It could be some kind of cosmic pulse that vibrates at a frequency only I pick up. Perhaps others feel it too? Whenever I see the image of Nicole Kidman – be it in moving picture form on my television or in the movie theater, or be it in one of her patented, pouty, pale poses (that’s four “P” words in a row, folks) on the cover of a magazine at the supermarket – the same phrase, instinctively, belts loose from my mouth: “Holy bitch — What the hell is this shit?”
