Word: goldfish
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...flirt with walking girls. In the '20s they flaunted hip flasks, wore raccoon coats, necked in rumble seats, and said, "excuse my dust." In the '30s they sat on flagpoles, danced marathons, leaned on WPA shovels and attended Pink meetings. In the '40s they ate live goldfish and carried books to avoid carrying rifles. In the '50s they staged panty raids, crowded 18 into five-passenger cars, burned rubber and played chicken. In the '60s they let their hair grow, smoked pot, read poetry in the rain, went nude...
Appearing in her first nonmusical, Barbra does not sing a note, but her feline yowling is pure musical comedy. Even George Segal, a fine dramatic actor with minimal comic talents, here displays glints of honest humor. When Doris cannot fall asleep without the television going, Felix gets behind a goldfish bowl and does an uproarious series of sketches. Occasionally, the film tries to take itself seriously, which is ludicrous. But when Streisand and Segal stick to their clawing comedy, watching the fur and feathers fly is high entertainment...
Parker came upon his evidence quite by accident. To aid in a study of water pollution in St. Louis two years ago, he invented a device that could measure pollutants and nutrients in water. He set the instrument in his goldfish pond and found that after a rainfall, particularly after a thunderstorm, the amount of free nutrients (vitamin B12, for example) in the water suddenly increased. Because such substances are normally associated with living organisms, Parker could not imagine why they should be present in rainwater-"unless there is something going on up there...
Hunt and Peck. In the second half of Tora! Tora! Tora!, the bromides stop fizzing and the cliches are hushed. In a brilliant restaging, Japanese planes cut through the cloud cover. There, gliding beneath them, is a civilian biplane, looking like a goldfish among sharks. It is the film's last laugh. Trapped in that jug-necked harbor, the men of the Arizona, the regulars on easy duty in Schofield Barracks, are pathetically vulnerable targets. An airplane desperately taxis down its runway, straining for liftoff. A bomb scores a direct hit. The pilot becomes a gout of smoke...
...building was spacious, rectangular, concrete, and dark. I hope darkness is good for the fish and solaces them with its successful simulation of the blackness of the deeps, for at times, especially when looking into the central pool (populated with rudimentary goldfish and long-shouted fellows who may have been Marlowe's "vile torpedo"), it seemed that the fish were a little too considerately shrouded in nostalgic midnight. The denizens were separated in numerous small tanks, in dramatic contrast to the Florida occanariums I had visited in which large and small, carnivorous and vegetarian, hostile and affable fish were promiscuously...