Word: perfective
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...sexy and smart are a desirable pair of attributes, then Patty and Wendy Determan, both 21, are doubly perfect as Miss February and Miss July, respectively, in the 1986 Women of the Ivy League calendar. The seniors at Columbia University were models for the Wilhelmina agency in New York City until they gave up the business two years ago because, says Wendy, "it places too much emphasis on the superficial qualities and not enough on intelligence." The sisters from Fairfield, Conn., are honors English majors and have no small ambitions about using their heads. "We'd like...
...opened his first McDonald's in a Chicago suburb back in 1955 (burgers: 15¢), fast food has grown to a $45 billion business. The increase from ten years ago is nearly fourfold. From burgers to fried chicken to pizza, fast food has become the quintessentially American dining experience: a perfect expression of those bedrock values of efficiency, thriftiness and speed...
Aaron, 73, a bike in his office, pipe in his mouth, tweeds on his back, speaks in perfect paragraphs: "I took it on at first for the money. Then I became stuck, absorbed, caught up in it. I got to know him and his world in a way I know of nothing else, no other society. And while I disliked him intensely--I couldn't be further away from his political, economic, nearly all his attitudes--I became fascinated by his unique opportunity to indulge himself in a way no one else could. He was a voyeur, yes, a sadist...
...other American actresses could have made some emotional sense out of May, or at least sent her smoldering in mystery. Stanton, with his haunted, pinched face and chirruping alibis, steals the show--or, rather, is awarded it by default. And Randy Quaid, as a gentleman caller, is a perfect audience surrogate: decent, dogged, perplexed by a family squabble that admits no strangers to its terrible embrace. The door clangs shut, and we are outside. --By Richard Corliss
...Chorus Line, which continues to wow 'em on Broadway a decade after it opened, is hardly a perfect musical. The songs are functional, not indelible. The dialogue wallows in the least engaging of performer emotions, narcissism and self-pity. The plot asks you to believe that performers in a musical are selected on a kind of psychiatrist's casting couch, spilling their secret sordid pasts to the director. Yet the thing worked onstage as a puissant metaphor for shab-elegant show biz, where exhibitionism and humiliation dance in precise sync, where each passion must be displayed nakedly and clothed...