Word: beeing
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...music almost everywhere is "disco sound": heavy back beat, uptempo, often with Big Band effects. Favorite artists are Barry White, Gloria Gaynor, Donna Summer, the Silver Convention, Maynard Ferguson, Shalamar, Marvin Gaye, the Bee Gees, the Isley Brothers, Jerry Butler-as well as Sinatra, Como and Glenn Miller. They are cunningly selected by the all-important disco jockeys who keep a hawk's eye on the floor and choreograph the dancers by changing the pace and style of the records and tapes. Says Chicago Disco Jockey Paul Weisberg: "I look around and get a feeling for the mood...
...encounter starts benignly as Alice reads a newspaper to her six-legged acquaintance. But the double-entendres soon begin. Whenever Alice encounters a creature, the reader can hear a pun drop. The wasp, for example, mistakes Alice for a bee because she has a comb. Typically, wordploy is incessant, and terror lurks just beneath the surface. At one point the wasp takes off his wig and stretches out one claw toward Alice "as if he wished to do the same for her." "The cutting off of hair," writes Gardner, "like decapitation and teeth extraction, is a familiar Freudian symbol...
...answer. When placed against his greatest rival, Frazier, Ali was not only the floating butterfly and the stinging bee, but also the brain versus the brawn. The same was true in the Ali-Foreman fight...
...fine. Click click click click click click click. Into that big brass bed of a back seat she came ... Cleopatra ... ravaged husbands ... headlines ... southern charm ... headlines ... diamonds ... bigger diamonds ... Farrah Fawcett-drip Majors and "One Million B.C." bosoms paled in comparison. She was The Queen Bee, the dream of very press photographer. And now here I was rising above the multitude of lenses to claim my prize. Almost instantaneously I straddled the fenders and lay prostrate on the firm hood of that convertible '58 Lincoln Continental. The picture was mine...
...camera along, because that kind of seeing is believing. Funny though, nobody else showed up. Just me and her in the middle of a wet Cambridge street. She undressed. Gone were the diamonds, the stories, the furs, the front page-photographs, the swirling masses, the beehive and the queen bee. Gone was the press event...