Word: lapped
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...smell, a gagging foulness of the charnel, of the hundreds of bloated fish pooled in the 17th Street Canal and a million other nasty things floating everywhere. The masterless dogs are so hungry and delirious in the 92° heat that they drink this mix, at least a lap or two, and then stagger away. The city smells dead, and although the French Quarter and a few other areas were blessedly spared, whatever exists in many neighborhoods here a year from now will be vastly different...
...Hilburg house, no steps have been taken to leave. Like so many Gaza residents, they are counting on denial and faith to save their community at the zero hour. Bryna folds her hands in her lap and says, "The simple fact is, I don't want to go. It's my home of 26 years. My roots are here. Netzer Hazani has what I need and want. We built it up. We made a beautiful place, beautiful in spirit." So the Hilburgs say they will do anything peaceable and lawful that will stop the clock, but nothing more. They obeyed...
...capable of more independent judgment. Please remember, however, that the change is not locked in place. A young adolescent can bounce back and forth between ages 8 and 13 (and sometimes 15) in a matter of seconds, scorning your values yet at times still wanting to sit on your lap...
Madeleine Grynsztejn, the SFMOMA curator who organized the show, calls that tour "a victory lap," and she's right. Over the past decade, Tuttle has been increasingly recognized as a genuine, if highly idiosyncratic, American master. In the 1980s, when so much art was big and declamatory, it was always a relief to come across one of Tuttle's meticulous drawings or his gentle constructions, making their case that the smallest gesture could carry weight. When the noise of that decade died down, the low-intensity virtues of his work became more obvious, even to the market. Three years...
...woman presents herself to the world as a picture of flash and gaiety: thin, arched eyebrows penciled in high above blue-shadowed eye lids, metallic blue fingernails, hair swept up in waves and clasped on one side by a polka-dot barrette. She is 23 years old. On her lap she holds her first child. He is two months old and wears an infant baseball uniform that says "All Pro." The mother's expression is both proud and sad, full of tenderness for this child and yet uncertain of him, or of herself; she has not played this part before...