Word: sallow
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...take the heart right out of the kids. They look old, entirely too old to be a rock group, and underfed, and definitely weird. Especially Frank Zappa, scrawny and at his most unappetizing in long red underwear, straggly black hair tied in a ponytail, a sinister goatee elongating a sallow, canine face. Noise comes out of the band, noise like a zoo is burning down. It is King Kong, one of Frank's creations. The kids start to rock back and forth like they always do. But as the full shock of this noise hits them...
Unplush Life. Trapped in legal wrangling and worried about the boys, Itkin, 43, appears gaunt and sallow these days. The glamour (or what he regarded as glamour) of his crisis-laden career has faded. Fresh from Brooklyn Law School in 1954, Itkin began his undercover activities almost immediately as an informant for Senator Joseph McCarthy. The McCarthy connection led to an introduction to Allen Dulles, then Central Intelligence Agency director. Itkin joined the agency and was used mainly as a payoff man in Britain and in the Caribbean. "In the 1960s, I began to meet hoods," he recalls. "They were...
Television does not suggest this. It gives us Eric Sevaried, that sallow Odin, reading one hundred sensible words as insurance against controversy, never mentioning that Chicago, or the capture of Hill 881 was an unconscionable waste of life. It gives us commercials of flagellating concupiscence so that, after twenty years of them, we begin to view the whole world as a commodity, the uncommitted and benighted as the greatest consumer product. As it crowds more harrowing specials into the week, we turn away with less and less hesitation. It is possible that if Jesus Christ had spoken only on television...
...much can one man take?" a Kennedy intimate asks. By last week, before he left Washington for three days of sailing off Cape Cod, Teddy's complexion had turned sallow and his bright blue and usually merry eyes had become dull and distracted. He had begun to greet acquaintances with a hesitant, questioning glance, as if fearful of their suspicions and doubtful about their loyalties. Frequently he avoids looking people directly...
...blazes on Majorca for ten months of the year. It lights the baked forms with a harsh kind of super-reality. The sallow leaves of a dead cactus writhe upward like a petrified fountain. A palm hangs against the sky like a bursting skyrocket. On the ground, a beetle crawls. Above it, crouches a man - no figment of a dream but a com pact figure with grey thinning hair, a potato nose, and dressed all in sober brown. "Once," he "I was passionate about insects. I painted many of them." In fact, he still does...