Word: cockroaches
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...typical of the area. Decaying plaster and peeling paint festoon its dark blue hall ways, and a flight of creaky wood stairs leads down to an oppressively low-ceilinged cellar that reeks of dog droppings and rancid garbage. A single naked light bulb illuminates the grimy heating pipes, the cockroach-scampered walls, and piles of loose, whitewashed firebricks from the building's boiler. It hardly seems the place for a tryst, yet into that foul tomb last week walked a pair of hippie "love children" intent on the pursuit of passion. Instead they rendezvoused with death...
...sweet but dissolute alley cat and a philosophically minded cockroach, symbols of the dual cultures of the 1920's and 30's, inhabit the strange world recreated in Kirkland House's archy and mehitabel. Richard Gottlieb's adaptation of the original series by Don Marquis, however, largely ignores the periods atmosphere in favor of the humor and occasional pathos of Marquis's animal characters. Add occasional music by Larry Johnson, and the result is a curious but thoroughly enjoyable mixture of comedy and fantasy...
...part that could easily have worn thin (her motto, "toujours gaie," must have been repeated 50 times) constantly amusing, surprising whenever possible, and occasionally touching. John Sansone's archy, however, didn't quite click, perhaps because his part was rather stupid: a lot of wise sayings from the cockroach's perspective on human life, neither incisive nor witty...
...Cabinet, Krishnamachari ran the country's finances as a one-man show, imposed harsh restrictions on the foreign firms in India, and conducted a running fight with the World Bank, which criticized his policies as too restrictive. Contemptuous of his colleagues, he called one minister a "constipated cockroach," advised another to return to teaching, and held back on allocations of foreign exchange for much needed fertilizer largely out of dislike for Food Minister Chidambaram Subramaniam...
...sure our land is under us. Ten feet away, no one hears us. But wherever there's even a half-conversation, we remember the Kremlin s mountaineer. His thick fingers are fat as worms, his words reliable as ten pound weights. His boot tops shine, his cockroach mustache is laughing. About him, the great, his thin-necked, drained advisors. He plays with them. He is happy with half-men around him. They make touching and funny animal sounds. He alone talks Russian. One after another, his sentences like horseshoes! He pounds them out. He always hits the nail...