Word: smartass
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...divorced dentist (Stan Lachow), and, more important, the dentist's 13-year-old son Billy (Mark Bendo). Billy is parked with the Thayers for a few weeks, and Norman takes a shine to the kid. He teaches him how to fish, and Billy, a bit of a smartass, brushes up Norman's archaic lingo with such modernisms as "suckface" for "to kiss." A brush with death further restores Norman's zest for life and schools Ethel in the sweet scary brevity...
...racism, sickness and, at first, the rare ability to keep their perspective combined to make the first few years of National Lampoon truly funny, frequently gross. They knew their market and pandered to it shamelessly, rolling in mounds of dollars pried from the blue-jeaned pockets of all the smartass kids in America who were alienated by the bullshit of the society around them...
...lots of pictures, lots of fun, quick and easy for this brought-up-on-TV generation." Clay Felker, whose innovative but now languishing New York magazine produced so many imitators, is trying to rehabilitate Esquire. Where once, in the words of a previous editor, Esquire sought to be "smartass," it now respectfully pursues "The American Man and the New Success." Perhaps he's the same young moneymaking male in whom Playboy naturally discerns a "lust for life." Its promotion speaks unctuously of this reader as a healthy radical in the '60s who has joined a "new, but better...
Thus did Esquire Founding Editor Arnold Gingrich (1903-76) once describe a certain garrulous subeditor who worked on the magazine during the highest of its haute-smartass days nearly two decades ago. Young Felker left Esquire in 1962, but became even more conspicuous in publishing and partying circles by founding New York in 1968, losing it this year in a bitter fight with Australian Sleaze-paper Publisher Rupert Murdoch (TIME, Jan. 17), and then scouring the globe for some new publishing adventure. Last week he found an old one: Esquire...
...says, "That line's been rollin' and tumblin' around my head all day. We gotta write a song about gittin' bit by a seeing-eye dog." His almost-heaven West Virginia accent laid me in the aisles, where I rolled over Tim Carlson, self-described "gangly, goofy, blushing, cowlicky, smartass, shynose, sloppy lunch eater" who kneed me in the funny bone, and from then on it was bubbly giggles, side-eyed glances, uproar...