Word: creep
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...Moratorium buttons worn by my date and I, shouting to her fellow pre-noon cocktail party imbibers, "Oh, not another one this week": tow short-haired mid-fortyish couples in the station wagon next to my car, upon seeing my comb my beard. remarking, "Take a look at that creep, will...
Rachel met Katie shortly after that affair ended. "Gradually there was definitely a growing feeling," she recalls. "When I realized it, I was very upset. I didn't want to be gay. When I first went to a psychologist, I thought, 'Gee, I'm such a creep!' I thought that being in love with a girl made me a boy. He told me that I most certainly was not a boy. I couldn't erase the fact that I loved another woman, but I began thinking that as long as I was a woman...
...cameraman in Medium Cool is supposed to be. A man whose mind is completely in the hands of the film he shoots-a man who lives the values of the medium. If anything, the cameraman, Robert Forster, isn't an entirely believable character. He's not enough of a creep and too much of an existential hero. His truthful search to break free from the illusions of his medium don't seem natural to him, and he's also an unbelievable stud. Your real-life cameraman is an amazing turkey...
...characters seem to wander through the scenes to allow Wexler to use them nearly as the agents that tie together everything that he really wants to say. And he gets all the big news in there like a true news photographer creep. Kennedy's assassination, King's assassination, Tent City, the Black revolutionaries, the Appalachian ghetto, and finally the police riots in Chicago at the convention. Wexler wants his message to be not just a theortical fiction, but a fiction for a specific reality that we all know about and recognize. And his own documentary footage of Chicago Police brutality...
...have been at the pinball machine in Tommy's, in the stacks of Widener, in the IAB pool, in the house dining hall long after the trays have been cleared, or making movies in Carpenter Center, or watching them at the Brattle. Every January and every May we all creep out of our niches and pile book upon book onto our outstretched mind and carry the whole precarious pile, maybe 20 tottering books high into Emerson 105, take a seat, and for three hours pull out one book from somewhere in the middle and then another, like the old table...