Word: armored
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Granted, the premise of Aias is funny in a sick sort of way. After Achilles becomes a casualty of the Trojan War, the Greeks honor the clever Odysseus (Thomas Hale), not the fierce but heroic Aias (Daniel Vilmure), with Achilles' armor. Snubbed, Aias swears revenge on the ungrateful Greeks, but in the madness of his rampage, slaughters not the Greeks but their sheep. All the gore happens offstage, except for one scene in which Aias' tent is so packed with bloody sheep car-casses that it looks like a meat locker...
...into marrying Pat De Cicco, an undercapitalized Hollywood playboy who is tall, dark and abusive. Eventually the search for daddy leads to Conductor Leopold Stokowski, 42 years her senior. Gloria also holds hands with Orson Welles and spends some wee, small hours of the morning with Frank Sinatra. The armor of such black, white and occasional gray knights is not deeply penetrated. Vanderbilt is more absorbed in her younger self, which she encases in a shell of hard, polished prose. It is a stylish, though distinctly cool, portrayal of the realities of a fairy-tale life...
Signs of battle scar the road from Basra to Baghdad as well. A dozen immobilized Iraqi tanks rest beside the highway, some with gaping holes in their armor, others mere burned-out hulks. The ruined tanks are a powerful reminder of U.S. arms sales to Iran. Iraqi Foreign Minister Tariq Aziz attributes his country's equipment losses largely to American shipments of TOW antitank and Hawk antiaircraft missiles to Tehran...
...hotel became a killing ground in the bitter, fierce struggle between two Syrian-backed groups, the Shi'ite Amal militia and a leftist coalition of Druze militiamen and fighters of the pro-Soviet Lebanese Communist Party. At midweek, after an all-night battle, the Druze, lobbing grenades and delivering armor-piercing rockets, stormed the hotel and drove the Shi'ites out. The floors and walls of the lobby were stained with blood, and gaping holes made by rockets scarred its walls. By the time the last guests and employees had fled -- none, miraculously, were hurt -- looters were already at work...
...what the hell are you doing here?" I asked, a hospitable gleam lighting up my cherubic face. The Dinosaur whirled, chains clanking softly against his leathery torso. A black leather coat--imbedded with steel plates and crusted with spikes--made up his armor; a gelled crest of blonde mohawk arced across his skull, calling to mind some genetically mutated stegosaurus. The Dinosaur...