Word: window
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...been rebuilt at the Petty garage in Level Cross. The interior was stripped to make way for roll bars and a special, high-backed racing seat. Finally, the doors were bolted shut, so that Petty had to wriggle in and out through the glassless driver's window...
...result, many hippies have taken to growing their own, usually in window boxes, rather than paying the high price of "commercial" marijuana ($10 to $15 for a "lid" from which some 40 cigarettes can be rolled). It was only a matter of time before some enterprising head decided to combine the hippie love of things rural with the prospect of easy cash. Early this summer, John H. ("Ian") Fralich, 18, a cape-draped hippie guru in Washington, B.C., leased a wooded, 35-acre farm in Virginia's rolling hunt country and seeded one acre in marijuana-enough plants...
...subjects were often religious, but he set them in a provincial milieu: his every window opens onto a Rhine castle, his every Madonna is a Teutonic matron. Knighthood was still in flower -in the ballads of troubadours who wandered from manor house to manor house. E.S. captured the spirit of it; his saints and sinners, knights and ladies tiptoe through dainty Alpine primroses to dally on wattle fences. At times he was downright satirical. His Samson is a knave in a tunic and Tyrolean hat, his Delilah a Hausfrau who has slipped away for an afternoon assignation...
Bulging with five-year plans, confidential memos and balance statements, the dozen-odd attache cases are seldom out of their owner's sight. At work in New York, he lovingly lines them up on window ledges in his twelfth-floor office overlooking Park Avenue; at night, he takes a couple of them back to his East Side apartment for bedtime reading. For his frequent trips to Europe, he picks up four or five and carries them along on the plane. And on weekends, he lugs several to his weathered, two-bedroom cottage in New England, where he pores over...
Director Luis Bunuel, who once made a film with Salvador Dali showing an eyeball being shaved, again indulges his penchant for cinematic surrealism and elliptical dialogue. When a window breaks, a guest scoffs, "It's just a passing Jew." A woman carries chicken feet and feathers in her purse. A man shaves his leg with an electric razor. A hand without an owner fingers its way across the room. Throughout, Bunuel continues his career-long attack on church and stately. One woman sneers, "I think the lower classes are less sensitive to pain." Another begs for a washable rubber...