Word: fleshed
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...harem trousers, lounging on a divan as she awaited a pasha's pleasure; swarthy eunuchs, armed with saber and musket, standing guard at the seraglio gates; the almah, or Egyptian dancing girl, clapping her castanets as she strips off her veils; the nubile concubine displaying her roseate flesh in a Turkish bath...
...still greater sense of nuance, while leaving his master's tyrannous physicality behind. To look at his fētes champětres -those felicitously idealized gatherings of young lovers, planted on the unchanging lawn of a social Eden-is to think of pollen and silk, not flesh. Watteau was a great painter of the naked body, but his nudes tend to privacy and reflection. They are completely unlike Rubens' magniloquent blond wardrobes. He seems, for this reason, the more erotic artist...
Although campaigning politicians are obliged to press the flesh, the hands-on policy of Prime Minister John Turner, 55, has many Canadian women up in arms. During the country's national elections, the Liberal Party leader was seen on national TV patting the backside of Party President Iona Campagnolo, who astutely took the matter into her own hands by returning the pat. In another meeting, Turner touched the same base with French Vice President Lise St.-Martin who gamely rallied behind her. At least, she declared, he is less cold aloof than his predecessor, Pierre Elliott...
Rock fans may find it shocking, but Frank Zappa, 43, the bent mind behind Weasels Ripped My Flesh and Valley Girl, has gone legit. This week California's Berkeley Symphony Orchestra performs the world premiere of A Zappa Affair, a program of four short ballets. Zappa may have jettisoned the synthesizers and electric guitars, but he has kept his famous sense of the absurd. The ballets-titled Moe 'n' Herb's Vacation, Sinister Footwear, Bob in Dacron and Sad Jane-are performed by giant puppets attached to live performers. "There are a lot of things...
...nadir was Memorial Day, normally a flesh-pressing bonanza for a politician. For Mondale, it began in Fort Lee, N.J., with catcalls from the disciples of Lyndon LaRouche Jr., a demagogic conspiracy theorist who is running for President, and went downhill from there. On the Jersey shore, where a sunny holiday attracts upwards of 3 million bathers, Mondale found instead about a hundred hardy souls huddled against a driving rainstorm. The day ended at a hotel in Cherry Hill, where a waitress mistook Mondale for Gary Hart...