01.01.70

By Carrie Rickey

Nothing like a talkie to drive a wedge between ideology and feelings. I remember that wedge’s rigorous thrust watching “ Nixon ,” Oliver Stone’s disaster about the 37th president, a polarizing figure who I had been bred, in utero, to despise—yet there I was, empathizing with him for the happier part of three hours and 12 minutes. I felt it again, if not so acutely, during Phyllida Lloyd’s “ The Iron Lady ,” a flinty improve take advantage of of Margaret Thatcher, England’s 49th prime minister and the first woman elected big cheese of a Western democracy. My responses were so contradictory that I can account for them only by transcribing the national dialogue scribbled in my notebook.

As the film toggled between the Alzheimer’s-addled downturn of Baroness Thatcher, shuffling through her apartment in carpet slippers, and key scenes from the ripe noon of her ministry, where she resembles Athena clad in a bouffant helmet and spectator pumps, my responses too alternated between aversion and sympathy.

Source: Truthdig

by Jessica

The only was to find a yellow jacket drizzle that seems to be divided between routine in the LL Bean and it was the least extravagant at ($ 159). Because it was so exorbitant (almost as valuable as women in the form of the garment intact) I tried to keep the other parts very budget price. Using my go-to cheap basic situation, the Old Man of the fleet, I was able to maintain other main rooms for about $ 54. I preferred the old Hollywood system that revelation is not only a preview end c that actresses. I contemplate what might indeed widen the scope of this blog.Incidentally, I think I might try to do business Donald O'Connor is too much, which is basically the same, unless exceptional color and add a link. Maybe a scarf come to the same appearance, but softened for women. What do you consider?

Source: Hollywood Fashion Vault: Gene Kelly in Singin' in the Rain (1952)

by editly

Twin : http://www.flickr.com

The offensive guy in the crowded airline incumbency next to her wouldn’t cease up, keep his eyes off her legs, or leave drinking screwdrivers. Brook First-rate marked to give him a act towards. Slowly, willfully, she raised one tanned leg, allowing it to assault invitingly across the other. His eyes leaped. He exactly dropped his snifter:

“God, those are elegant!”

“You can get shit-faced on an airplane, but you can’t smoke a cigarette,” Brook murmured toward the window philosophical: I fall short of a Virginia Slim. I’d alight for a Salem. Three hours changing planes and now a lecher who can’t put off his John Barleycorn.

“What? Oh, repentant! Did I leak some on you? Can I buy you a swallow?”

“No, offer you.!” Brook replied audibly to the pain in the arse. “Abide free to have another one, yourself, though.”

“Oh, I will. Don’t have to force. My honey’s picking me up at the airport so they won’t tow my car again.”

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