Word: fountain
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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Three Weeks of Penance. A typical French spa is Mont-Dore, in central France. There, every morning, patients with respiratory trouble bustle out of 275 summer villas and 80 hotels and pensions to queue up at the doors of the fountain pavilion. Each curist carries his own graduated glass, which attendants fill to the proper mark with tepid, slightly bubbly, radioactive water. After a gargle or a swig, the patient sits in a tub of water for 25 minutes while compressed air is forced up, gets a massage, wades into a thick fog of water particles, finally inhales some vapors...
Everywhere there are signs of the prodigious energy of the most dynamic and disturbing artist of his time. Ferocious bronze owls glare from under the palms, a huge stone head of a woman lies in the basin of the fountain, plywood pipe-players are scattered about the lawn. Inside, the three main rooms are jammed. Canvases crowd the walls, spill out of crates. Weird ceramics stand in disheveled confusion on the floor. The rest of the space is taken up by a litter of objects that Picasso collects compulsively, objects that may set him off on a new theme...
...cafe au lait she has drunk, and her only feeling of dread, that provoked by the approaches of the young man sitting across from her. The Harvard community now supports two of these reasonable facsimilies. Like (and, of course, pointedly unlike) the corner soda fountain, the coffee houses, with their exotically late hours, provide not only somewhere to meet, but someplace...
Secondari, an experienced novelist (Coins in the Fountain), wrote no Emmy winner in The Commentator, but the script is better than many and unique in coming to grips with a problem of backstage TV at the topmost level. Secondari's commentator creates a crisis by blasting a demagogic Congressman. The network backs him up (as CBS backed up Edward R. Murrow in his celebrated 1954 editorial against Joe McCarthy). But in the end-after speeches deriding the network board of directors as "careful coupon clippers'' and the advertising agencies as "prudent dispensers of panaceas and happy endings...
...Communist-capitalist Bank of China, the Dalai Lama continued his madcap spending spree. No haggler, the Lama snapped up a $1,300 diamond-studded watch; when told it was a bit costly, he emitted a hearty, innocent laugh. He also amassed some German cameras, Swiss watches, radios and fountain pens, dropped about $3,000 at the races on tardy nags. He drew the line one evening, however, when a naughty Calcutta nightclub, featuring a couple of near-naked girl dancers, rang him up to confirm his table reservation. Protesting that the Lama was a wag's logical victim...