Word: machoes
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...TIME Associate Editor J.D. Reed was indifferent to cats. Recalls he: "For a lot of men, cats are an acquired taste, like eating snails. A boy growing up in the Midwest wants a dog. It's a macho thing." Later in life, though, Reed's attitudes softened enough for him to work at writing poetry in a study shared with two Siamese cats-Emily and Hilda, named after Poets Emily Dickinson and Hilda Doolittle. That blend of interest in the literary and the feline eminently qualified Reed to write this issue's cover story on America...
Some experts find in this obsession with felines a shift in the American psyche. Says Robert Perper, 48, a New York veterinarian: "There's a lot of macho in dog persons. Dogs are bigger, they're a display. People like to give them hearty slaps and decorate them with collars. Three years ago, about 5% of my men patients were cat owners. Now it's 25%. The stigma is gone. They've learned a man can own a cat and still be a man." Peter Borchelt, a behavioralist at Manhattan's Animal Medical Center, wryly...
John Kennedy came to office as a macho warrior. "We shall bear any burden, oppose any foe," he warned Moscow in his Inaugural Address. One night at Hickory Hill Bobby Kennedy summoned a friend into a quiet corner. With his blood rising, he confided that the Cuban exile force would hit the beach at the Bay of Pigs in a few days. Bobby could already hear the bands and taste the glory...
...industry, becoming perhaps the only hero for disaffected youth. The years of quickies, westerns, acid, and road movies paid off, creating a unique, vibrant, tenacious, intelligent, self-promoting, humanistic, aloof symbol of the modern age. In his best roles, Nicholson represents order amid chaos. Not in a stilted, dreary, macho way, but in an active, tongue-in-cheek yet soul-wrenching, personally moral way. All those years of hard knocks were the catalyst in his concluding what most of Hollywood has yet to discover: that there is no longer a cohesive common good, or even a "sanity" worth preserving...
...came down to the last tiddler. I could tie the game and save face if I could pot my only unsquopped piece. A simple five-inch pot. If I sank this one fame and fortune would be mine (sort of), but more importantly, my macho honor was on the line. Plimpton could do it. So could...