Word: foreheads
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...trip he stopped at a home for disabled children. Some kids were singing, and instead of moving on, he went into their classroom and joined them in the song. Before he left, he singled out a little black girl and bowed so low that he could softly bump her forehead with his. She's too young to vote, and probably too young to know who he is, but with that kind of attention to all sorts of people, Mandela may not have such a difficult time governing his nation after...
...ever since his 1989 visit to the U.S., when he popped up at Johns Hopkins University smelling of bourbon and behaving erratically. Another unsettling incident came in March 1993 when Yeltsin made an unexpected appearance before the rebellious congress late one Saturday afternoon. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his eyes looked glazed, and his speech was filled with long pauses and slurred words. Those watching assumed that Yeltsin was drunk...
Rare performers, like Bogosian, combine many of these charms. His Pounding Nails in the Floor with My Forehead is part sketch, evoking several varieties of his trademark sociopath, and part musing in his own voice about the price of fame and about how the world seems to be going to hell just when he is getting rich enough to enjoy it. His command of language, including the rhythms of scatology and epithet, sometimes soars to the level of David Mamet, and his mutations are always convincing without any need for props or disguises...
...waded through the snow that night to get my forehead ashes and go to section, feeling appropriately somber. My timing was good. But from the desk in my office now dangle three long sets of flat beads in purple, gold and green--the colors of Mardi Gras. Lent will pass, another year will go by and the time for revelry will come again. when it does, you'll be able to find me on St. Charles Ave.., precariously perched on someone's shoulders, smiling a big smile and holding out my hands for some beads. Mardi Gras is balm...
...Broadway work, Pounding Nails in the Floor with My Forehead -- the title evokes his hyperthyroid style -- is a midlife lament. It begins with a radio host musing over whether America was really better and happier in the '50s than today, or merely more self-deceiving. It ends with a middle-aged man confronting medical and moral decay. In between, it depicts rage between the accomplished and the envious, each side etched in acid. Bogosian is politically incorrect enough to play an unappetizing street black, arrogant enough to enact an egomaniacal fan and complex enough to risk a jolting tirade against...