The Rembis Report Rides Again - Volume XXXVI

I am growing pumpkins.

Well, technically, they are growing themselves. But I planted the seeds, so they are mine. I am responsible for their lives. If they sprout. Which I hope they do because the pumpkin flower is a beautiful, fuzzy, orange monster that looks like an escapee from a horror flick. I want them to grow. I saved the seeds from last Halloween, kept them cool and moist, and placed them in sandy soil in my front yard, perfectly timed with the new moon, which according to farm lore, is an excellent time to sow.

If I am lucky, and they sprout and grow, next fall I will have pumpkins, ripe for picking. I will eviscerate them into Jack O'Lanterns and the circle of gourd life will be complete.

I know you were not expecting to see this.

Some of you will find this correspondence to come as quite a surprise, maybe even a shock. Others may have already placed it into their spam folders and will never know what it says. For those who have stuck with it this long - thank you! It is nice to be welcomed onto your computer screen.

So why are you here, Mike?

I see you like to get right to the point. Let me tell you -

Faster, faster. We haven’t got all day!

Okay, I’m getting to it, so please bear with me.

You are on my mailing list because we have communicated in the past. We may have worked together someplace, perhaps briefly, maybe for several years. You may know me as an acquaintance in your career as an actor, writer, director, cinematographer, graphic artist, musician, or any related creative field.

You may recognize my name from somewhere in your past, and you may not be able to place it, but if you do not, I assure you, we have met one way or another. What is important is that you made an impression on me. It was enough of an impression that after whatever brief encounter we had, online or in the flesh, you stayed with me, and I am honored to know you. Everyone on this list is important to me. I follow you on Facebook, I look at your Instagram posts, I read your tweets, and if you have a blog, I read those too. If you have written books, I have probably read them. If you have placed videos on YouTube, or are in movies or short films, I have probably watched them. If you are a musician, I have your albums. Everyone, I like what I have seen and heard, so keep it coming. In one way or another, I know all of the 243 contacts on this mailing list, and you know me.

If I have still not jogged your memory, we may have sold advertising or worked someplace else together, or you were one of my customers, or we met at a film festival in Clearwater or in Cannes, or maybe we went to grade school together.

Now, I am sure some of you wonder about the subject of this email being The Rembis Report - Volume XXXVI.

That is curious. Where are the other thirty-five volumes and why didn’t I get them?

Excellent question, friends. For those who recognize the title - The Rembis Report - you were on the mailing list from 2006 - 2009 when I wrote those issues. Then I shut down that newsletter and went on hiatus. I got busy and had many other things to do. Sorry for not keeping in touch. For the last thirteen years, my dear sweet wife Ellen, and I have been in Clearwater, Florida. We did a bit of traveling around the USA, I created The Clearwater Film Festival and ran that for two years, I sold funerals and cemetery properties, I drove a taxi, I hosted karaoke, I planned some weddings, I monitored sinkhole restoration, I sold even more advertising for a while, and now I work at the Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission. With all that excitement going on, a newsletter just wasn’t on my agenda for a while.

Now it is.

While I am not exactly picking up where I left off, and it is by no means a Part II, it is a continuation of sorts, in that, I will now present upcoming editions through Revue via Twitter, so that anyone may read them.

But Mike, Mike, Mike, Mike - what have you got to say that is so important? That I should spend my valuable time reading your (albeit probably brilliant) “newsletter”?

What haven’t I got to say?

Friends, I have done and witnessed so much that I feel it necessary to share. That’s all. I offer an observation of the world like none other. This is strictly for amusement, mine and yours. A challenge to write and be read.

Unlike the initial Rembis Report, where I committed to writing monthly for two years and ended up doing so for three, this edition will not be as modest. Back then I sent letters once a month. I am now going to strive for a weekly edition. I find that as daunting as you may find it repugnant, but still, that’s the plan.

The goal here is to entertain. To offer you a front row seat to what’s going through my mind, as I see the world around me, my take on current events, reviews of television shows, movies, and books, and how they all mash together to glimpse a perspective you may not otherwise enjoy.

As far as a commitment to how long it will last, I suppose setting the same goal, two years, is reasonable. That would mean (let me do some quick math - 52 weeks in a year, once a week, carry the 4, not from not equals not, times 7, minus government holidays) holy carp, that’s like a hundred newsletters!

Let’s see if I can do it.

Since this is my first mass email in years, I did my best to make this the most professional looking spam I could since I couldn’t get any Russian hackers to help because they are all too busy doing who knows what these days. In future issues I plan to cover a treasure trove of topics, like how to convince telephone solicitors that you are too dangerous to call again, why there are so many different types of pizza, the best ways to keep yourself entertained without looking at a phone, and so much more. But please don’t hit the spam button. This really is more personal than that. It is my honor to bring you these missives and I hope you will stay subscribed, however, if you feel this is not right for you there is a button right below where you may quit while you're ahead.

But if you want to know what happens to the pumpkin seeds, stick around.