Word: haphazardly
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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BONO Had there been real coordination, we would have been announcing this six months ago, not six weeks ago. It was all a bit haphazard actually. Bob didn't want to repeat himself, and he has a word he uses better than anyone else in the English language, and he just kept repeating that word followed by "off." [Much laughter.] I remember saying, "Look, Bob, if you don't want to do it, please, just don't tell anyone," because the mere threat of staging it at some point actually keeps a fair bit of pressure on certain politicians...
Unlike Arbus, who distilled every image down to a single, devastating idea, Friedlander loves the muchness of the world. He loves the haphazard multitude of things that can pop up in every picture--street signs, sunbeams, bits of roofline, a jagged shadow--all colliding and contradicting one another. In his breezy but very acute introduction to the show's catalog, Peter Galassi, MOMA's chief curator of photography, gets it just right when he says some of Friedlander's pictures give you the impression that "the physical world had been broken into fragments and reconstituted under pressure at three times...
...exploration. However, back in 1786, when the intrepid Dartmouth College drop-out managed to walk through Scandinavia in the dead of winter, the last unknowns were still earthbound. James Zug’s lithe, aptly-named biography, “American Traveler,” delightfully follows the haphazard journeys of the first great American explorer, who sailed with Captain Cook, dined with Thomas Jefferson, and tried to walk around the world...
...exploration. However, back in 1786, when the intrepid Dartmouth College drop-out managed to walk through Scandinavia in the dead of winter, the last unknowns were still earthbound. James Zug’s lithe, aptly-named biography, “American Traveler,” delightfully follows the haphazard journeys of the first great American explorer, who sailed with Captain Cook, dined with Thomas Jefferson, and tried to walk around the world...
Photos of women’s breasts, stacks and stacks of business cards, and cardboard boxes full of promotional Shamrock t-shirts overflow onto couches and haphazard bookshelves. Attached to the office is the lounge, with a TV, couches, and most importantly, a vanity table and mirror where the women straighten their hair, pop pimples, and reapply heavy eyeliner. One stripper darts outside to ask John—Johnny to her—for batteries for her vibrator...