Word: couched
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...will try just about anything--short of giving up our overeating, couch-potato habits. Just three weeks ago, a U.S. Department of Agriculture researcher presented a fat substitute made from the hulls of oats, corn and soybeans. If it is remotely palatable, it is sure to sell. History suggests, however, that it won't make much difference. Despite the arrival of Olestra last winter, despite NutraSweet and 1% milk, despite an estimated $33 billion spent every year on diet books, over-the-counter medications, health-club memberships and low-calorie foods, the flab still remains, entrenched solidly on waists, hips...
...muster up genuinely powerful emotions. In a play running at normal speed, he's still stuck moving in 33 RPM. The only real life he shows in all of the first act appears when Pat gives him an overzealous shoulder massage, making him bounce up and down on the couch during his monotonous monologue. What a pity that the life he possesses in this scene is drawn entirely from another person's action...
...this a couch spud's dream or a sports purist's nightmare? Actually, it's the latest twist in the increasingly sophisticated world of sports advertising: an electronic-imaging "occlusion" technology developed by New Jersey-based Princeton Video Image that replaces real ballpark billboards with customized computer-generated signs visible only to selected folks back home...
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a f----ing big television...Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows...Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, f----ed-up brats that you've spawned to replace yourselves...But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life. I chose somethin' else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin...
...afterdeck of a dismasted sloop, adrift and rudderless in the deep Caribbean blue. Enormous sharks circle the boat. Their ominousness is reinforced by the zone of black water from which they rise. (The catalog, rather absurdly, suggests that celibate Homer was invoking that hoary phantom of the Freudian couch, the vagina dentata. This could make sense only to an art historian who has never been near a live shark.) On the horizon, a square-rigger sails indifferently by, and we see the waterspout of a coming tornado. There will be no rescue. The painting refers back to other images...