Word: goos
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...show just how the transformation works. He would have been wise to let our imaginations run riot on this matter rather than permitting his special effects people to do so, since all they come up with is some grimly gunky stuff, not nearly as suggestive as the sudsy goo that the 1956 pod people emerged from. He would also have been wise to quick-march past a lot of the story's inherent illogicalities...
...improvement and self-display. There are trips to Palo Alto to work with her orchestrator. Hairdresser John Bettiol works over her for hours, striving for that perfect balance between wholesomeness and sophistication. He coaxes Christine's permed frizz into a Cosmo-mane of curls, daubing her face with goo and powder. Sneaking a peek in the mirror, she is aghast. Her mouth is caked in red sludge. "It should have blood dripping from it," she jokes. The photographer is unimpressed. What Christine hates most is the fake eyelashes...
...boring, over-long, overblown saga of our first communication with extraterrestrials (actually, it's not the first, as anyone from Jablib, Wisconsin, will tell you). Neato special effects, and a nice job by Richard Dreyfuss in a stupid part, but it should have been two hours shorter, and that goo-goo eyed little kid has got to go. Best scene: Dreyfuss's interrogation by--that's right--Francois Truffaut, who should have known better...
Even more slippery than Michigan's horse thieves, surely, are the Los Angeles truck drivers who swipe 55-gal. drums of used grease-about $25,000 worth each week-from local restaurants and drive-ins. The goo, worth $40 per bbl., is valuable because it is reprocessed into a food additive that causes cattle and poultry to gain weight. The thieves have oozed up across the nation, but most actively in Southern California, the fastness of fast food. Sometimes posing as legitimate grease collectors, they have cut chains placed on the outdoor grease barrels, smashed through protective iron gates...
...being nervous about what or who was in those shadows. Your friend sits down on the curb and you'd envy him his ease but you know that in a few minutes he's gonna have to be moving on, finding someplace sheltered to shoot up that pale orange goo that'll do him for awhile more. And you think about Timothy Leary's hyperbole about the glorious things that happen to the brain cells when you take drugs and you think about this man that you will never see again because of the not-so-glorious things that drugs...