Word: flatted
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...commercial hype is appropriate for a singer who made the trip from anonymity to commodity in no time flat. He was an instant sensation with the Jan. 27, 1956, release of his first RCA single, "Heartbreak Hotel." The following night he appeared on Tommy and Jimmy Dorsey's Stage Show, flinging rock 'n roll into the faces of a slackjawed TV audience. In August he had the two-sided smash "Hound Dog" and "Don't Be Cruel." By November his first movie, Love Me Tender, was in the theaters. Five #1 singles, a debut album that went gold...
...storm cloud. And everywhere there were hints of the human body. A comical bean shape might appear to reach out to an adjoining bean by means of a vaguely phallic extrusion. Circles and pellets suggested fingers or toes, mouths or eyes. The pictures were captivating, witty, so flat-out pleasurable that they made you a little nervous. Could art this delicious possibly be any good...
...pictures made by pouring paint directly onto canvas or Minimalist canvases of one color. By the early 1960s, the supremely influential critic Clement Greenberg was ordaining that painting had a historic destiny that could be realized only in work in which distinct form and deep space gave way to flat, thin washes of color. Some very good art would meet that description, by Barnett Newman, Helen Frankenthaler, Morris Louis and so on. But a lot of it had a distinct whiff of the endgame about...
...sidewalks and across subway platforms in my well-worn Reefs. The contrast of casual Reefs against the most formal of business attire hardly raises an eyebrow from my subway companions; Fellow female commuters employ similar tactics, some donning socks and sneakers over their pantyhose, others opting for the ballet flat with their flared pant suit. And they do so not just for reasons of orthopedic health, but out of protective affection for their Jimmy Choos—wary of the wear-and-tear of the subway cement, or fearful of a tarnished toe from a rude rider...
Eight weeks into summer, I must confess that this New York lifestyle is not for the faint of foot, but only for the brave of sole. Each day, my feet yearn for the flat-footed freedom of my west-coast home. But in the meantime, I’m thankful that New York’s shoe obsession is accompanied by nail salons galore: Five pedicurists speckle the six block walk from my subway station to my home—all stocked with massage chairs and bubble baths for the my poor and weary paws...