Word: cladding
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...other conveyances) spreading their blankets, unpacking their Frisbees, getting one toke over the line and window-shopping the small army of pushcart food vendors already in business. There are shishkebab carts, doughnut-and-apple-juice carts, organic-bread carts and, later, one kimono-clad Occidental mixing onions, ground beef, celery and sweet peppers in a charcoal-fired wok (yummy). Suddenly, from behind a 20-ft.-high wall of amplifiers, one of the six bands strikes up "Keep on rockin' me, baby," rattling windows and dental work blocks away. Slowly and unobtrusively, Director Forman's talent scouts circulate through...
...evening's entertainment for a Tokyo businessman starts with a lavish dinner accompanied by endless cups of sake served up by kimonoed geishas. Then the host takes his client to a series of the best of the capital's 80,000 bars and nightclubs. There obliging Cardin-clad hostesses keep the cups brimming with mizuwari (whisky and water). Around midnight the hostesses help their staggering patrons on with their coats and send them off to start another day of more of the same...
California Girls (NBC). A bikini-clad comedy about two 18-year-old girls who want to be lifeguards. One, sarcastic with a good body; the other, a free spirit, well tanned and not unattractive...
...Fiddler on the Roof. The music was good: Broadway showtunes that would have made Lawrence Welk. The dancing was good; a guy did a somersault and knocked over the only flat on the stage. The singing was good; the show's high point definitely came when the cast, clad as a group of marauding "hippies," ventured, dancing, into the audience, singing a song ("Let the Sunshine In") from Hair. All week long in Mather House, you couldn't sit by the windows because the show had taken up the space in front of them to use as wings; the back...
...bring me down, but you can't destroy this union--because we can close this country down!!" Stallone tells the almost laughably arrogant Senator Steiger, the quality of whose "evidence" is matched only by the quality of his overblown, obnoxious performance. You can't really blame the hairpiece-clad Andrew Madison (Andrew Madison??), however, for lighting into a union with the provocative name of F.I.S.T., can you? When Kovak exhorts the men: "It ain't a bunch of letters like any other union. It says fist. One fist! That's what we are!" they respond with a spontaneous display...