Word: ironed
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...notice--until Animal Farm got in the act. Then came squeals and squawks. The ITI, which is sponsored by the U.N., had asked the British National Theater to put on its stage production of George Orwell's book, a pointed antitotalitarian satire that is a no-no behind the Iron Curtain. Moscow, hearing of the booking, grunted nyet. Fearing a festival-wrecking boycott, Institute President Wole Soyinka, a Nigerian playwright, got Sir Peter Hall, the National Theater director, to agree to stage Farm independently, not as part of the festival. Now Hall is raising a squawk: Censorship! No, replies Soyinka...
...late afternoon of May 1, a group of about 75 people chanted as they marched along Memorial Drive, up Plympton St., on to Massachusetts Ave. Spreading out along the perimeter of the Yard, the activists clamoured about the iron gates, attempting to gain entry onto Harvard's property...
Noise from the 18-year-old's bedroom, the one that years before her latest movie was already decorated in pink--the blinds, the iron bed, the vanity, the dresser. A gust of stardust, and in breezes Molly: impossibly clear complexion (considering her deep-fry diet), hair like Ronald McDonald's, the famous waxed-candy lips semaphoring a smile. Today she is dressed in black, with standard-teen tribal earrings (diamond-encrusted loops, ruby stud in left ear), and as she says, "Hi," she piles her hair into a Wilma Flintstone topknot...
...twin obstacles in the path of contemporary music are the past and the recent past. In the violin repertoire, the beloved romantic concertos have maintained such an iron grip on audience affections that even indisputable 20th century masterworks have been neglected in favor of the millionth performance of the Beethoven, Brahms or Tchaikovsky concertos. It has not helped that some compositions of the '50s and '60s amounted to teeth-grinding assaults on the instrument that made both soloists and audiences recoil...
...smooth white pebbles and a fountain bubbles up quietly as if from some deep Zen wellspring. Mannequins were hung with virtuoso variations of dresses and skirts cut from polyester satin and jersey, colored pale red, musky gold and worn white, in a pattern transferred directly from photos of rusted iron. "I'm neither anti-Western nor pro-Eastern," Mori explains. "I'm interested in making clothes that bring out the originality of the individual." His dresses are unemphatic tokens of elegance, breezy bits of hotshot craftsmanship with a certain sophistication of spirit that sets him apart from most...