Word: prudishly
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...more properly, these people are remaking the small-town life-style that American writers since Sinclair Lewis have been excoriating. Prudish and bigoted, they have everything their smug little hearts could desire - except the power to reproduce themselves (probably because they lack fresh air and real sunshine). They must send sirens up to lure studs down, and that is where the boy - despite his dog's warning - goes wrong, precipitating one of the year's better chase adventures...
Lichtenstein should above all, be enjoyed. For all the reputed sophistication of American youth, they turn out to be a surprisingly conservative and prudish bunch. "This is the wasteland!" the girl beside me at the gallery tsked disapprovingly. Look at the gorgeous colors, I wanted to say, look at the hypnotic use of Rowlux plastic, the bold. creamy black outlines. But the girl had shuffled away mumbling apocalyptically about the fate of modern...
Nearly everyone who has been part of her life agrees with that self-assessment. "Conservative, even prudish," is her mother's phrase for her. An uncle has another explanation for her fastidiousness: "Cher had seen it all and done it all by the time she was 15." But they both add that the quality of her career is far more important to her than the quality of any human tie. Says Geffen: "I have to have a private life, but I don't think Cher understands the concept of private life. Cher enjoys the hoopla." Says Sonny Bono...
...Economic Historian Murray Rothbard said, "Cliometrics doesn't work for the current economy, so how could it work on information from 1860?" Sociologist Orlando Patter son questioned some of the inferences that Fogel and Engerman draw from their statistics, such as the assumption that young black girls were prudish, not promiscuous, because the average age of black slave women on having a first child...
...anyway. And she would torture herself beforehand into the Look, a wasp-haired caricature, binding her curls tightly in a turban around her head, in a towel steamed for straightening. And she would chatter, and the pink would glow in her face. But then she would stand mum and prudish all night and hate herself in a corner. Afterwards, I'd try to comfort her, doing a stint of complaining myself to cheer her up. She never believed though, that I could hurt, too. She wanted, you see, what she only imagined...