It was like any normal Wednesday evening. Having recently emerged from bed, I was gearing up… It was like any normal Wednesday evening. Having recently emerged from bed, I was gearing up for another stimulating evening of bourbon, philosophy and ESPN.

Then the phone rang.

It was my A’E editor. “Dan, how soon can you get Downtown?”

Certain that he’d been jailed, I asked, “What have you done this time, you degenerate swine?”

“Our writer couldn’t make it to the ‘Land of the Dead’ premiere and I need someone to get down there, stat!”

He didn’t really say “stat.” I just dig that word.

“My time is more valuable than you know, Derek, but I’m your man. I still owe you for Rio de Janeiro anyway. What are my instructions?”

“Just get down there and find someone who looks like he knows what’s going on. And wear something nice.”

“That’s it? I’m no reporter, man! I don’t know these things!”

“Just wing it.”

I hopped into the Batmobile. A quick detour through the Hill District and 20 minutes later, I was at the Byham. Peering past the teeming mass of Pittsburgh glitterati, I saw that it was swarming with zombies.

“Damn it,” I thought. “Zombies! They’ll devour me for sure. I need an alternate route in.”

I mustered up the courage to waltz right in on the red carpet, collecting a smattering of quizzical looks from onlookers, and even a couple of snaps from the photo pit. I was dressed well.

Approaching the first person who looked stressed out enough to be in charge, I hit the jackpot.

“Ma’am, I’m with The Pitt News. I’ve been brought in because of an emergency situation. I realize that I am not on your list, but I’ve got my press ID and I demand to be shown to the buffet.”

“Follow me.”

She escorted me down the red carpet to the press pit, where they keep nebby journalists penned up and waiting with baited breath for the stars of the day.

“Stand here.”

The card on the floor before me read “The Pittsburgh Daily News.”

“Close enough,” I thought, thinking that if the real reporter from the Daily News showed up, I’d knock him out furtively with ninja-like skills and steal his identity for the evening. Times like this require a sort of Machiavellian mercilessness.

Standing wedged between Post-Gazette and NPR reporters, something suddenly occurred to me: I had no idea what to do now. Oh, I’d brought my little notepad and pen, but that was mostly just because I thought people wouldn’t believe I was a reporter without them. If I’d had a fedora on hand, I’d have gone with that, too.

I turned to the nice NPR lady. “Can I ask a silly question?”

Another puzzled look. “Uh, sure.”

“What the hell do I do now?”

She laughed. “You’re an intern, aren’t you?”

“No,” I replied. “I’m actually the managing editor. I’ve just never written for news before or covered an event, really.”

Now she looked even more confused. “How on earth did you become managing editor without ever having to be a reporter?”

Lady, it’s a long story.

After a few moments of chitchat, she informed me that my best bet would be to bark questions at celebrity passers-by and hope that they took me seriously enough to talk to me.

No pressure.

Not long after, I was standing face-to-face with Quentin Tarantino. No kidding.

Few people know what an imposing figure this man is. He’s approximately 16 feet tall, with a wingspan of a little more than a half mile. And he likes to stand really, really close when he talks to you.

Mustering the best question I could pull out of my ass in an overwhelmingly hectic situation, I asked, “What does a young director like yourself owe to the work of George Romero?”

He dug it. He’s a film geek, and he sensed the force in me as well.

Addressing the top of my head, he began in his trademark nasal drawl, “He’s really sort of the godfather of indie filmmaking. Just, you know, doing everything yourself, having total independence. I’d say he’s America’s greatest regional filmmaker, too. Just his independence, his artistry that he brought to the craft are awesome.”

When my NPR friend asked him to sum up Romero’s career in one word, he got a bit of a bemused, nerdy look of fondness in his face and said, “Oh, gosh. Fabulous!”

Then, a roar erupted from the photo pit, and I knew what was coming. The Man. The Myth. The Godfather of Indie.

Totally opposite of Tarantino’s zealous intensity, George Romero looks like he might just fall right the hell over from laid-back relaxation at any time. That he could break into a nap at the drop of a hat. His disarming charisma and easygoing friendliness make you think of your grandpa, as if he’s only moments away from asking you to have a seat on his favorite recliner, have a Werther’s Original and listen to him tell you how great the ’60s were.

“Mr. Romero! I’m a big fan.”

“Nice to meet you, son.”

“What do you think of the state of horror in Hollywood today?”

“Well, I don’t see too much innovation going on. It seems like they’re really just trying to scare someone. I mean, when you’ve got the idea ‘Watch this video and it’ll kill you’ and nothing else, that’s not enough. There are no underlying socio-political messages. There’s no allegory.”

“And do you think there’s a future for the Pittsburgh film industry?”

“Oh, I sure hope so. You know, I’ve made, what, 14 films … and unfortunately, I’ve had to take the last two out of the country, not just the city. But I like to see what people like Steel Town are doing to try to promote the industry, to try to help out younger filmmakers in the area.”

When asked what it was like to return to Pittsburgh, he said, “It’s been a bit of a whirl. It’s wonderful, though, to be able to get back here. So many people here tonight played such an important role in the earlier work that I did, I’m glad to have the opportunity to have them all be involved in this, get a little piece of the action, so to speak.”

Shortly after, a horde of zombies attacked the lobby, and we were ushered by the walking dead into the screening where, amid great fanfare, Allegheny County Chief Executive Dan Onorato declared June 22, 2005, George A. Romero Day in Allegheny County. Romero spoke about the film and was received with no fewer than 56 standing ovations from the electrified crowd.

Two hours and a myriad of frights later, the swarm of the undead would descend upon Deja Vu in the Strip District for the after-party …