Word: dank
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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Nonetheless, Vonnegut's messages emerge from beneath the overplayed Harvard motif and a typically bizarre plot. Starbuck's biggest claim to fame, for example, amounts to a piddling job in the Nixon administration as the President's Special Advisor on Youth Affairs. His office, hidden in the dank basement of the White House, becomes the resting place for large sums of illicit Watergate pay-off money, and when the break-in and cover-up arrests are made, he is duly escorted to a minimum-security prison in Georgia--undergoing the pains of prison minus the Watergate infamy...
...CLOSET is large and cluttered, the air inside dank and dismal, obscuring the skeletons of abuses past. Until recently, the entrance had been tightly bolted. But here comes Thomas Powers, flashlight in hand, following in the footsteps of others making a more complete tour, illuminating more hidden recesses and rattling more skeletons than anyone else...
...christened it the Studio Theatre. It soon became a haven for arty types from nearby Wayne State University and other hangovers from the "beat" generation. The message here seemed to be that if it was seedy and depressing, it was art, for the film, like the lobby, was dark, dank, and depressing. I left that theatre with an abiding distaste for beautiful, sensitive films, theatres of that genre, and espresso. And these dislikes, though I seldom admit it out loud in this community of sophisticated film-goers, have remained with me through the years despite all the attempts to "turn...
...recovered. A case can be made that Mao lived too long. The Great Revolutionary died at 82, an enfeebled puppet. His legacy, after the Cultural Revolution, was a ramshackle economy, a badly equipped military and an educational system in which intellect and learning had been superseded by a dank, Orwellian passion for proletarian ideology...
...most African cities the central marketplace is a carnival, where women mass in daylong congregation, squat amid bundles and babies, haggle over prices, cluck over misfortunes and paw over food for sale. Not in Luanda. Its central market, a dank, echoing, three-story concrete structure, is virtually empty of food. Long, bare counters stretch away into the urine-scented gloom. Weighing scales swing empty in the hot breeze, and the women sit quietly, waiting...