My life as a B-Master has settled into a 6-month cycle of travel planning. As soon as one festival is over, it's time to start planning for the next one. As a sculptor might approach a block of marble, so do I set about my agenda for the next six months: the broad cuts give way to smaller slices, which in turn become fine chipping: the details are filled in as I get closer to the event. So when the New Orleans Worst Film Festival ended in mid-June of 2000, my thoughts turned to B-Fest in 2001.

These events have become dear to me. Like the "Dixie Trek" sci-fi conventions of my childhood in Atlanta, these annual b-movie festivals (conveniently scheduled about half a year apart) are a homecoming of sorts, a chance to meet with new friends and old who "get it." They're also great opportunities to promote one's b-movie related web site; Scott and I couldn't ask for a more concentrated audience of potential visitors, to whom we give door prizes and promotional plastic cups emblazoned with our logo in the hopes of scoring a few more loyal readers.

How could I not attend?

Scott and Jeff "Filmboy" Stanford opted to remain behind this year, which was a disappointment to me and the other B-Masters who attended, but pesky job obligations can intrude on our lives at the worst of times. So without my trusty pack mules, I boarded the plane to Chicago that Friday morning to meet those who would endure the marathon of pain.

The morning did not start out well; burdened with technological recording gear and the necessities of B-Fest life (sleeping bag, warm clothes, a new flashlight, etc.), I managed to take a spill in the St. Pete airport parking lot, wiping out on the tarmac. Fortunately the lot was empty at 6 a.m., so I didn't get run over by a passing vehicle, but I did bust the clasp that holds the scratch cover on my new Handspring Visor, which was in my pocket. A minor, cosmetic detail that didn't affect its functionality, but still a bummer that meant I'd have to be more careful in handling it. The good news was that I was unhurt and I'd managed to provide my wife Christina with some pre-dawn entertainment.

Magyar gets his close-up.

After snoozing the flight away, I met Chris "Tuber" Magyar in Midway airport's baggage claim and shortly thereafter we were joined by E. Mark "Skip" Mitchell, an old college friend who writes for Opposable Thumb FIlms and who also happens to live in Chicago. Chris was nearly exhausted, having gotten up at 4 a.m. Denver time to catch his flight. Skip thoughtfully herded us through the Chicago El train system and the snowy streets of his neighborhood to his apartment. There we caught up on some rest and I finished writing the review of Frankenstein Must Be Destroyed, which Scott and I had prepared in the hopes of posting a review of an actual B-Fest film during B-Fest. Fate thwarted us in our efforts, but more about that later.

Joining us for lunch and the festival was Skip's friend Jennie, who was not only a Stomp Tokyo fan but also planned to attend the full 24 hours of B-Fest. This is a rare woman, folks; there aren't many women at all at B-Fest, and most of them are either on staff or accompanying their boyfriends and husbands with bewildered looks on their faces. Talking to Jennie and realizing that she was both familiar with the B-Masters and also ready to go the distance warmed my heart. Adding to the delight was the fact that she allowed us to all pile into her car and drove us to Norris, braving some terrifying Chicago traffic in the snow.