Word: plasticizers
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...siren until it laps lullingly against your ear. Her Reno Sweeny has that extra dimension of depth that you find in the best torch singers--mature, at times slightly removed, a little scared of aging, but always supremely poised. Brick Bushman's engaging Billy never lets the character become plastic, and as his beloved, Ellen Burkhardt is a wonderfully pert ingenue, an island of sanity at sea. Kevin Usher as the gangster Moonface gives a performance that Bert Lahr would have loved, full of snarls that melt into whimpers, and with a deadpan that borders on hysteria. During his amusing...
Clad in yellow plastic blankets, lined with cloth, the athletes who had gone the distance came to the garage for the start of the recovery period. For some, that recovery was uneventful--just a question of imbibing some food and drink and getting off their abused feet. For others, the end of the race was torture...
...discreet shade of white, is now a jolting mint green. A garish copper roof is being installed. On the balustrade surrounding the mansion are a dozen life-size male and female statues, some of them nude renderings of great anatomical precision. Urns filled with pink, blue and orange plastic flowers line the property's stone and wrought-iron fence. A mosque is being built next to the swimming pool. Still to come are a basement discotheque and kennel space for twelve Great Danes (although a Beverly Hills local ordinance forbids any homeowner to keep more than four dogs...
Perhaps encouraged by a smiling Anita Bryant on the billboard above, the golfers' wives re-boarded the bus with bags of real oranges to eat and sourvenir plastic oranges to keep, while Redhead June fidgetted, bumping her knees to the Rolling Stones' "Bitch" that blared from my cassette deck...
...drunk, the retired amateur golfers hauled themselves over to the Holiday Inn, and I was suddenly alone again, hitching up the road to the Red Sox training camp at Chain-O-Lakes Park out on Cypress Boulevard, where the Boston sportswriters were furiously clucking away at their plastic portable typewriters with half-crazed treachery written all over them. Body counts--buddies gone--a troop movement. Something had happened...