Word: comics
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Whoopee. "Here is another of Mr. Ziegfeld's sumptuous durbars, a large and glittering ceremonial with Mr. Cantor at the comic centre of its parades. . . . The celebration earns the right to be called magnificent. ... He (Florenz Ziegfeld) employs the expensive Eddie Cantor . . . the prodigal Mr. Urban. ... He inspires the lazy silkworms to weave new and fabulous fabrics. . . ."-Percy Hammond in the Herald Tribune...
Further indignation was caused by an article describing students at the University of Virginia* as genial and not infrequent drinkers.† Editors of University of Virginia magazines, outraged, pledged their efforts to have the Eastern College Comics Association also repudiate College Humor. The sole other college comic association, the Western, voted to cancel all contracts with it eight months before the recent action of the Midwestern...
...phrase, "in conference," to most people, educated by comic strips, signifies: "out playing golf," or "unfit to receive callers." Actually, of course, it means something else. It can be seen that the life of Thomas Fortune Ryan was, in its most important aspects, a succession of meetings with other men, an endless series of discussions and conversations, held in big, gloomy rooms, over lunch tables, or on street corners in Wall Street 40 years ago. Each of these conferences had its own specific results; as far as Thomas Fortune Ryan was concerned, the result was often an addition, large...
...together on a story, or rather that story about the Parisian who is so tired of women that he is expressing his weariness in an epigrammatic speech when-what do you think?-a beautiful pair of legs goes by. The pursuit, tailored with a good deal of deft comic detail, leads in and out of bedrooms and round and round a jealous husband until, at Kathryn Carver's request, a waiter removes a pot of flowers to expose, on the other side of the table, the lovelorn face of Mr. Menjou. At this point you are conscious that...
...Argentina. She was tired and languorous as the sun that used to warm her; she was glittering and remote; she was a primitive thing driving away evil spirits to the fire music made from de Falla's Amor Brujo, snapping her fingers, clucking her tongue; a comic spirit cavorting on a peasant's holiday. She danced without accompaniment, was herself the musician, playing a busy bass with her heels while her castanets turned the tune of a Seguidillas...