Word: jacketful
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...jacket design of the album is calculated to appeal to the believer in ghosts and seances and such. The front shows a sort of slimy, ectoplasmic quill pen writing music, and the back has a "quote" from Sir Donald Tovey about composers who "have shuffled off these mortal coils." This remarkably florid pseudo-Shakesperianism was allegedly transmitted last January by Sir Donald from beyond the grave. Tovey was never a great stylist, but even he never sank that...
Midi to Padded Jacket. In its reincarnation as the Zhiguli, the 124 has undergone considerable modification. Among other things, it has been given a sturdier suspension system to survive Russia's potholed roads, and a number of other features, such as a battery that loses little power at 58° F. below zero and warmed door handles, to cope with the bitter cold Russian winters. As an Italian journalist in Moscow put it: "A sexy Italian maiden in a midiskirt and high heels has been sent off into the Russian taiga with boots and padded jacket for a hard...
...autocratic. The wives of political figures became favorite targets. A photograph of Mrs. Hubert Humphrey was captioned "That little old dressmaker is at it again." A simple dress and jacket worn by Mrs. Stuart Symington became "another one of those 'dumb' costumes." Society and show business regularly get theirs in WWD too. Just last week, Fairchild ordered up a layout on women who "become walking billboards for all the latest status symbols" and "allow fashion to wear them." He even gave them their own initials, FV (Fashion Victims). The caption for FV Barbra Streisand, shown in the transparent Scaasi costume...
...some glimmer of talent. His settings have the blinding, sun-washed aspects of Marat Sade. His mad, scatological songs could have been copied from the walls of Greenwich Village urinals; they are funny nonetheless. And in one scene there is authentic wit. A prisoner in black tie and dinner jacket (Harry Rigby) gazes at the dogs and whines: "What am I doing here? I'm a penguin." As he dies, his final dream is of a formal party complete with glacial ice cubes and attended by the great auk of Manhattan nightlife, Julius Monk...
Last week, after five hours' deliberation, the jury acquitted Flanagan of all charges. He quickly dropped his disguise. Off came the jacket, up flew the right arm in a clenched-fist salute. "Boom power to the Weathermen!" cried Flanagan. "I don't have to play the Man's game any more. Law-and-order in Chicago is a farce. I want to go back to the streets and fight." New Yorkers will not be cheered by Flanagan's parting words. With his arm around his girl friend he proclaimed: "I'm going home to make...