The Price is Fright
I am a life-long fan of Vincent Price. I remember watching his movies on Saturday and Sunday afternoons when I was a kid. I saw House of Wax several times and, similar to my responses to Gene Simmons, I was both fascinated and terrified by him. While in New York City this past weekend, I bought three of Price's movies - including House of Wax (other two: The House of Usher and The Pit and the Pendulum). I watched it again for the first time since grade school and it was just as good as I remember. In fact, it's even better now because I am a lot more in tune with the camp factor. My uncle once told me that he met Vincent Price on the (then) SMU campus in North Dartmouth. He couldn't believe how tall he was. I was always very jealous of that.
When I was young, my big aspiration was to become a horror movie make up artist. I even remember borrowing books from the library on the subject. When I was in high school, I made a life-sized Freddy Krueger from the ground up and I created a lot of props for a Halloween party I had recently, but, sadly, these are the only times in which I dabbled in it. Not a lot of opportunities these days, you know? I hesitate to make stuff without a purpose for fear that, if I am ever wrongfully accused of murder, all of my macabre handiwork could be used as evidence against me. That and all the horror movie soundtracks I've downloaded from iTunes. I've also got Skinny Puppy, Dead Can Dance and some other scary sounding shit. Making latex body parts and vampire heads could really tip the waiter. Being in the wrong place at the wrong time, particularly if the result is being accused of a crime I didn't commit, is one of my greatest fears. I also fear walking over some bridges. And being pushed into subway tracks.
Glad the Yankees lost yesterday. Thank you, Blue Jays. Wait, it's just "Jays" now, right?
Burma has been on my mind quite some these days. First of all, we were supposed to go see Mission of Burma at the new ICA (built in the general area of the old Channel) on Sunday evening. I don't think that Jere really cared, but it would have been a treat for me. I've never seen them live. We missed the show because, at the last minute, I really needed to eat a clam roll at this place near his parents' place in East Haven, CT. The plan was to shoot over to the ICA after getting back to Mass. Who knew it would take so long to fry up a few clams? It was a damn good clam roll, so I am not complaining.
Anyway, and more importantly, there is a lot of stuff going on in Burma (now known as Myanmar). As f'd up as things can get living in the United States, imagine living in a place where dissent is strictly prohibited. Not even peaceful marching is allowed. Or fraternizing with protesters, Horrible.