Word: sort
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...ease with which Ferrante changed sports follows her personal belief that she can adapt to anything: "It's sort of bad in a way because I could be happy in a dump; things don't upset...
...White House's much touted "dollar rescue package" of last November; it was slapped together as a sort of desperation move to prop up the dollar after foreign bankers last autumn looked at the guidelines scheme, judged it weak and began frantically dumping greenbacks and buying West German marks, Swiss francs and gold. Initially, the November rescue package did stabilize money markets, largely because the Federal Reserve began massively intervening in currency markets to buy dollars and support their value. But inflation kept rampaging domestically, and eventually the dollar began to crumble all over again...
...date, Volcker and Treasury Secretary Miller met with their West German counterparts and Chancellor Helmut Schmidt in Hamburg as part of a series of continuing huddles that grew out of the now faltering dollar-rescue package of November 1978. The West Germans told the new Fed chief that any sort of Son of Rescue plan would now be simply unacceptable. If Washington wanted anything more than disdainful sympathy for its economic malaise, the Germans indicated, it would have to stage a sustained assault on inflation itself. The U.S. could not just go on blabbering about exchange-rate instability...
...sort of hero. A millionaire who often lived like a bum, sleeping in a closet with his clothes on-because he believed that taking them off promoted insomnia-and spitting on the floor even in his cherished laboratories. A picturesque swearer who hired assistants whom George Bernard Shaw called "sensitive, cheerful and profane; liars, braggarts and hustlers." A would-be tycoon so crotchety and bullheaded that he could give little credit to the ideas of others; so inept in business matters that he lost control of the immensely profitable companies he founded. An incurable show-off and self-promoter...
...deserves the Nobel Prize for Typing. But Mailer does not work stupidly; the flat, banal voices mustered here soon become haunting. The book is like an immense issue of the National Enquirer being endlessly explicated until it is forced to yield some truth. Gilmore's story is a sort of immense white-trash saga; he accomplishes his victory even in death by calling down all kinds of electronic gods to attend: photographers, wire services, television networks, and at last even the bardic Mailer. No one else has so well caught the logic by which small creeps become celebrities, even...