Anthony Acri is a cartoonist and essayist who lives in a less fashionable suburb of Pittsburgh, pa. He was trained by priests and nuns and his own Italian kin a special respect for all things ancient and classical, which he strives to put in his work. A copy of a book on the Etruscans in 1984 and their cracked plaster preserved root cellars made his whole idea of art and time and science and truth switch from a oppressive Anglican American preoccupation with money and linear thought and cogs to a romantic ideal which he strives to amply put in his work, from newspaper strips to I,ooo page poly-novels. It is his hope, by hook or by crook, by magic or by dumb luck, to eventually bring this terrace filled humanism of Tuscan and Neapolitan artfulness and technique to the movie screen, where he thinks he will have to find a light variant for the Tuscan Red wax crayon which is his favorite implement.
He hopes eventually to find and perhaps marry a woman who resembles the italic goddess miss January 1981 in playboy, Patti Fairinelli, an italic American Minerva among the heinous blarney filled drunken Barbie’s, and who he doesn’t wish to turn into a brood mare, as is done by closet superstars in the Hollywood he eventually hopes to vandalize, someday.