Word: iras
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...plot, after being transferred from crayon on lined elementary school paper to disaster on celluloid by director Stephen Hopkins looks something like this: Jack Dove (Bridges) and Ryan Garrity (Jones) were IRA buddies. Garrity makes Dove unwittingly blow up a bunch of Brits and his girlfriend, who is also Garrity's little sister. Garrity goes to jail Dove heads for the Hub with a new identity courtesy of the British, who he helped in nailing Garrity...
...health-care seminar in your home or office featuring Bill Gradison, president of the Health Insurance Association of America, and Ira Magaziner, White House health-care expert. Moderator: Carole Simpson of ABC News...
...Ira Holloway is a man who loves women, adores their quiddities, luxuriates ceaselessly in their bodies: toes, earlobes, the whole array of earthly delights. When he is paying what would appear to be monomaniacal attention to one sweetheart, he is, naughty fellow, roistering in memory or anticipation with a flotilla of others. This isn't calculated, callous satyrism; Ira isn't Don Juan. He's helpless, a captive. (He does seem to have a job, but it's in public relations, and doesn't require much attention...
This sounds like bedroom farce, but the hero doesn't see it that way. Ira narrates his own ensnarement as he pursues and marries a troubled beauty named Fiona, and his tone, between episodes of drooling, is one of earnest concern. Rightly so, because Fiona counterattacks with Ira's own weapon. She was abused as a girl by her father, and her psychological wounds require constant, repeated assurance that her husband (who lusts for all women) desires her. "Prove it," Fiona demands, often at moments when Ira lacks inspiration. She grows excessively religious and further benumbs Ira with frenzied...
...sexual joke here -- the tireless besieger besieged, sacked and pillaged -- but the author won't let matters play that way. He ) allows no distance at all from constant sexual striving, less pornography than pathology. Every page of every chapter is nose to skin, eyeball to sweaty flesh, told by Ira in long, gush-of-consciousness sentences that ooze on for several hundred words. Now and then the type switches to italic as the tormented Fiona, somewhat less convincingly, rants her anguish...