Bruce Campbell, �Make Love the Bruce Campbell Way�
Dear Bruce Campbell,
See? I didn�t call you �Ash,� which I know you hate. I know you hate it from reading your books, since you mention that in this one, as well as your autobiography, If Chins Could Kill. That�s right, I actually read them. In fact, I bought both of them brand new.
I don�t know if you realize how much of a complement this is, Mr. Campbell. I work in a used bookstore, or at least I will for another three days. I don�t purchase books new. I could easily have been patient, your book would eventually get sold to the store (we�ve had at least fifteen copies of your first book), and I would have saved at least fifteen bucks.
You don�t have anyway of knowing this, Bruce (may I call you Bruce? It�s not easy for me to stay formal), But I�m a cheap bastard. There are few things that I buy new, and yet I�ve bought several things off the shelf that were related to you and your Evil Dead movies. The video games. The action figure, both in the small and large version. The videos. The T-shirts. In fact, Evil Dead 2 was the very first video I ever bought. I bought these things new because otherwise you wouldn�t receive any royalties, and I wanted you to be compensated.
I did this consciously, because I can�t begin to describe how much pleasure I received from watching the Evil Dead series. It goes all the way back to when Evil Dead 2 was first released in the theaters. I asked my first real girlfriend I ever had to do see this with me. We were turned away at the door because we weren�t old enough, but we rented it as soon as it came out on video and laughed our asses off. Now, that movie is almost like a compatibility test with me. Three out of the four women I truly loved watched that with me, and watched it early in our budding relationship.
They all loved it, by the way.
I almost hate to use this as an example, but you put a fan letter in your first book that summed up my feelings so perfectly that it seems futile to try and put it in my own words. That letter had a fan describing how no matter how bad his day was, he could at least take comfort that somebody had one that was worse, even if it was just in a movie.
I can relate. I�ve had bad days as well, but hey � at least I never had to hack up my girlfriend with a chainsaw.
It�s from that little thought that I�ve always rooted for you. That�s why I go ahead and shell out the extra bucks. And it�s not like I keep pining away for a new Evil Dead sequel. I loved you in The Hudsucker Proxy. When you showed up for your cameos in the Spider-man movies, I had to restrain myself from letting out a cheer, though you couldn�t suppress my huge grin.
So what I�d like to know, Bruce, is a rather simple: Why do you hate me?
Both times that I bought your book, you were making a signing appearance. That wasn�t the incentive for paying the new prices, it was more like killing hookers in Grand Theft Auto � it doesn�t get me anything special, it�s just more like a perk.
Getting to meet you in person was, for me, quite the perk. And I�m sure I did the fanboy faux pas, when I collected all the videos and paraphernalia for that first signing. But this signing was in San Francisco, and you know how parking is there, right? Once we walked up the hills for blocks upon blocks, only to discover that you would only sign one other item in addition to the book, there really wasn�t anything I could do but continue to cradle all the items in my arms.
Since I had all these things with me, I figured it wouldn�t hurt to ask. That�s something my mom taught me, though I�ve since amended that statement with �Unless they kick you or something.� When I reached your table, I asked if it would make me a major prick if I tried to get you to sign more than one thing.
In case you�ve forgotten, your response was, �Yeah, it would.�
Which is fine. What kind of Ash... sorry, Bruce Campbell fan would I be if I weren�t prepared for a smartass remark from you? What I did find odd, however, was that you then launched into a speech about how long the line was, and there were lots of people waiting, and it�s not really fair to them. And that�s all true. But after leaving the line, I realized that you spent more time talking about how you couldn�t sign other items than it would have taken to sign said items.
So the second time around, when you were in the town that shares your last name I bought your book � again, new � and so far ahead of time that I was given priority placement in line � number 113, if I remember correctly. I knew better this time, and only bought one other item � the chainsaw from the large action figure.
I watched as the guy in front of me who had somehow finagled himself in line without a pass had you sign a DVD of the first Evil Dead movie, along with a remaindered copy of your first book. In other words, a book you received no royalties from. And then it was my turn.
I sat down next to you and said hi. I figured you had enough of stupid questions and uncomfortable picture taking sessions, so I was trying to give you an experience that was quick and easy.
Dirty.
I handed you my copy of the book and the chainsaw. �Oh wait,� you said, �I�m afraid this is a one or the other kind of thing, so which would you like me sign for you?� Then, instead of signing either, you called over an aide to ask if you were allowed to sign more than one thing.
I�m not stupid, Bruce, I just dress that way. I watched you as you signed multiple items for several people in front of me. I listened as you posed leading questions, getting the aide to take the heat for you not writing your three-letter scribble on more than one thing of mine. And again, you took more time talking about how you couldn�t sign more than one item than it would have taken to actually sign them, so don�t try to make me or the poor confused aide out as the bad guy.
So I had you sign the book. While in line, the woman asked if I would like a personalized signature, and I wrote: �Dean � I�m afraid I�m going to have to ask you to leave the store.�
And you complained that I was asking for a research paper.
Ok, Bruce, I�m sorry. I�m sorry I�ve monopolized your time by not asking for the simple �Groovy� line. In any case, feeling more than a little dejected, I went and drank big fucking Newcastles and then returned to see your directorial debut for The Man with the Screaming Brain.
And this is how nice a guy I am, Bruce: When the film was over and you asked if we had any questions, I didn�t ask, �How long are we supposed to forgive crap like this because of three movies that were more than 20 years ago?�
But I thought it.
I think I�m done being concerned over your pay cuts. I mean, your newest book was all right, and it did make me chuckle several times, but it certainly wasn�t worth the $25 bucks I paid for it, even considering the perk of having you write 12 words on the flyleaf.
But hey, at least I still haven�t had to cut my girlfriend up with a chainsaw. So thanks once again.
Though the truth is, I don�t have a girlfriend. I guess the analogy doesn�t really work for me anymore.
