Word: beachfronts
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...glory without the fame. The distinction is explained by a character in Rudnick's 1991 Broadway comedy I Hate Hamlet: "Fame pays better. Fame has beachfront property. Fame needs bodyguards." But Rudnick's pay is fine, thanks. He doesn't need Malibu acreage; he has a dashingly ornate apartment -- one previously tenanted by John Barrymore, just like the I Hate Hamlet flat -- in Manhattan's Greenwich Village. Rudnick would laugh off bodyguards; he is an unguarded fellow in an edgy age. "Paul is so charming," says his old friend William Ivey Long, a Tony-winning costume designer, "that you suspect...
...fond of anything you'd have after school." No wonder the message of Rudnick's most personal work (Jeffrey, Social Disease and his other novel, I'll Take It) is that the strangest people have the sweetest hearts. You lift a rock expecting to find insects, and instead: beachfront...
Case in point: Monrovia, Liberia, where Purvis arrived a month ago on a chartered flight just after rebels started shelling the airport runway to impede Nigerian troops. He spent a scary night holed up in a dilapidated beachfront hotel, he says, "listening to artillery fire mingled with the sound of crashing waves as I filed a story on a laptop computer." On his way out the next day, three Liberian "security" officials detained Purvis in a small room at the airport and shook him down for a $60 bribe. It was pay or stay. "They each got $20, which...
...year, the Pacific plate to the west of the San Andreas is slowly pushing north, past the North American plate on the east. One possible result: 60 million or so years from now, a sliver of the California coast that includes the megalopolis of Los Angeles could become beachfront property in Alaska...
...warm night in Valencia, 300 citizens gather in the streets of Malvarrosa, a beachfront neighborhood. Passing a megaphone back and forth, they snake through the streets, shaking their fists at apartments where, they claim, heroin traffickers live. "Drug dealers out! Out! Out!" they shout. For seven years, the barrio was besieged by addicts. "Our children couldn't go to buy a loaf of bread without having their coins stolen," said Maria Jose Fuentes, who was marching with her nine-year-old son. "Old ladies were ! attacked. Prostitutes were everywhere, and addicts walked around with needles in their arms." Last September...