Word: dogs
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Each resident had his own priority on what to try to save. "I got my watch, my Levi's and my dog and ran," said one young man in the neighborhood. He complained that spectators who had come to watch the fire had parked their cars in front of his house, blocking any chance for him to save his Jeep or his parents' Volkswagen Rabbit. "We lost our cars because of those looky- looks," he said bitterly. Almost everyone involved, however, directed the most anger at the unknown arsonists. Said one Los Angeles fireman: "It's terrorism...
...they craved. Former Secretary of State Henry Kissinger called the hostages' press conference a "humiliation" for the U.S. and suggested that journalists should not allow the captors such a forum. "If the terrorists did not see in this a means of getting their message across, there would be fewer dog-and-pony shows like this," said Kissinger...
These characters are, alas, entirely typical of Director Walter Murch's gloomily recharted Oz. Even Billina, the feathered critic manque, is part of the problem. She is a substitute for Toto, Dorothy's beloved dog, unaccountably left behind this trip. But though she can talk, she has less animation, and character, than the mutt. The same lack of enchantment afflicts the new friends Dorothy makes on the journey. Instead of the Scarecrow, Tin Man and Cowardly Lion of blessed memory, she encounters a pumpkin with stick limbs, a tin soldier and something called a Gump, which looks suspiciously like your...
Analysts viewed all these events as proof that the once glamorous computer industry is in a serious skid. "This is not a slowdown," said Esther Dyson, editor of the trade journal Computer Industry Daily. "This is an old- fashioned, dog-eat-dog shake-out. Before it's over, there's going to be a lot of red ink and some casualties. It's not going to be a pretty sight." The industry is still growing, to be sure, but at a dramatically reduced rate. It will show an estimated 23% gain this year, in contrast to a 56% increase...
Fischl country is a place of shag carpets lit by the desolate glare of TV sets, of king-size beds seen as altars of suburban promiscuity, and blue swimming pools that slyly parody David Hockney's less tainted vision of a Californian Eden. It smells of unwashed dog, Bar-B-Q lighter fluid and sperm. It is permeated with voyeurism and resentful, secretive tumescence -- a theater of adolescent tension and adult anonymity. Fischl paints this world of failed intimacies with conviction and narrative grip: at best, his drawing is beautifully concise (though marred, at present, by too many botched...