Word: crisping
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Speed Replaces Depth. Though often short on facts, the U.P. historically has compensated with brighter writing; its crisp, concise style has forced the A.P. in recent years to valiant efforts to refurbish its often stodgy copy. Style has become increasingly important as the technical speedup in communications sytems has all but eliminated the old-fashioned beat. At the same time, speed has increasingly displaced depth or even accuracy, as writing and checking time dwindle. The A.P., with more manpower, is widely accepted by editors as more accurate than the U.P. Day by day the A.P. also files more interpretive background...
WHETHER they know it or not, the architect, the layout artist, the sign painter, and even the counter girl who wraps a candy box asymmetrically with a gay ribbon all owe a debt to a lone Dutchman named Piet Mondrian. Cubist Mondrian's crisp, rectilinear paintings, once scoffed at as being mere linoleum patterns, have been one of the most pervasive influences in 20th century design. With their novelty absorbed, his paintings are now being viewed in their own right, establishing Mondrian as one of art's great space organizers...
Throughout their act, they spoof their own material, run in gag numbers kidding singing commercials and California's ad-mad mortuaries: "At Goldheim's you can lie on your crisp, moisture-free bier and know that your bier is Goldheim's, the dry bier...
Once, 22 years ago, Master Sergeant Ridgley, 43, got to the quarter-finals of the U.S. Amateur. He has a couple of Air Force titles and some minor British tournaments to his credit as well. But never anything like that fine semifinal at Formby. With his crisp, choppy swing, the ex-tailgunner demoralized South Africa's Arthur Walker, 13 and 12. British championship golf had not known such a bad beating since Lawson Little won the Amateur title from James Wallace at Prestwick...
...week, fluttering bright political posters on the walls, wafting a rich aroma from the stand-up coffee bars, riffling the leaves of the acacia trees. Steamers hooted in the harbor, cattle bawled in the stockyards, streetcars clanged and creaked. In the restaurants, solid citizens, their appetites renewed by the crisp air, tucked napkins into collars and turned with sober and fastidious attention to platter-size steaks and tall bottles of red wine. At night, in the tango palaces, unsmiling couples danced as black-suited singers mourned...