Word: couch
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...surprise inside the album is a fold-out photo of Olivia on a couch, staring wistfully into the camera with those same green eyes that adorn the front cover. For any other artist it wouldn't be fair to dwell on the nature of the record cover, but Olivia is a special case. There are no credits for any of the musicians and singers who back up Olivia on the 12 selections. But that doesn't mean that no one else besides Olivia gets recognition. Au contraire. The four credits on the cover mention her make-up person, her hair...
...single most desirable creature I have ever known?") and carefully italicized emphases. He tosses off one-liners (calling, for instance, his Aunt Sylvia "the Benvenuto Cellini of strudel") as if he has a stable of Borscht Belt writers churning out his material. On the psychiatric couch, Kepesh is a regular lie-down comic: "I cannot maintain an erection, Dr. Klinger. I cannot maintain a smile, for that matter...
McCurdy has the sense of humor of a leprachaun, and it pervades the team. One-liners seem almost to outnumber leglifts and situps at the main training cabin. Witness sophomore Reed Eichner, collapsed on the couch, his face screwed up in pain after a morning run that hit him harder than the others. "It's hot in here, h-o-o-o-t," Eichner moaned langourously...
Carter's suit coat is draped over the arm of the couch, the label up: "Hart Schaffner & Marx, A. Cohen & Sons, Americus, Ga." The walls ripple with impressionism. Behind his chair is Childe Hassam's Flag Day, and to his right another Hassam, Old House at Easthampton. Near the door, Niagara Falls plunges silently, a swirl of delicate blues and pinks in an oil by John Twachtman. Fronting the desk is a huge painting of Rosalynn and Amy from the days in the Georgia statehouse, simple, almost ethereal...
Bell leaned back, put his cowboy boots down gingerly on the table between the little puddles of methedrine. Two or three pills slid off the end of the table and hid under the ragged couch. Bell smiled; he patted the golden swirls in his boots and looked admiringly, like God, upon his handiwork. For almost an hour he had carefully counted out the little pills that would keep his central nervous system, if not his mind, ticking, ticking like a clock that would never wind down, at least not until March. Counted them out in piles of fives until there...