Word: pug
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...kitchen, and their lawn has no crab grass. Peter has just learned to do handstands. They look like the All-American Family living the All-American Dream. They are also broke. They are not only broke, but $18,000 in debt. "The question is," says Jane, a pug-nosed brunette in preppy red wrap-around skirt, "shall we eat this week or shall we pay the electric bill...
...talking," he says, wrapping up a thuddingly difficult New York interview on the eve of his first Japan tour and third album, "but what I do is write songs and sing them." Nonetheless, inside that denim-jacketed heart, behind those covertly smiling eyes and that radical pug nose, one senses big ambition. Alive on Arrival, his heel-kicking 1978 debut, moved zealous writers to compare Forbert with classic heartland American music-makers the likes of Gram Parsons, Bob Dylan, Elvis Presley, Hank Williams, Woody Guthrie and Jimmie Rodgers. Then came Jackrabbit Slim, the 1979 follow-up, a helping of string...
...these are of remarkable intensity. Picasso painted Gustave Coquiot, a fashionable Paris art and theater columnist, as a sinister god of urban pleasure, green shadows straining against red lips in a pale mask of a face. Some of the women, their faces blurred by laughter or squinched up into pug masks of greed, seem to predict by ten years the jittery misogyny of German expressionism. Woman in Blue, 1901, with her fierce little Aubrey Beardsley whore's head surmounting the dress of a Velázquez court portrait, is an especially compelling example...
Pablo Ruiz Picasso (he adopted Picasso,* his mother's maiden name, a not uncommon practice in Hispanic societies) was not only the youngest nicotine inhaler in Spain. He was to prove extraordinarily precocious in every other respect. By the age of 14, the pug-nosed, stocky, black-haired Pablo was a familiar figure in the Barrio Chino, the red-light district of fin de siècle Barcelona, the city to which the family had moved when he was five. Some of his earliest work was inspired by the putas and dancers of that wicked cosmopolitan seaport. Though...
...have. Well, Toffler has too, and he repeats it in ingratiating detail, describing the steel foundry he once toiled in. "I swallowed the dust, the sweat and smoke of the foundry. My ears were split by the hiss of the steam, the clank of the chains, the roar of pug mills." Leaving to find a better job, Toffler happened on copies of Marx and Weber and Thoreau and U.S. News and World Report. His bibliography runs 30 pages, and lists 534 books. In his dedication he thanks his wife, without whose help, presumably, it would have taken him twice...