Word: drunks
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Kevin Fitzpatrick, her prey in that scene, also has trouble acting drunk, but otherwise his performance satisfies. A poseur, Richard Miller over-romanticizes himself and his love. Fitzpatrick is properly stagy. His adolescent self-consciousness comes across beautifully: when he quotes Omar Khayyam, we can feel his pride at knowing a poem by heart. Fitzpatrick manages Richard's tricky character development well. He really does change; Richard quotes poetry, by the end of the play, not to impress anyone, but because poetry expresses his thoughts better than anything else...
...same way, you don't have to teach a woman how to talk." That statement, like many issued by male cops these days, accepts the fact that policewomen are here to stay. Indeed, women routinely face the same dangers as men. Last fall in Oakland a drunk attacked a female cop, and authorities there described it as one of the most savage beatings in recent memory. Says Sargent: "We've had quite a number of females get decked and come up spitting blood...
When he and Syrie divorced in 1929, Maugham had already established residence on the Riviera with his secretary-lover. Gerald Haxton was a sociable charmer, but he was also unscrupulous, a gambler and a drunk. "Their relationship," writes Morgan, "had a dark, unpleasant side in which the roles of master and servant were interchanged and each tried to make the other suffer." When Haxton died in 1944, his place was taken by Alan Searle, a lower-keyed companion who enjoyed reading muscle magazines...
Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon '69, which sells for up to $40 a bottle, have become ridiculously expensive; and, because they are scarce, the reds in particular are snapped up and drunk down years before they have fully matured. Peter Morrell, a Manhattan wine merchant who boasts one of the country's biggest assemblages of California bottles, insists on locking the better ones away until they are mature enough to drink...
...girls and women have had figure-skating lessons, and some men played hockey in school, but in well-behaved years the frozen lakes have three feet of snow on them, and so we are skiers, not skaters. I am conscious of resembling, as I skate, a bishop who has drunk too much at a garden party and is trying to appear sober. I totter along for miles, fascinated, accompanied by a dog who skates no better than I do and an assistant dog who loses control of her hindquarters when she tries to turn. We reach a cove where three...