What a difference a day makes.

The 12th Philadelphia Film Festival is only two days old, but I've already had more fun than a barrel of radioactive apes. Lawrence and I found horror, suspense, intrigue and indigestion wherever we went on Day 1, and we couldn't wait to see what Day 2 had in store. After the giddy thrill of writing the first Turf Warriors article wore off, I thought I'd need at least a few days to build up enough material for a sequel. Predictably, I was way off. As I should have already learned, Philadelphia is simply too diverse a place to allow a single day to go by without having something uplifting, annoying, fascinating or disgusting happen. Day 2 at the film festival was no exception. Let's watch!

The day began innocently enough, as I found myself at my trusty Ikea computer desk happily pecking out articles for Monsters At Play. A heavy knock on my apartment door rattled me, primarily because no one ever pulls the "pop in" on me. (And I have no friends.) It was my landlord's construction crew, and they were here to replace all of the windows in my apartment. I knew this was coming, but today? I was still in my jammies, for pete's sake! Well, whatever, they came in and over the course of the next three hours tore my apartment to shreds and then rebuilt most of it with new energy-efficient windows. The crew finally gets the hell out of my apartment around 4pm, and after the quickest shower of my life I hop on the street in search of a cab. I find one at 4th and Walnut.

Let me tell you something: Philly cabs are a great way to get around town, unless you're in a hurry. If you need to get somewhere fast, you're pretty much screwed unless you have a personal jetpack. And I sincerely doubt you do, so that brings you back to being screwed. Anyway, my cabbie's name was Lugosh or somesuch, and I surmised that he was Russian. He proceeded to talk on his cellular phone in his native language, but I kept hearing the word "Bush" repeated many times. He was either talkin' 'bout sweet poontang or he was having a taut political debate. Both are fine by me, though I always prefer the former. Or was it the latter? Ah, who knows. I'm on my way to see Beyond Re-Animator, I've got no time for semantics!

The ride goes smoothly until we hit, oh let's say 10th Street, where traffic summarily slows to a crawl. This is nothing new, at least on Walnut Street, but I'm annoyed nonetheless. The 28 block trip takes over a half-hour, which averages out to just over a minute per city block. After waiting on 37th Street for what seems like an eternity, I decide to take matters into my own hands by telling the cabbie to let me off at 38th Street. Shit, I can walk two blocks. I pay the $10 fare and exit the cab. Of course, the light turns green, the traffic completely dissipates, and the cab speeds off without me. "You win this round, Lugosh!" I yelled, shaking my fist in the air. I find that 40th Street has been blocked off for some outdoor ambient noise concert (which sounded fucking terrible, by the way), so I zip through the crosswalk and head into The Bridge: Cinema De Lux.

After scoring a ticket I meet up with Lawrence and good ol' boy John Barbetta inside the theater. They had already stopped by the now infamous McDonald's (dubbed "McDeath" by my friend Emily) for dinner, which saddened me because I hadn't eaten a thing all day. John came to my rescue, however, with a McChicken sandwich he had stashed in the pocket of his sweat jacket. And it was still warm, bonus. Lawrence offered to top it off with mayo (I smartly declined), but it was delicious just the way God made it. As I devoured the chicken-like food item, I was handed the camera and asked to snap a photo of my companions. The shot I took was horrendous, but unfortunately I wasn't allowed a retake, as a friendly neighborhood security guard informed us of the "no flash photography" rules of the theater.

I don't know if you've ever been to The Bridge: Cinema De Lux, but it's not exactly a conventional movie theater. Imagine if Steven Starr made a theater, and you have a pretty good mental image of The Bridge: Cinema De Lux. It's like the Continental of Philly movie houses. Anyway, there are absolutely no rules posted anywhere prohibiting flash photography, or anything else for that matter. There's no handbook, no pamphlet, no signage, no nothing. At least the guard was courteous enough to wait until I had snapped the photo. But whatever, I wasn't going to let some stupid shit like that dampen my enthusiasm. I was here to see Beyond Re-Animator!

All right, I might as well come clean: I've never seen Re-Animator. Or Bride of Re-Animator. Or anything else, for that matter. (Wait, scratch that last one.) I knew Lawrence was a big fan of the Re-Animator movies, and I remember the day when all those copies of the Special Edition DVD showed up at the Monsters At Play North American Headquarters. I probably should have borrowed the original film to prepare for the festival screening, but it unfortunately slipped my mind. I quickly forget all this as the VIP line starts to form in front of theater number two, the designated festival screen. The ushers motion for us to enter the theater, and then it happened: the festival's first act of terrorism.

A burly young man and his girlfriend hastily stepped in front of all the other horror nerds and members of the press and attempted to force their way into the theater. When asked for his VIP pass he responded not with a ticket, but by gettin' all up in that grill. If I were wearing a monacle I would have dropped it in horror! The ushers calmly tried to explain the rules of the festival, but the young man ain't havin' none a dat. Threats of calling the manager are ineffective against the player-hater, who brushes aside the ushers and enters the hizzouse. Amazing. It looks like we won't be needing Press Passes next year, because we can just barge right into any screening we want without having to buy a ticket.

After that unpleasantness, it's time to get down to business. Travis introduces director Brian Yuzna and actor Jeffrey Combs to a packed house, and then the movie begins. Lawrence has written a pretty thorough review for the film, but I wanted to make one observation here. The laboratory setups you see in sci-fi/horror films like Beyond Re-Animator are always so much more interesting than those in real life. As a pre-med student I worked my way through organic, inorganic and biochemistry lab sessions, and I never saw anything as crazy as what Dr. Herbert West was cooking up. No spiral tubes, no bubbling flasks, no radioactive liquids. Well, actually, one time I did make up a batch of fluorescent green fluid, which turned out to be caffeine.

After the screening is over (and after an entertaining Q&A session) we exit the theater and look for Brian Yuzna and Jeffrey Combs. Lawrence locates them and I hastily snap a photo for the archives, and then he pleads for a couple of autographs for his Re-Animator DVD covers. He has two covers, one for himself and one for Jeremy. Who is Jeremy, you ask? Good question. You see, Lawrence recently took a trip to East St. Louis to hang out with his "friends" from Wicked Pixel Cinema. Ever since he got back to Philly he's been going on and on and on and on about these folks, and Jeremy is one of them. He has a goatee and works with Emily Haack, that's about all I remember. Jeremy, if you're reading this, tell Emily she's the king.

We all left The Bridge: Cinema De Lux and rode the Blue Line back into town. John left the train at 30th Street, presumably to go hang out with much more interesting friends. I don't blame him. Lawrence and I stopped off at the Monsters At Play 3rd Street Stronghold to post some new articles to the web site. I chugged down a Welch's Sparkling Grape Soda and a pair of Rice Krispies Treats, while Lawrence went with his usual Vanilla Coke. Once finished we leave the office and head down 3rd Street towards the Ritz East. Once again, Coyote Ugly was packed to the rafters with slutty semi-professional women and drunken frat-boy-wannabe guys. I simply don't understand my fellow human beings, it seems.

As we arrive at the Ritz East we're thrilled to learn that we don't have to wait outside, so we park our keisters in the lobby. I spy Andrew Preis and congratulate him on his recent Philly Live appearance, then it's time to enter the theater. No shenanigans this time, thankfully. The film is Love Object, which will have reviews from both Lawrence and myself shortly. Director Robert Parigi is on hand, and it turns out he's a funny guy who loves talking about his film. He's got plenty of great stories to tell, though the Q&A session is almost marred by an idiotic frat guy. I'm saving the Golden Douchebag Award for later in the festival, so I'll refrain from whipping it out right now.

Robert is unphased by the idiotic question and promptly gives an honest, sharp response. He also zings his own movie by revealing the name of the inevitable sequel: Love Object 2: House of the Loving Dead. Damn, he beat us to it! We sadly didn't get the chance to snap a photo with him, but rest assured I was impressed with him and his film. Lawrence and I parted ways at 4th and Chestnut, and I walked home alone and exhausted. I saw nothing but fucking morons and goddamned idiots on the way to my apartment, leading me to conclude that Old City fucking sucks at night. Nothing but fucking fuckers as far as the eye can see.

Day 2 was packed with fun and adventure, and just enough edgy stories to fill this column. Keep it locked on Monsters At Play for more local flavor from in and around the 12th Philadelphia Film Festival. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got to go feed my radioactive ape.