No wonder I like Anthony Perkins so much. Not only did he have two Siamese cats as pets (according to my extensive "if you read it online, it's gotta be true" research, this is either Banjo or Pansy), but he kicked butt in On the Beach, the film version of the Nevil Shute book that scared the sh*t out of me when I first read it.
I can't be the only kid who had recurring nightmares about nuclear war. No bombs ever went off in these dreams, it was more like me trying to navigate through the smoldering staircase of a falling building, no one around and I'm just trying to get home to feed the cats. I was moved, and confused (atoms that turn everything to ash?), enough to read all I could (bad idea), but at least I acted on it. My first protest--walking past Town Pond in East Hampton with my friends Petra and Mike carrying a sign that read "Students Against Shoreham" and demanding the editor of the local paper take our photo. Yes, there were only 3 of us, and we probably would have been taken more seriously if we weren't laughing, but it was a start. Only way to grow big balls is to start with teeny ones.