Word: bank
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...relaxes or abolishes acreage controls, raises the prospect that farmers across the country could suddenly decide to put every available acre in, say, corn and sell to the Government at the announced price ($1.10 per bu. minimum). This danger is increased by the termination this year of the Soil Bank's expensive "acreage reserve" section, under which farmers were paid for keeping acres out of corn and other cash crops. Benson himself knows that the $6 billion annual cost of the farm program, big enough to bother Hubert Humphrey, is not likely to come down very fast...
...pessimist not quite prepared to trust reality, doubtful of "justice" in the universe, and inclined to believe that the discovery of cosmic chaos was not a triumph for man. It only sustained the defeat. But Cabell didn't let things go at anticipating Sartre and the Left Bank anti-ontologists. He did believe in wit and beauty, and symbolistic meaning. Images in Jurgen arise from both his imagination and his erudition...
Women's colleges, luncheon clubs, waistlines, and bank accounts got bigger. Madison Avenue, in a Brooks Brothers and button-down salaam to the Little Woman and her big roller pin, committed the ultimate betrayal of privacy every TV evening: the advertising grab-bag of under-arm deodorants, living bras, toilet tissue, toe-nail paint, perfume, mouthwash, and the Potato Sack look. Sex was the province of the Ladies Home Journal. Dr. Spock replaced the Bible. Bohemia in pink panties was more organized nymphomania than Art. Greenwich Village was overrun with mop-headed, turtle-necked, tweed-wrapped, smudge-faced, and beer...
Change of Bed. Twenty-one years old and squirrelishly pretty, Sally Jay Gorce arrives in Paris determined to burst into bloom. She settles among the Left Bank's blissfully bug-bitten expatriates, embraces the two tenets of their haute couture: 1) hardly anyone washes, and 2) the girls change their beds oftener than their dresses. In no time at all, Sally Jay is blooming like a geranium...
...point, Sally Jay is told off by a buddy: "Take it easy, Zelda. Scotty's been dead for years." Scotty has, and Author Dundy is no reincarnation of the razzle-dazzled Fitzgerald. But her portrait of the Left Bank expatriates, who raise a decorous kind of hell and live in fear of losing their Fulbrights, is caustically funny. One mustached featherwit, who has been bumming around renting himself to novelists as a readymade literary character, fumes because Somerset Maugham wouldn't see him. "But Somerset Maugham doesn't write novels any more," Sally Jay objects. "That...