The Smithee Awards

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Smithee XXII! LIVE! AT YOU! IN! 3! D!

Get ready for a Xtra Xtra Ingeniously Irreverent Smithee Year, for in a few short weeks the Smithee XXII tour starts. Oh yes, Smitheeites, we’re back, we’re bold, we’re full of tinier films! Wait…that didn’t come out quite right. While I rework my promotional spiel, please browse these fine locations soon to be hosting a Smithee XXII ceremony near you:

March 29-31 ConBust
Friday, March 29th, 7pm 106 Seeley Hall
Northampton, Massachusetts

April 13
Ann Arbor, Michigan
7pm, 1800 Chem Building

April 26-28 Penguicon
Friday, April 26th, 8pm - 1am
Salon B
Pontiac, Michigan

June 12-16 Origins Game Fair
Friday, June 14th. 7pm to Midnight
(Room TBD - Stay tuned for more details!)
Columbus, Ohio

**THIS JUST IN**
According to Origins, Day Passes will get you into the Smithees. They also say Day Passes will be on sale Saturday so those of you who purchase Day Passes for the Smithees, remember to come back in time to Friday after you purchase your pass on Saturday.

Your Friendly Neighborhood Promotions Ninja
-JQ

Remembrances of Shows Past

I remember sitting in my garden in Paris, taking a bite of a haggis-flavored madeleine, and reflecting on Massachusetts in late March. I attended a wonderful event there, and ... (the screen goes all wavy due to flashbacks) ...

Suddenly I was snapped back to the present by a sense memory from the future of the past which it is! Those haggis-flavored madeleines taste terrible.

And yet, presently, there must again come to us a census, a sense that our senses might censor (or even censure) their sensory input, in order to deprive us of the depraved perversity (if not outright perverseness) inherent within ourselves, without ourselves, and without the sense of self-preservation that God in his infinite wisdom has given to even the smallest mollusk and marshallow peeper.

The girl next door, when we were children together, would bring me marshallow animals crafted by her mother, chickens and bunnies and ducks of a springtime, cats and pumpkins and turkeys in the fall. Even as I look across my garden, I see her leaving to deliver a plate of these delicacies, confectionaries from the same recipe as her mother's, hips swaying as she walks seductively toward her pink Vespa, yet still with the blush of youth to her cheeks, as she gestures to the callow youths hanging from their windows and calling down suggestions which are lively -- if anatomically unlikely.

I raised a glass of Russian rye-bread-with-raisins soda to my lips, and my mind soared backwards into the past, as I thought of the last time that I tasted marshallow creatures on a crispy bed of rice and bound with the most leathery of fruits ... (and again the screen goes wavy to signal the flashback) ...

A sound rouses me from my reverie. It is a gagging, retching noise. It is my own gagging, retching noise. Russian rye bread with raisins must never be carbonated again, as it is a sin against God and man and the demiurges which shepherd us from place to place like the baleful sheep of legend, the demon sheep of yore.

Thus was I thrust into a despondency so bare, such despair beyond compare that it took nearly a fortnight for my recovery.

The fortuitous discovery of a pair of fishnets entwined with a pair of fish nets were responsible for this miraculous return from the land of the sombre and the ombre, from the umbra of the underlying aura as it were, back into the land of light and flowers and very small boys wearing comically oversized trousers.

The stocking reminded me of the days when my father would take me to a country stream, not the Seine of course, no one sane would sieve the Seine, rather to a small serene scene where the water trickled along playful rocks like a bag of oranges in seven-inch heels falling down a flight of stairs, and the men lined the shore, trolling for fish while wearing the colorful local lingerie costume, bustier, fishnets, and heels.

This was brought forcefully home to me when reminiscing upon my recent visit to Dearborn, borne dearly within my memory, deeply residing within the song of my heart, when I remember those days with my father, catching the fish as they climbed the ladder of his stockings.

Steins and T-Shirts and Mugs -- Oh, My!

And tote-bags, too! At long last, we have a version of the long-awaited T-Shirt storefront! A selection of Smithee Awards merchandise is ready for your perusing and purchasing pleasure right here at CafePress. Choose from a variety of items--such as T's, sweats, mugs, tank-tops, jerseys, track suits, and more--in a variety of styles, all emblazoned with a new, snazzy, and stylized logo cooked up by our own Matthew Quirk. Now you, too, can wear the same shirts as the Smith-ka-teers (well, perhaps not the same ones, although some of us might let you) and join us as we yell, "I Stayed Up To Watch The End of THIS?"