Word: yellowing
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Dates: during 2000-2000
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...better, I might have inhibitions." I ask what he's wearing now. "Gray slacks and a gray blazer (but a different shade of gray, I think). I'm wearing a dark vest with a pinstripe and a watch chain; a silk paisley tie with some red, yellow and green; and some sort of black dress shoes...
...only know this because some wrestling brute with tattoos that spread continuously from his right pinky to his left decided to demonstrate. I wanted to ask him if getting all those tattoos had hurt, but was afraid of being spit on again.) The first fight involved someone in yellow leather (or pleather? I couldn't be sure, even with our proximity) pants fighting a Dracula-esque character with fangs and blood spurting out of his mouth. Dracula's girlfriend then came out, much to the delight of the 18,000 in attendance and to my disgust...
...Starting his Q&A, Keyes can't resist the determined-looking young woman with a huge yellow 'Choice' button pinned to her chest. He knows what's coming and he doesn't think twice. Ten minutes later, he chastises the moderator of the event, who is trying to steer the microphone away from another would-be critic, a University of Wisconsin student. "Let me direct the microphone, if you don't mind," shouts Keyes, his voice a mixture of fearsome preacher and irritated muppet...
Then comes the highlight of the evening--and Robert's best chance to scare his son straight. An officer in a yellow inmate outfit and red helmet and pads begins shouting in cell 3C06, as if he's a convict gone berserk. On cue, four officers in riot gear march to the door of the cell and shout, "Ready and stop!", before one unleashes a burst of pepper spray. Then they rush in, pinning the prisoner to the wall, handcuffing and evacuating...
Mark Morris' latest New York City premiere, now being performed on tour, is irresistibly zany--and very, very smart. Set to Ethan Iverson's delectably decorous salon-style arrangements of '20s pop songs, Dancing Honeymoon consists of 15 Chaplinesque vignettes through which Morris and his six yellow-clad dancers hurtle at breakneck speed. Like all great farces, this one is precisely calculated down to the last pratfall; even when the props start flying through the air, everything goes wrong right on time. Keep an eye on Julie Worden, who dances like a Thoroughbred filly and makes faces like Lucille Ball...