Word: swaggers
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Meanwhile, in the political and geographic center of London theater, the Old Guard holds forth with style and swagger. Early this month the bedroom farce No Sex, Please-We're British notched its 5,000th performance; Agatha Christie's The Mousetrap is cadging tourists in its 31st year; Andrew Lloyd Webber still has three musicals running (Evita, Cats and Song and Dance), with a new show promised for the fall. Peter Ustinov has donned a peruke and a music-hall German accent to star in his own caustic comedy, Beethoven's Tenth. London's two major...
...moment is quintessential Mailer, combining swagger, a touch of menace, self-mockery and high good humor. Such charm in close quarters could overwhelm a roomful of enemies. How could anyone not wish this impish iconoclast happiness, prosperity, long life, enough success to make him happy and enough failure to keep him on his toes? But mellowness? Hold that for a while, spare him and the rest of the world such tedious peace. Says Mailer: "I've never been impressed by mellowing. Usually the people who have mellowed always have just a touch of sadness, because maybe they shouldn...
...decade ago, however, De Lorean seemed exotic. His high profile, in all of its manifestations, rankled some straitlaced executive colleagues. Others simply wearied of his professional swagger. "When John was at General Motors, people either loved him or they hated him," says J. Patrick Wright, a business journalist who wrote De Lorean's 1979 memoir, On a Clear Day You Can See General Motors. According to the book, De Lorean's febrile management style, impolitic brilliance and impatience with bureaucracy worked against him. In a chapter called "How Moral Men Make Immoral Decisions," De Lorean makes much...
...boys for years stood unsurpassed. Typically, the auditorium would go dark just as the first, hesitant synthesizer notes of "Baba O'Riley" rang out. Then power guitar chords and lights came simultaneously, and everyone would see Townshend bashing away frantically at his Gibson SG. Finally, Daltrey would swagger in from stage right, throwing his mike toward the audience in ever increasing arcs only to grab it at the very last possible second and sing from his guts: "Out here in the fields...
...graduation, only the picking up of options. The boys are feral carnivores out of The Blackboard Jungle; the girls are pert Circes out of a sophomore's wet dream. The nice guys surf, smoke dope and screw around; the bad ones torch autos, walk with a surly Gestapo swagger and carve their initials in the nearest human flesh. There is never a dull moment, never a suspension of disbelief, never a security guard around when the rowdies are methodically tearing the place down. Everybody at Contact High, from prom queen to thug, is dazzlingly photogenic. Nobody ever cracks...