Word: habitant
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Decked out in mesh stockings, spike heels and a nun's habit slashed to miniskirt length, Jack Fertig, a San Francisco transvestite, campaigned for a seat on the eleven-member San Francisco board of supervisors last November under the alias of Sister Boom Boom. On the ballot he had listed his occupation as "nun of the above," and he got 23,124 votes. This was not enough to win a supervisor's seat, but enough to encourage him to enter this fall's mayoral election. Also declaring: "Lady Lillian Chaucer-Peace, gentlewoman," "James Bond Zero, political exorcist...
...businessman Bentik also keeps the movie from taking itself too seriously, camping up his malice and insulting his manservant. And the 12-year-old in all of us giggles at serial stunts and big battles from which the heroes emerge safely. The viewer's grin on leaving is partly habit--you're supposed to like movies like this. If you absolutely loved Raiders of the Lost Ark, see High Road to China. On second thought, see Raiders again. Seth A. Tucker
...make them overlook the possible detrimental effects of living in a community that remains skewed towards men in everything from sheer-numbers to such separatist vestiges as finals clubs. Not that women should counteract this problem by becoming equally separatist, but they should not, either, yield to the habit that often prevails--studiously avoiding all activities lacking men or, at the very least, approaching them with severe apprehension...
...quest for self-definition becomes a tale of tepid damnation. The suave, cynical Peer of Part II (played with acute perceptivity by Gerry Bamman) defines himself by what he does and not by what he is. And what he does is always tainted by easy accommodation and the habit of incessant compromise. He moves from trading slaves out of Charleston, S.C., and shipping pagan idols to China to reigning as a prophet in the Moroccan desert, finally ending up crowned "the Emperor of Self in a Cairo mad house, with a wreath of straw...
...replacement. Jerry Lee, 21, looked like just the boy. Nicknamed the Killer, to his perpetual displeasure, Lewis sang country, which was not then considered commercially lot. But he also played mean boogie-woogie. He would sit down on the edge of the bench, right leg stuck out stiff, a habit acquired from practicing when he had a Broken hip. He would whip up a heavy rhythm with his left hand and play such a furious melody with his right that the tune would beg for mercy. The sound was backwoods, roadhouse. Phillips listened to all of ten seconds of Lewis...