Word: bohemian
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...pinch you can do this with a kazoo and a bullhorn) and some rock-climbing gear. Climb to the roof of your building and have a roommate lower you down to a position just outside your upstairs neighbors' window while they are sleeping. Then play and sing Queen's Bohemian Rhapsody ("Galileo! Galileo! Galileo! Figaro!" -that one) until the police come. Do this every morning until your neighbors buy a firearm, and your problem will be solved: You will soon be enrolled at another college or a state-run institution...
...from its last pile of ashes. Two of the key organizers quit last year after one young man died in the chaos and dust storm churned up by thousands of vehicles driving every which way on the roadless flats of Black Rock Desert. The karma of mayoring such a bohemian city was more than they bargained for. But Larry Harvey, a visionary in the classic sense of the word, is undaunted. "They told us it would fall apart at 1,000 people," he says. "Then at 5,000. But we could have a million people and still make...
...challenging not only by virtue of its grand themes but also because of its schizoid scenes and violent characters. Baal is the name of a fertility god, but this play, full of images of rotting food and flesh, charts the progression of an over-ripe and destructive appetite. The bohemian poet, Baal (Daniel Sussner '00), is an enormously charismatic man who desires to eat, fuck, experience and be everything, ultimately even death itself. He is forever yearning for the infinite "purple sky" and the "dark river" as he hurls himself through life. He despises the world of unctuous critics...
Writer Robert Clark was nothing I expected. The amiable man dressed in khaki cords, a trendy blue Henley, and a wholesome brown bomber jacket walking toward me was not the image I had formed from reading his introspective first novel, In the Deep Midwinter. Here was no disturbed bohemian artist or shy quirky man with a stammer, Robert Clark was startlingly normal...
...snowy beach I thought of an old friend who just got married to the wonderful woman with whom he had been living in perfect bohemian splendor for a dozen years, in a high Episcopalian ceremony so beautiful it took your breath away. And I thought of an old enemy and his new wife who are about to have their first child, and I wished them great happiness. I thought of other things I cannot name. Then I thought of my mother, 89, her once fine and witty mind assaulted by Alzheimer's but otherwise, and cruelly, in excellent health...