Word: paled
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...yards of Herbertstrasse alone, 20 bordellos stand perfumed cheek by painted jowl, while round-the-clock shifts of whores sit waxen and wooden-faced be hind show windows. Elaborately coifed transvestites in spike heels wobble lumpily along the side streets, brushing shoulders with stewbums in cowboy boots and pale-faced hoods with patent-leather hair. At the Hippodrom, on a lurid avenue appropriately named Grosse Freiheit, bored horses trot in a circle as equally bored equestriennes strip while balancing on their backs. Along the Raper, a tourist can shoot a fake duck, get a tattoo, watch an "intimate" movie...
There was a strangely routine air about the rocket test. No exasperating, last-minute delays, no long, apprehensive countdowns - someone simply pressed a button and a dagger of pale yellow flame spewed skyward. White smoke climbed above the dry hills, and an enormous roar echoed along the California-Mexico border. After exactly 109 seconds, as scheduled, silence came back to the test stand...
While Zeckendorf reeled and dealed to cover his debt, the revenues he had expected to rescue him failed to materialize. Freedomland, a pale Bronx imitation of Disneyland, lost $5.4 million. Place Ville Marie, a skyscraper show place in Montreal, lost another $4.5 million, and Webb & Knapp (Canada) no longer controls it. New York's Roosevelt Field, a large shopping center and industrial park, lost $1.2 million. Zeckendorf also took a $4.5 million bath in his Manhattan hotels...
...times, Hubley handsomely transforms these ideas into images. His colors are pale and wash across the screen like slow surf in the moonlight; yet here and there in the watery depths, a point of richer color burns for an instant like a brilliant fish. Early in the film he engineers a spectacular ballet of electrons; later he pictures a cluster of great galaxies that lie asleep in space like a nest of glimmering, immeasurable crabs...
...steaming noon last week, intelligence agents of the Philippine Constabulary closed in on a modest clapboard house near Manila's center and roused a pale, gaunt man from a pre-lunch nap. His indignant protest of innocence lasted only until the agents found letters from Mao Tse-tung and other top Communist leaders. When confronted by the now respectable Luis Taruc, he admitted he was Jesus Lava, 51, general secretary of the Philippine Communist Party. After years in the backwoods, Lava had apparently come to Manila to visit his family...