While I was at the store the other day, what should be sitting there begging for attention but the dvd of The Illustrated Man. I brought it home to see if I could revive the magic. It had always had a spot with several other creepy films in my head that had left a mark on me.
Watching it as an adult, it's easy to see that what scared me as a youngster was much different from what scared me about it now. Then, it was the fact that the blank untattooed spot on Rod Steiger's back had the power to show you how you would meet your end, now, it's the bad acting and shudder inducing realization that someone had to spend a lot of time painting those illustrations on Rod's ass.
Returning to my most recent opera post (see below) and finally hitting instead of again, I decided to check in on Keith Kennedy again. In another of those blushes of coincidence, he's just brought up the subject of tattoos again and also mentioned a white Russian. Isn't it funny that I've just declared (cold) war on them again?
If I was a man waiting for a sign, I might think it was time for a new