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...along machines are already being used in courtrooms (lawyers' briefs can be recalled on the screen for a quick read), in the wilds of Kenya (to gather zoological research) and in war-torn Afghanistan (U.S. Freelance Writer David Kline used one to file news reports). Where no electric socket exists, the machines operate on portable battery packs...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Computers: Carry Along, Punch In, Read Out | 6/21/1982 | See Source »

...would have won any other Kentucky Derby and most other Preaknesses but finished second to Secretariat on both occasions in 1973. One of Cassaleria's first bobbling steps after birth tumbled him into a fence post and poked out his left eye, leaving a sorry-looking fleshed-over socket...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Sport: Strewn with Broken Hearts | 5/10/1982 | See Source »

...Watchman, with a 2-in. screen and sleek metallic finish, not only looks good everywhere but can work just about anywhere too, from a dentist's chair to a box at the opera. It can be powered by batteries, household current, even a car's cigarette lighter socket. While the list price of the Watchman, scheduled to hit U.S. stores this fall, is around $250, Sony does not include collision insurance...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Video: Fine Tuning | 4/26/1982 | See Source »

Paul Schrader is the kind of director who leaves no bra unhooked, no limb untorn from its socket in his pursuit of what he believes to be the true and terrible image. Cat People is clearly the work of a solemn literalist (and a man with a taste for perverse ritual), not that of a cynic or a sensationalist. But motive makes small difference in the end result. The film best serves the values of the dimmest lurker in the deepest shadows of the grind house: it has lots of nudity, plenty of gross-out guts and gore...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Cinema: Flesh and Flash | 4/5/1982 | See Source »

...head, blown up to more than Roman proportions and subjected to various odd indignities. In Splat, 1978, it has taken a bucketful of liquid white clay full in the face, like a vaudevillian copping a pie; a disembodied brown finger wipes the gunk away from his right eye socket. Arneson's mocking self-monuments are carried through with vast gusto and panache, and his technical resources seem limitless; besides, his formal ambitions are clear enough, below the funky surface. Even so, his work has a way of wandering off into a pointless anecdotalism, as with his tabletop sculpture...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Art: Molding the Human Clay | 1/18/1982 | See Source »

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