Word: cognac
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...Paris exhibit at Chicago. I think it belongs there, and I think it a tribute which the French should appreciate. True, there was no need to fly the Tricolor above it." Oddly enough, the best piece is Miller's account of how, a little squiffed from cognac, he told the story of Goldilocks to his children. "One day the grizzly bear was out gathering wood for the fire," the father improvises shakily. "He had nothing on but his bearskin, and the flies were driving him mad ..." The son objects contemptuously: "I don't like the way he tells...
...dialogue awakened cafe scents of strong smoke, dry cognac and refracted thought ("Suppose you die and find out that the dead are only the living playing at being dead")And the story of an intellectual mamma's boy Communist up against a tough, cynical but gallant revolutionary was shot through with Marxist analysis. With such qualities Jean-Paul Sartre's Crime of Passion seemed an unlikely play for TV. But viewers in the New York area saw it last week, in a full-length and absorbing production, well acted by a cast that included Claude Dauphin and Betsy...
Contrasting with this central love affair, a pair of ultra-sophisticated demi-mondaines cross "our boy and girl's" path, yawning at each other with remarks such as, "Is this your lighter that I found under my pillow, or does it belong to Jacques?" While these two sip cognac in a fancy burlesque, "our two" gulp coffee at a sidewalk cafe. Both women call their lovers "Mon Petit." When one Mon Petit loses his duck, Napoleon, the other Mon Petit wonders why anyone would bother to put a string around a duckling's neck. This dichotomy arises often enough...
Before surrendering their copy to the pajama-clad Laotians in Vientiane's flyspecked telegraph office, savvy correspondents pointedly wrapped it around a bottle of cognac. One newsman begged the native telegrapher not to send his stories last page first, finally won his case with smiles. Everyone craftily slugged dispatches "urgent," but the imperturbable telegraphers were unimpressed; crisis or no, they shut up shop every night at 7:30, leaving newsmen to gnash their teeth at 24-hour delays in transmission...
...sounds like a swell life," I said. "When do I work?" -The Sun Also Rises In high-ceilinged studios and sunny flats littered with children's toys, a new kind of American-artist-abroad is at work in Italy these days. Scorning the cognac-and-champagne antics of Hemingway's Lost Generation the American in Rome shuns a beard, rope shoes, and pants held up by a length of clothesline, prefers a walkup on Rome's outskirts to a garret on arty Via Margutta ( "too expensive and too phony") Work for Kicks. There are an estimated...