bf: (slow smile) what? me: nothin 🙂 me, internally: but was “reservoir dogs” actually meant to be that gay? the moony eyes, the first names, the hair combing, the shakespearean bloodbath, the tender cradling, the tortured deathbed confession. is tarantino capable of that kind of emotional sensitivity? even if he didn’t intend it, does it matter? can’t we assign meaning outside the intention of the artist? maybe the issue is not with tarantino, but with myself. am i ascribing homosexual undertones to a fundamentally paternal relationship, does my confusion about the nature of the interactions between mr. white and mr. orange reveal not only my own problematic expectations for “normal” male interactions, but the uneasy role of the Father in our society? truly the patriarchy confounds at every turn
A Metal tube passes through the sleeve into the costume, holding the body up with a platform or harness hidden inside his coat and pants! There’s a wide solid frame under the carpet that prevents tilting over. 9 years of engineering school and work has finally prepared me for this
EY FATTY BOOM BOOM 