Word: digging
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...recognizable, they were of mixed ancestry. The sinuous curves of George Mulhauser's molded plywood chair and matching otto man (Directional Industries, $280) instantly recall Aalto, for example, but the sausage-shaped arms and headrest owe more to Le Corbusier. Hans Eichenberger's tubular framed sofa (Sten-dig, $1,000) is a relatively straightforward, clean-lined exercise in the Miesian idiom. Blond wood was back in Edward Wormley's new line for Dunbar, which features ash in everything from storage carts that open up for dining ($560) to toadstool-shaped tables ($248) and benches...
There are the Beagles and the Roaches, the Dirty Shames and the Cryan Shames. There are the Gurus, the Druids, the Rockin' Vicars, the Swinging Saints and the Godz. And dig the Grateful Dead, the Undertakers, the Guillo-teens and the Morbids. Or Oedipus and the Mothers, Sigmund and the Freudian Slips, and Cleopatra and the Seizures. How about the Virginia Woolves? There are also the Napoleonic Wars, Rasputin and the Chains, the Driving Stupid, Big Brother and the Holding Company, and Dow Jones and the Industrials...
...dig these clothes all the time. In your closet. On your back. It's the colors. Like, colors are beautiful, you know? That's the first thing people who take LSD talk about. The colors. Look at these pants. The blue background is happening. And then the red and silver and gold. I think it's groovy. God just didn't give anyone pants like that. Some guy worked hard to think this up. And nobody appreciates it. Everybody should accept everybody else. I mean, what right have they got to judge my clothes? I like Mod. I like...
MASADA by Yigael Yadin. 272 pages. Random House. $12.95. A reverent and absorbing account of the archaeological dig at the rock of Masada on the Dead Sea, where, almost 2,000 years ago, 960 Jews died when the Romans breeched the walls of their aerie. Yadin has himself seen battle; he was Israel's Chief of Staff (1948-52) before turning archaeologist. Totally engrossing...
...fancy; as the poet broods on the ancient games, he also rather absurdly sees capitalist corruption symbolized amid the Roman ruins by "powdered pederasts," "urinating whores," and a "society lady" swooning with delight as a gigolo pulls off her nylon panties. Then again, he takes a good-humored dig at the Western preoccupation with spy movies and has a ball with a Bond take-off entitled Impressions of the Western Cinema. He envisons a future state of espionage technology when even roses are bugged and he evokes a worldwide convention of secret agents meeting under the banner...