Word: bitted
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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...confesses to a certain loneliness: "You miss those little men from the security police who tail you, the knowledge that your telephone is tapped, and the interesting things the Communist newspapers write about you" (one described Low as "the Ronald Colman-type champion of American imperialism"). As a final bit of intelligence extracted from his last trip behind the Curtain, Low reports that the hottest black market item now is playing cards. None have been manufactured there since before the war, and there are no Communist allocations for reviving the industry. Low's deck of cards was virtually snatched...
Pennsylvania-born Peter Mennin is something of a phenomenon among U.S. composers: at 25, he has already had three symphonies performed, and he is not a bit complacent about it. With a grin, he dismisses his first symphony, composed at 17, as "too damn long." He says, "Let's just forget about the Second"-even though it won the Gershwin and Beams prizes...
...blonde's shapely body was pushed slowly against the whirring circular saw. In the orchestra pit, the musicians shielded their instruments and cowered under sheets of butcher paper. The saw ripped menacingly through the girl's clothes, bit into her midriff, began to spew what looked exactly like blood and entrails all over the stage and into the audience. Women shrieked and fainted. Finally, with the blonde all too realistically sawed in half, Argentine Illusionist Richiardi Jr. invited the spectators up for a closer look. Hundreds trooped onstage, stared at the gory shambles and the blonde (still intact...
...Mass was written for available talent at Salzburg in 1782. In that case the abilities must have been reversed, for Monday night Paul Tibbetts did the best bit of solo work with the one short phrase that makes up the bass part. No one could have any criticism, however, of Eleanor Davis' "Laudamusic," which was altogether competent. The soprano, Phyllis Curtin, had the most difficult role of all, particularly in the jumps of the "Et incarnatus est." Though she had many exquisite tones, she showed a slight unwillingness to land decisively on a note and sustain it. Tenor Summer Crockett...
Adventure Enough. In this typical "bit of dialogue, Novelist Elizabeth Taylor skips ahead of the reader to state-and quickly puncture with mockery-the best justification for her novels. A Wreath of Roses is her fourth, and it has the same lightness and speed, the same clairvoyance at catching ripples of feminine feeling, as her first, At Mrs. Lippincote's. Since there is nothing very busty or blustery about all this, Mrs. Taylor will probably have to be content with a lot fewer readers than she deserves...