Wouldja lookit that? Twenty years at Rue Morgue this month. Twenty. Freakin’. Years. Two decades since my first appearance in RM#9, after cold-calling Rodrigo Gudiño and convincing him that he’d never build the world’s leading horror magazine without riding my coattails. Two decades, one full-length book, a dozen cover stories, over 120 columns, nearly that many features, about twenty Classic Cuts, hundreds of film and book reviews, and one measly Rondo Award. Beyond the printed page, toss in 80 pounds, seven home addresses, one change of city, six relationships (didn’t count the flings, but a single digit would probably suffice), one neardeath experience, two kiboshed addictions, six unproduced screenplays, ten jobs DJing in strip clubs, one band, three bass players, no children and no answers.
“Never mind that shit,” the…
