Word: velvets
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...this month's opening of the San Francisco Opera season, one of the nation's few remaining high-fashion occasions, several soignée ladies appeared in elegant jumps that attracted as much attention as the Yves St. Laurent gowns (one spectacular number was all black velvet, festooned with pearls). Brides have been jumpsuiting their way to the altar. Says San Francisco Manufacturer Doug Thomkins: "Not every woman in town is wearing a jumpsuit. But every woman has one hanging in her closet...
...most fun I've ever had fully clothed and in public. Four straight hours the band cooked insistently, with Chenier himself -- recently out of the hospital from serious medical business -- in charge for the latter three. Chenier proclaimed himself "King of the Accordion," signified by a besequinned red velvet crown and proved by playing the rhythm-and-blues devil out of his instrument. He was flanked by a young white guitarist, who played astoundingly well in a Freddie King-inspired style, plus a more stoic black guitarist, two saxophonists, a vigorous drummer, a bass man and, ofcourse, brother Cleveland Chenier...
America has never tried a national poet laureate, mostly because the thing smacks of titles, of poets groveling before lords and trying to dress up hereditary idiots in velvet prosody. But perhaps the U.S. should reconsider. At least 17 states now have poets laureate. Most of them are regional talents, often amateurs; a few, like Richard Eberhardt (New Hampshire) and Gwendolyn Brooks (Illinois), are distinguished poets...
Richard also loves dressing up to different costumes, whether a severe coat or bright red cape. When he hankers for the throne but pretends piously to reject sit, he finally takes off a dun-colored clerical cassock and turns it inside out to reveal--hilariously--an instantaneous royal-purple velvet gown...
...hardly matters. The Dallas phenomenon stems from something more complex than an interest in whodunit. If J.R. Ewing had not committed himself to a life of stylish wickedness-and if the part did not fit Hagman like an iron whip in a velvet glove-few viewers would care that he was near death or trouble themselves to ponder the assailant's identity. If the scheming scion of Ewing Oil were not surrounded by a nest of relatives, all pursuing their venal and venereal desires through a plot delirious in its complexity, he would be perceived as a cartoon villain...