mean, you're literally treated like cattle since you're paddocked behind steel barriers the whole time. How could you NOT feel a little degraded?

 

"Next stop is Ruggles..."

 

I shut down the Instagram and buried my phone deep into my camera bag where I couldn't hear any of its notifications. Then I peered pensively out the train window and started thinking even more deeply about what I had experienced earlier in the evening. I soon came to the realization that a Hollywood movie premiere is basically a weird ceremony—shall we call it a black mass?—where false idols are honored. No offense to Depp here, because this surely isn't his doing. Idolatry has always been the Hollywood way. Since its very inception, Hollywood has always wanted to redirect our reverence away from any true God and towards the false gods that make up Hollywood. And again, I'm not saying Depp wants to be a god; it's Hollywood that builds him up to be one, because the more Hollywood directs our reverence towards its players, the more money it makes and the more power it accrues.

 

I also came to realize that—along with it being a ritual of idolatry—the Hollywood movie premiere is essentially a celebration of popularity. The underlying implication of a premiere is that being alone is not ever good, which is why I felt so unimportant on my train ride home. According to Hollywood, the goal in life is to become surrounded and loved by man. Popularity is good. Solitude is bad. The problem, however, is that the more surrounded by man we are, the more distant from God we can become; that is, if we adopt the "Jesus in the Desert" philosophy that says it's through (at least partial) solitude that we become closer to God. What I'm getting at is that the movie premiere—by nature—is (at least in a sense) a satanic-like ceremony, kind of like a true black mass. I realize this sounds extreme, but the overall message of the Hollywood premiere is to honor popularity over solitude. Honor man over God.

 

Holy shit! Who knew I would get all spiritual and religious and borderline Jesus-freaky after a movie premiere. These were deep thoughts, man. They were Depp thoughts, too. Maybe I was reading way too much into it all. Or maybe I was still just loco on Loco. Either way, it was definitely cool actually seeing my favorite actor in the flesh. That kind of thing doesn't happen every day and—who knows—it may have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. For that, I'm thankful I got loaded on Loco and attended the premiere.

 

As for the Black Mass movie itself, I never saw it until several months later when it came out on DVD. I actually watched it twice so I could pick up some of the plot points I missed the first time around. It was a very good movie and Depp was on top of his acting game. He was so damn creepy but also careful not to make the character a one-dimensional, evil villain. There was a humanity to Bulger, but, damn, he was also bone-chillingly creepy. Depp pulled it off perfectly.

 

...

 

Below is the actual (somewhat shaky) video footage I took at the Black Mass premiere. I didn't add music or any other effects, mainly in attempt to capture the true essence of what it's like at a Hollywood movie premiere. Also note that this is the only place you can see this footage. It's not public on YouTube because this isn't meant to be an ingratiating fan video. It's merely meant to complement my "blog", which is something that hopefully falls into the category of art (not exploitation). I wanted to be respectful to Depp and not exploit him. Thanks for reading and watching.

 

The link: https://youtu.be/HLeLhsZWJn0

 

...

MATT BURNS is the author of several novels, including Weird Monster, Supermarket Zombies!, The Woman and the Dragon and Johnny Cruise. He’s also written numerous memoirs, including GARAGE MOVIE: My Adventures Making Weird Films, My Raging Case of Beastie Fever, Jungle F’ng Fever: My 30-Year Love Affair with Guns N’ Roses and I Turned into a Misfit! Check out these books (and many more) on his Amazon author page HERE.

 

 

Other trending articles by Matt Burns that may be of interest to you:

 

Film-related articles:

A Trip Down DVD Drive

 

WET HOT AMERICAN SUMMER TURNS 25 (and it’s only gotten better)

 

NOT PLAYING IT SAFE: How Todd Haynes’ Film Was Used to ‘Deprogram’ Me and My Fellow Film Students

 

How I Got into the Films of John Cassavetes

 

If I May Say a Few Words About FLIGHT OF THE NAVIGATOR

 

35 YEARS OF TURTLE POWER: A Tribute to 1990’s Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Movie

Revisiting the Blair Witch Project

My Childhood Obsession with Rambo

 

Video Store Memories

Heeeeeeeeeeeeeere’s Charlie (a story about Burns’ recurring nightmares featuring Charlie Chaplin)

 

Short memoirs/nostalgia:

CAPE CODDING IT: A Cape Cod Vacation Memoir

GREYHOUNDING IT, BABY! A Guide to taking a Greyhound Bus Long Distances

 

Visiting Mom in the ICU (short story contest winner)

 

A Love Letter to the Emerald Square Mall (about the death of the shopping mall age)

NEVER FORGET the Fun-O-Rama (a traveling carnival memoir)

Some Wicked Good Times: A Love Letter to Newbury Comics

Skateboarding in the 1990s

WAAF Goes Off the Air

Remembering That Time I Tried to Stop a Shoplifter at the Wrentham Outlets

The Strange, Surreal Moment of Being Called a DILF Inside a Panera Bread Restaurant on a Wednesday Afternoon

Weird Times en la Weirdioteca

 

Gaming/computers nostalgia:

 

RIP PowerBook G3

PROXOS IN THE PLEX: A Goldeneye 007 N64 Retrospective

 

100 DAYS of ZELDA: Revisiting Ocarina of Time

I Dream of Dream Machine (a memoir of the local video arcade)

 

I USED TO BE A GAMER: The 8-bit Nintendo Years

 

 

Writing Tips/Advice:

 

THE AUDIO BOOK EXPERIMENT: Tips and Advice on How to Record Your First Audio Book

Getting Your Novel Done

 

Making Your Good Writing Great

Getting Your Screenplay Done

 

Writing the Sequel

 

Writing the Trilogy

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Another Appearance on Writer's Infusion

Writer's Infusion recently invited me back on their show, this time to be a guest critiquer (is that a word?). In this webisode, we read a screenplay submission adapted from the novel Go by John Clellon Holmes. Go is said to be the first novel born out of the Beat movement in the 1950s. We all act out the parts during the read-through and then offer constructive criticism afterwards. Check it out!

My Guest Appearance on "Writer's Infusion"

I just wanted to post my recent guest-appearance on the webisode series WRITER'S INFUSION. Basically what happens is I read the first five pages of my novel BLOWTORTURE and then I'm critiqued by a panel of judges, American Idol-style. Check it out!

THE TOILET-PAPER PEOPLE

NOTE: this is a fun little short story (a memoir) that I recently wrote for a holiday writing contest.

THE TOILET-PAPER PEOPLE
by matt burns


“Matt, can you help me out with this? My back’s kind of bothering me.”

I grabbed the cardboard box and it was heavy, that’s for sure. I took it out of the garage and plopped it down on the couch in the family room. My mom never remembered what box had what. It was either the ornaments, ceramic XMAS trees, outdoor Xmas lights, indoor Xmas lights, or the…

“Oh, this one’s got the toilet paper people,” mom said, peering into the box.

“The what?”

“The toilet paper people.”

“Ah, yes, the Toilet-Paper People.”

I looked into the box and carefully took out my Frankensteinian creations. My little babies were still in rather excellent condition. I figured they must have been about 25-years-old, give or take, but the memory of making them was still so vivid in my head.

I was in the third grade when I created my first Toilet-Paper Person. It was early December and I was in art class. The teacher handed out the discarded cardboard cylinders that had – not long ago – been enwrapped in multiple sheets of rolled toilet paper.

“Gross, what are we supposed to do with these things?” all the students wondered.

The teacher told us that we were going to make people out of them.

“People?!”

“Yes, people. Are you deaf?” (Note: she did not say ‘are you deaf?’. I made that part up for dramatic purposes.)

The cardboard cylinder was to function as a torso from which we were to create a person. With the help of some paste, yarn, and some construction paper, we all went to work. I felt like Dr. Frankenstein only I didn't have an Igor to assist me, which frustrated me a bit. By the end of the class, my creation was complete. My first Toilet-Paper Person! It was alive!

The first TP person I made in art class.

Indeed, I was amazed by the creative process. Maybe it even made me feel like God but maybe I’m being overly dramatic when I say that. Let’s just say that I had fun creating something that did actually look like some form of a new friend. There were eyes and a nose made out of construction paper, hair made out of yarn, a coat made out of smock scraps…in the end, there actually seemed to be a personality to the face…maybe even a soul. Ok, maybe not a soul. What I’m getting at here is that I didn’t have many friends back then. Or maybe I’m being cliché here and I actually had plenty of friends, but maybe I didn’t like many of my real friends so I wanted fake ones…made out of discarded toilet-paper rolls. I’m not sure what it was. All I knew was that I liked this toilet-paper person that I – yes I!!! – had created. And, heck, I wanted to create more of these friends!

Which is exactly what I set out to do.

The theme I had in mind was based on the Enchanted Village at the Jordan Marsh in Boston's Downtown Crossing. To be honest with you, I’m not even sure I ever walked through the actual village, but one December my parents took me into Downtown Crossing and we walked by the Jordan's storefront where there were large window displays and within those displays there were miniature versions of the Enchanted Village, complete with fake snow.

I was so…um…enchanted by the fantasy world. I wanted to escape my current reality and live inside that enchanted reality. Yes, reality (in my eyes) was terrible. I did not like school at all and I still had a few weeks to go until Xmas break. I wanted to live in an Enchanted Village that looked so lovely, and I figured, why not create my own village…and inhabit it...with Toilet-Paper People? Eureka!

From that day forward, whenever I wasn’t forced to be in school, I secluded myself in my office and went to work making the Toilet-Paper People. Of course, when I say “office”, I really mean a little area with a small table in the corner of my dining room. This was the go-to place I hunkered down in when I needed to work on some important dioramas or gods-eyes or (in this case) Toilet-Paper People.

My ensuing creations were three times better than my original TP person I made in art class. Instead of using simple construction paper to make eyes, I used buttons. For a mouth, I either used yarn or small pieces of pipe cleaner. I used frayed cotton balls to make beards and gray hair. I found some of my mom's old bell-bottoms from the 70's, cut off some scraps and made shawls/kerchiefs out of them. I even made beaded necklaces for jewelry. In other words, I was making some highly-evolved TP-people.

I put in some long hours. Afternoons. Nights. Weekends. I needed plenty of grape-flavored Juicy-Juice to keep my motor running. I even tried to sneak in some work if I was home “sick” from school (muahaha sometimes I was a little faker – but, really, who needed to learn their times tables when there were Toilet-Paper People to be made?!). 

The Old Maid's in the middle.

After about a week of intense hard work, I had created a whole village-worth of people. There were young TP men and women, old ladies and old men, old maids wearing kerchiefs while looking desperately for a husband, a Santa Claus and even my most favorite Toilet-Paper Person: a Scrooge!

But, wait, the village still wasn’t complete, mainly because there was no village, just people so far. More work had to be done.

One of my favorites: Scrooge.

I took a flat piece of cardboard and glued a bunch of cotton balls to it, which acted as snow. Then I took a small cardboard box and decorated it to look like a house. I folded another piece of small, flat cardboard to make a triangular roof and glued cotton on that as well. Then I surrounded the house with my beloved Toilet-Paper People and I couldn’t believe what I saw before my eyes: there it was…my very own Enchanted Village. I did it!

I proudly displayed my Enchanted Village on a shelf in our finished basement and that's where they've been every Christmas since. When January inevitably arrived, I was always sad to see the Enchanted Village get packed up in a box along with all the other Xmas decorations. I suppose if I had begged my parents, they would have let me keep it up all year, but then it wouldn’t have been as exciting unearthing the village every December and escaping to my fantasy world full of pure enchantment where no school existed!

I encourage you to make some Toilet-Paper People of your own. Actually, it’s pretty simple. Just save your cylinders of cardboard TP rolls when you’ve finished using every last square of toilet paper. Then just get creative. Make a face out of whatever materials you have around the house. Use some old fabric or tissue paper to make clothing. Make a beaded necklace. Make a Santa Claus…a Scrooge…maybe even make an old maid looking for a husband. The sky’s the limit!

That's right, folks: using copious amounts of toilet paper doesn't have to be a pain in the bum anymore (pun was intended). Just think: the more TP you use, the closer you'll get to making a new Toilet-Paper Person! Talk about turning a negative into a positive. 

Season's greetings!

Greyhounding it, baby! (A guide to taking a Greyhound bus long distances)

“Maybe a Greyhound could be my way.” – Axl Rose

 

 

I have to admit that it had been an itch I'd been meaning to scratch for quite some time …

 

The idea of taking a Greyhound bus across the country was always so alluring to me. For one, there was the price: about two hundred bucks, give or take some, depending on how far in advance you booked the tickets and also whether you got the online discount. And then there was the Romanticism of it all: hitting the open road, seeing all of America, rediscovering yourself, having epiphanies, finding the American Dream and all that good stuff.

 

I had considered taking the Greyhound long distances on several occasions over the years, but I usually chickened out after hearing horror stories and I ended up taking a plane or didn't do the trip at all. However, just recently, an opportunity presented itself where the easiest way to get from point A to point B was to “do the Greyhound thing” and, baby, this time I didn't chicken out. I did it.

 

See, for the past couple weeks or so, I had been visiting a very special girl (thinking of your body, babe) in Ashland, KY., but it was time for me to go back home to Boston to take care of various affairs and I soon realized that taking a Greyhound was going to be the cheapest way to do it. Where planes out of the nearest airports were almost $400 (which was the case flying out of Huntington, WV. or Lexington, KY.), a Greyhound ticket cost about $160 or even $130 if you ordered the ticket online in advance. That was pretty cheap and I didn't have much money to be throwing around so I soon realized that I was finally going to do it. I was going to take the Greyhound!

 

Of course, the trip was going to be much shorter than the one I had always dreamt about (it would be 24 hours vs. the several days it would take if I were going across the entire country). But, still, it was going to be long enough and it would ultimately prove to be about as long as I could handle. Yes, that's right: 24 hours in a Greyhound turned out to be all I could take. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. Let me back up a bit …

 

I booked the bus tickets and—after saying a sad and emotional goodbye to my girl (still thinkin’ about your body)—the Greyhound pulled into the bus station in Ashland, KY at 11:15am. The bus looked a little dirty and faded from years of operation (it wasn't one of the snazzy new ones), but it could have looked worse and all that mattered was that it didn't look like it was going to break down. The bus’ brakes squealed and then hissed as it came to a stop and, soon, the door opened to let out people who were getting off in Ashland but also for the people who were going further and needed a minute or two to stretch their legs or have a smoke. 

 

One of the first guys who got off the bus was a gentleman with a shaved head (all the way to the skin) and my eyes seemed to be drawn almost immediately to his sneakers, which I noticed were Velcro and lace-less. This guy didn't seem square, so I didn't think the Velcro sneakers could be explained due to the man having terrible fashion sense. Then I also noticed he was wearing a white T-shirt and a navy-blue windbreaker-type-of jacket with overly long denim pants. I'm not sure if it was a psychic moment, but a voice in my head immediately told me, “This guy just got out of prison!” This moment of intuition later turned out to be true because the man did, indeed, brag about “doing his time” to various fellow Greyhound travelers on various buses throughout the trip, all the way from Kentucky to Boston. Yes, that's right: he did ride with me the entire trip, though—to be honest—he actually turned out to be the bus passenger I felt MOST comfortable around relative to some of the other Greyhound travelers. But, again, I don't want to get ahead of myself here …

 

I gave my girl one last hug and kiss goodbye. Then I boarded the bus and disappeared behind the tinted windows. The bus pulled out of the station and the epic trip commenced. 

 

Next stop: Columbus, Ohio.

 

My fellow Greyhound travelers on the way to Columbus were all a little odd and grungy-looking, but they were reasonably quiet for the most part. I sat behind a man who spent most of the time shifting around in his seat, trying to get in the best position for sleep. He was pale-looking, had a facial profile that reminded me of Big Bird for some reason and was possibly dehydrated since he had dandruff and/or dried flakes of skin all over his baseball cap. I couldn't help but wonder where he was going and where he had come from and how long he had been doing the Greyhound thing. Hours? Days?? A week??? 

 

And then there was the ex-convict who had chosen to sit right smack-dab behind me when he re-boarded the bus, which of course made me feel extremely comfortable and, yes, I'm being sarcastic. I was concerned about pulling out my iPod or new smartphone, fearing that I might get shanked for it.

 

The bus-ride lasted a little over two hours—mostly passing by dreary, post-harvest farmland—and then I got to the Columbus Greyhound station. Here, I had a two-and-a half-hour layover before I needed to catch my next bus. 

 

The Columbus bus station was dirty and creepy with a slew of shady characters. There were homeless men with dirty dungarees and some of them were carrying trash bags around that were functioning as suitcases. I stood out like a sore thumb because I had showered that morning and looked reasonably clean. I got plenty of stares and dirty looks, like the people thought that I thought I was better than them. I don’t mean to sound condescending when I say this, but I almost felt like I needed to roll around in some filth, just to fit in.

 

The Greyhound bus station in Columbus, Ohio.

 

I purchased a chicken sandwich from the snack bar and sat at a table with my luggage. It was difficult to eat the food because my stomach was in such a nervous knot, paranoid that somebody would come out of nowhere and either steal a piece of luggage, stab me or grope me in an inappropriate way. But I knew I needed the sustenance before I continued my travels, so I ate the full sandwich and also some French fries that were practically dripping with grease. 

 

To be honest, the Columbus layover would prove to be the most uncomfortable part of the bus trip, not only because of all the creep-shows that were there but also because of the length of it. Needless to say, I was relieved when 4:30 came and it was time to board my next bus.

 

Bus #1682 was going to be my bus for more than the next 12 hours, taking me all the way to NYC, with a two-hour layover in Pittsburgh while the bus “got serviced.” I was happy to see that none of the shadiest characters I had seen in the bus station got on the bus with me, though I have to say that there were a lot of creepos in addition to the ex-convict. One creepo in particular was a very tall man wearing a fedora and a desert-camouflage jacket, but I will actually talk more about this man in a minute.

 

I unfortunately was one of the last passengers to board the bus, so I couldn't get a seat all to myself this time around, nor could I get a window seat. The man I sat next to was an Asian gentleman who didn't speak very good English, but he was wearing a suit so I figured he would be at least somewhat normal and most likely not touch me in inappropriate ways should I doze off or fall completely asleep.

 

The bus had a five-minute stop in Zanesville, Ohio and then proceeded its way to Wheeling, West Virginia where there was another five-minute stop and then it was a straight shot to Pittsburgh where there was the aforementioned two-hour layover whilst the bus got serviced. The Pittsburgh Greyhound station was actually cleaner than the Columbus station and I felt safer there, too. The only people who creeped me out were the same people who were on my bus and were killing time during the layover like myself. 

 

The Greyhound bus station in Pittsburgh, PA.

 

I visited the bus station snack bar where the menu was exactly the same as the place in Columbus (it must be a Greyhound thing) and I got a burger with fries, which wasn't that great because the burger was fried, not flame-broiled. But I ate the burger anyway, along with the same breed of greezy fries that I got in Columbus. After all, I needed the calories and overall sustenance. I also purchased a 24 oz. fountain soda and got two refills of Pibb Xtra (formerly Mr. Pibb), which basically tasted like Dr. Pepper, only maybe there was more caffeine.

 

After I ate, I hung out at the “charging station,” which basically consisted of a little shelf nailed into a wall with four or five outlets. This was a place where people could charge their cell phones while they waited for their bus transfers. I decided I would take the opportunity to give my new smartphone some juice and maybe post a needless Facebook status out of boredom, maybe even “check in” to the Pittsburgh Greyhound station using the Facebook app. 

 

While I was charging the phone, a guy wearing a Cubs jacket came up to me and asked if I was going to be there a while. He wanted to do a couple of errands while he charged his phone and I apparently looked like a trustworthy soul, so he asked if I could keep an eye on the phone while he was gone. I asked him how long he was going to be, he said a minute or two, so I said “yeah, that's cool, man” trying to be buddy-buddy with the guy because I was basically desperate for friendship. Then, he went off and did his “errands.” 

 

Well, “a minute or two” turned into more than five minutes and I got aggravated because I had to pee from all the Pibb Xtra. I thought about just leaving and peeing, but I knew the guy was on my bus, I'd have to confront him again later, and he'd be wondering why the hell I ditched his phone. So I stayed and stayed and it was a situation straight out of a Curb Your Enthusiasm episode (Larry David is asked to watch a laptop in a café in one episode). Five minutes turned into ten minutes and then the man returned and didn't say ‘thank you’ but he did say he wanted to go to the bathroom “real quick” and wondered if I could watch the phone for another minute longer. I reluctantly said ‘yes’, thinking maybe he would actually be true to his word and only take a quick leak. However, if he did actually take a leak, it must have been the longest leak in the history of leaks because he was about another five or seven minutes; he must have been dropping a relaxing deuce with a newspaper while I guarded his friggin' phone with a bladder pulsating from too much Pibb Xtra. He eventually came back and started watching Game 1 of the World Series that was playing from a nearby TV without saying a “thank you” or anything else for that matter.

 

I hurried to the restroom and found the nearest non-handicapped urinal so I could drain my bladder of all the Pibb. I am completely serious when I say there were about a dozen empty urinals; however, some guy wearing a white durag came in the restroom and parked at the urinal right next to me. Not only was the close proximity uncomfortable but I could also see in my peripheral vision that he took a moment or two to turn his head and look at me while I was taking my leak. Who does that?! Who parks next to a dude at a urinal (when there are a dozen or so open urinals) and gives him eye contact whilst pissing?! What the hell!!! I don’t think he was making a pass at me or anything. He was just being super-friggin-weird. Or maybe he was trying to intimidate me or something, size me up. I must have been wearing a creep-magnet, I'll tells ya.

 

Eventually, the full two hours of the layover passed and it was time to get back on the bus. I was sure to be one of the first in line while reboarding (making up for my mistake in Columbus). I managed to finagle myself a window seat that hadn’t been saved by anybody and, since there was no assigned seating, I thought I had the right to sit in the seat. But then the Asian man wearing the suit got back on board, he hovered over me and said something in unintelligible what-I-thought-was-likely Japanese. All I could make out was a couple “Yoshi-Yoshi's” and I knew he wanted his window seat back. I pointed around, insinuating that there were plenty of open seats at the moment because several people had finished their trip in Pittsburgh and weren't reboarding. But he didn't seem to get it. To be honest, I wouldn't have really cared where I sat, but I wanted the window because I had access to the outlet and I wanted to plug my smartphone in so I could watch Netflix without the battery draining too much.

 

“Yoshi yoshi,” said the Japanese man.

 

“Can I just take the window seat, um, I need the—”

 

“Yoshi-yoshi!”

 

I couldn't understand what the heck he was saying, but I could tell he was adamant about getting the window seat back, so I said “Fiiiiiiiine” and moved back over to the aisle seat (by this time, all the other window seats in the bus were taken). To the Asian man’s credit, he did say I could still plug my charger in and run the cord over his lap, so at least he was nice enough to let me do that … but, jaheeeeeez, I was entitled to the window seat because there were no assigned seats! No biggie, though. I was fortunate enough to be sitting next to a normal-enough guy, even if he didn't speak very good English.

 

The bus took off from Pittsburgh and stopped for a half hour at a highway rest stop somewhere in Pennsylvania at around 12am. Then it was a straight shot to Philadelphia for the next three and a half hours or so. I watched some Netflix shows for a little while (It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and Louie) and then the bus gradually got more and more quiet, so I decided to do what everybody else was doing and try to get some sleep, even though my legs felt all cramped and there was no way to make myself comfortable in a reasonable sleeping position. One hour turned into two and two turned into three …

 

By about 2:30 or 3am, I actually started to doze off here and there, but that didn't last very long because the aforementioned tall man wearing the Desert Storm jacket with the Dragnet-like fedora got up from his seat and started walking up and down the bus aisle, bumping every seat as he went along. I opened my eyes and—despite the darkness—I saw that he was carrying some sort of bottle of what-appeared-to-be hard liquor. He was also hovering over a seat mumbling incoherent words to random people. After a few moments, he walked back down the aisle and must have seen that my eyes were open so he hovered over my seat for a while, mumbled something unintelligible and then he just kept hovering over my seat, swaying from apparent drunkenness. I shut my eyes tight, pretending I couldn't hear him. Then, I prayed to God that he would go away and leave me alone.

 

“Please, God, make him go away. Please … just … make him go away. Pleeeeeeeeze.”

 

My prayer wasn't answered for another five or ten more seconds when the tall man resumed stumbling his way to the back of the bus and then he went into the bathroom and started ripping cigarette butts, one after the other. It is, of course, against federal law to smoke on a Greyhound bus, which was previously stated to us by the bus driver as we departed from each bus terminal.

 

The strange man with the fedora eventually came back out of the bathroom and kept walking up and down the aisle, sitting next to random people if there was an open aisle seat and mumbling incoherencies to them. Then, after a few minutes, he would get back up, stumble around and continue acting like a complete idiot. Then he'd go to the bathroom and light up more cigarettes, the smoke of which permeated the entire bus. I was surprised the bus driver didn't say anything to him. Maybe he was afraid to.

 

Fortunately, the man with the fedora got off the bus when we arrived in Philadelphia at 4am and everybody was relieved that he was gone. Honestly, I thought it was going to turn into an ugly situation with him and we'd all have to take him down, US-Marshal-style. I thought he was going to start puking on people or even peeing. And he was a tall, big guy. If he got belligerent, who knows what could have happened?

 

The bus only stayed at the Philly Greyhound station for five minutes. Fortunately, the Asian man got off there as well, thus opening up the seat next to me so I could feel less cramped. Before he left, the man said another “Yoshi-yoshi” to me, which I interpreted as him saying, “goodbye, safe travels” though it was also possible he was saying “fuck you asshole.” Either way, I now had an open seat next to me so I was able to stretch out my legs and I actually was able to get a little sleep while the bus made its way from Philadelphia to New York City. 

 

I snapped out of my half-conscious slumber about ten minutes or so before the bus exited the New Jersey Turnpike toll gates and meandered its way down to the Lincoln Tunnel. I could see the skyline of Manhattan in the distance and—like usual—the city looked so massive, awe-some, god-like and, frankly, intimidating. No matter how many times you've been to NY, the city never looks any less intimidating than when you're first rolling your way down the highway, getting closer and closer to the towering, Babel-like skyscrapers. It's an incredible feeling.

 

By 6am, the bus got spat out of the Lincoln Tunnel and pulled into the Port Authority bus terminal. This was the last stop for this particular bus, so everybody had to get off and grab their luggage, regardless of whether NY was their final destination or they were making a transfer like I was. 

 

The Port Authority was its usual dim, dreary and sketchy self and I was immediately on guard as soon as I stepped off the bus to grab my luggage. A man came up to me and asked me if I was “all set” and where I was going. In the past, I'd had issues with men coming up to me at the Port Authority, trying to guide me to the right gate and then trying to extort money out of me for their help. So I was immediately on guard, but it turned out the man actually genuinely wanted to help me (I think he was working for Greyhound; at least, that's what I assumed). I said I was going to Boston and he told me Gate 84 was my gate and I checked and he was right … yes, it was genuine, no-strings-attached help and I was shocked by it. Maybe the Port Authority had changed. Maybe New Yorkers were a lot nicer now. Even once I found the gate, there was another gentleman who came up and asked me where I was going and he made sure I was at the right gate. Jeez, the people were so nice. Maybe New York had really changed for the better. Or did it???

 

The Port Authority bus terminal in NYC.

 

Just when I felt touched by the genuine help from good Samaritans, yet another gentleman—this one wearing a black stocking hat—came up to me and said, “Oh, you still goin, huh?” … meaning, “Oh, you still traveling, huh?” He said he had been on the bus with me and asked where I was heading and I said Boston and he said he was going to Maine. Then he asked if I smoked, I said 'no', and then he said “where's a brother gonna get somethin' to eat up in here?” and then I kind of just walked away from him. 

 

Flash-forward to ten minutes later. I sat down in a chair near the bus gate, started eating some Ritz crackers with peanut butter and then the same guy with the black stocking hat came back and sat in the chair right next to me. He resumed the conversation that I had walked away from about ten minutes ago and he asked why I was going to Boston. I said I lived just outside of there, and he said …

 

“Oh yeah, we doing a concert up there at the, uh, the, uh, TNC Center. Ya know that place?”

 

No, I hadn't heard of that place (because it didn't exist), but I said 'yes' because I was tired and I didn't really care about what he was talking about.

 

“Yeah, I'm a roadie. For Metallica. We doin' a concert up there.”

 

“Oh, really?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Then he changed the subject.

 

“Damn, ain't no places to eat up in here.”

 

“Yeah, isn't much.”

 

“Say, how about this: I'll watch your luggage and I'll give you a few bucks to go grab us somethin' to eat, ON ME.”

 

“Um … no, I'm all set. I have crackers here. I'm good.”

 

“Ok, cool, man. Hey, you have any small bills on ya? Can ya change a twenty? I just got big bills here.”

 

“No, I really don't have much cash on me.”

 

“I got twenty grand on me and I'm scared shitless.”

 

“Oh, cool.”

 

“How about loaning me ten or twenty bucks. I'll get ya back on the bus.”

 

“I don't have that.”

 

“How about ten?”

 

“Well …”

 

“Now, look, brutha,” he said in a stern tone of voice. “I'm not taking it. It's a loan. I'll get ya back on the bus. I'm goin' to Boston, see?”

 

He flashed his bus ticket real quick but not long enough for me to see what it said.

 

“Oh, ok, well …”

 

I took out my wallet and looked through my bills. I had a twenty, a five and maybe a one.

 

“See, I don't have much.”

 

He peered into my wallet and there was an eel-like leer on his face. The sight of cash seemed to make him salivate.

 

“Just like five or six dollars. It's a loan, now. I'll get ya back on the bus.”

 

“Um …”

 

“Three or four dollars.”

 

“Well …”

 

“Just a one, then. I'll get myself a soda. This is a loan.”

 

“I kinda need …”

 

“Hey, forget it, man,” he finally said, sounding aggravated.

 

And, with that, he got up and left to probably go harass somebody else. The sad thing is I actually came really close to giving him five or six dollars, because I was tired and didn't have my wits about me and he was very charismatic and worked me good on a psychological level. I also felt guilty and I thought maybe there really was a possibility that the dude was a nice guy who needed help. 

 

But I was wrong. He never got on the bus to Boston. He was lying about that and probably about everything else (I'm pretty sure there was no Metallica concert in Boston). He was just another Port Authority scam artist looking to take advantage of a weary traveler who didn’t know any better. I mean, I thought we had something special between us. But I was wrong. He was just like the rest of ‘em.

 

After the run-in with that scam artist, I decided the best thing to do was go over to gate 84 and wait in line with the other normal-looking people who were waiting to board the bus. There was still 20 minutes or so until the bus was due to depart (at 7am), but I figured it was safer to be near the normal-looking people than in the sitting area with all the scam artists. The 20 minutes went by really fast. I boarded the bus at 7am without a hitch and was happy to see that I was able to get a seat all to myself. Plus, the bus was a newer model and much nicer than the other ones I had rode on for the past 20 hours or so. The people headed to Boston were WAY more normal than the people headed from Columbus to Pittsburgh to Philly and New York. I felt much more comfortable with them. It was nice and quiet and I was able to get some good sleep on the way from New York to Boston.

 

I arrived at Boston's South Station, my final destination, at about 11:30am and I was so relieved to see the familiar city. For the first time during the whole trip, I felt “at home” and like I didn't really have to watch my back or my bags. I got a huge iced coffee from the Au Bon Pain and it was the most delicious coffee I ever had.

 

Home sweet home. The South Station bus terminal in Boston.

 

So, would I do it again? Take a Greyhound bus for a long-distance trip?

 

I would prefer not to, but—if desperate—I would do it again. It would have been better had I been doing it with somebody I knew, like a friend or a hot lover with a nice bawd (still thinking about your body, babe). Also, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to carry a pocketknife, even a small one, just in case there are drunken creep-shows keeping you awake on the bus late at night. Furthermore, be careful who you talk to at places like the Port Authority. New York scam artists are among (if not the most) skilled, crafty and charismatic out there. They put you under a spell, and they target tired-looking tourists with lots of luggage. Just tell anybody who talks to you to fuck off. I realize it's kind of a sad world when you can't even be friendly with people at a bus station, but that's the reality. If you show that you have a heart, you make yourself vulnerable and scam artists will take advantage of that. Absolutely tell any and all people to fuck off at the Port Authority, no exceptions. Do not be the least bit friendly.

 

So, would I recommend it to people?

 

Honestly, kind of … for the experience. But I must say that doing the Greyhound thing for MORE than 24 hours should be strongly reconsidered. Once I got to Boston, I was done. I'd had enough and couldn't take anymore. My legs hurt from cramping and I was worried that I had blood clots and would suffer aneurysms. Plus, you feel dirty and greasy from not showering. My teeth also felt mossy from not brushing them; I could have brushed them in one of the bus stations, but I chose not to because most of the bathroom sinks were too gross to be near for more than the three seconds it takes to wash hands. These sinks had phlegm-wads, whiskers, nose hairs and also pubic hair. How the latter hair gets into these sinks is beyond me, but—then again—pubic hair seems to find its way onto anything and everything in a public bus station bathroom; this is a general rule of thumb.

 

Overall, if you're into people-watching, taking a Greyhound definitely exposes you to some interesting characters, both on the bus and at the stations. You will observe a slice of the American population that you don't get to observe every day.

 

Now, it's possible you've read this little travelogue of mine after Googling “riding Greyhound buses long distances” and if you have, then happy trails to you and good luck if you've booked your Greyhound tickets. Make sure you sit next to somebody like an Asian gentleman wearing a suit because otherwise you may get stuck next to somebody who uses a trash bag for a suitcase or an alcoholic who likes to mess with people at 3:30am while everybody's trying to sleep. But whatever happens during the trip, at least you can officially say that you're “Greyhounding it, bahaby!” unless, of course, you get shot and/or stabbed, something that could potentially happen, in which case … well, I’m not sure “Greyhounding it” was really worth it after all. I mean, if the cost of “Greyhounding it” means your death, you may just want to take a plane.

 

…

 

MATT BURNS is the author of several novels, including Weird Monster, Supermarket Zombies!, The Woman and the Dragon and Johnny Cruise. He’s also written numerous memoirs, including Three Days in Hollywood, Bostonwood, GARAGE MOVIE: My Adventures Making Weird Films, My Raging Case of Beastie Fever and Jungle F’ng Fever: My 30-Year Love Affair with Guns N’ Roses. Check out these books (and many more) on his Amazon author page HERE.

 

 

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