Word: calvins
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...seasoned wit is matched only by his appetite for good food, but Calvin Trillin is a man whose passions have always transcended the purely gustatory. The author of such critically touted books as Third Helpings (1983) and If You Can't Say Something Nice (1987), the Kansas City-born humorist, novelist and columnist also has a knack for capturing the offbeat flavor of American life. Last month Trillin contributed a portrait of Atlanta as part of TIME's coverage of the Democratic National Convention. This week Trillin's supple pen is trained on New Orleans, where the Republicans have converged...
...loyal service, the Vice President must offer his own vision to America. Will the Reagan legacy harm or help him? -- "I' ve been underestimated over and over again," Bush tells TIME. "He' s a blank slate," says Michael Dukakis. -- Garry Wills on the rise of the ultimate yes- man. -- Calvin Trillin discovers a newer, prepackaged New Orleans. -- See NATION...
Michael Dukakis tries to unite his party and define its postliberal soul. -- Confounding oddsmakers and stiff- arming Jesse Jackson, the Duke picks Texan Lloyd Bentsen as his running mate. -- Garry Wills on the rise of the moral manager. -- Calvin Trillin rediscovers Atlanta. -- Mimi Sheraton samples the city' s culinary charms. See NATION...
...minefield -- and a smelly minefield at that. More and more perfume manufacturers are relying on not just provocative texts and evocative images but a sample of the real thing. Turn the page, break open the "scent strip" and get a full blast of Giorgio of Beverly Hills; or Calvin Klein's Obsession; Fendi, the passion of Rome; or Faberge's McGregor. "The fragrance business is so highly competitive," says Melisande Congdon-Doyle, director of cosmetic and fragrance marketing at Harper's Bazaar, "that the only way to get the scent before the noses of people is to go to them...
This season her acolyte is Ebby Calvin ("Nuke") LaLoosh (Tim Robbins), a southpaw with a million-dollar arm and a five-cent head. Nuke is a little raw. He's meat in need of curing, and Annie sees that as her mission. So she straps him into her bed and reads passages from I Sing the Body Electric. You remember Walt Whitman; according to Annie, he pitched for the Cosmic All- Stars. And his dithyrambs, invoking "limitless limpid jets of love," could be in praise of a fastball pitcher whose arm doesn't turn to overcooked pasta...