Word: note
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...from some plebeian staff member at Late Night with David Letterman. Most of it was a typewritten form letter, with the usual blank spaces for personalization--like "Dear blank", "thank you for your interest blank", "thanks for your time blank", and "now get lost blank"--except for the handwritten note at the end of the letter, which read "as a result of your application Mr. Blank, we have decided to stop hiring graduates of the Harvard Lampoon until your publication can show that it is capable of producing people who are both funny and can massage Mr. Letterman's buttocks...
...expect. Even the finale, a Live-Aid-style chorus line, maintained the show's dignity. With a better song (the classic pop tune Lean On Me) and little jockeying for favorite microphones, the Jazz For Lifers put on a showcapper that closed an uplifting evening on an uplifting note...
Reagan eased Secretary of State Alexander Haig out of office. In 1982, after the emotional Haig offered once too often to resign, the President handed him a note that began, "It is with the most profound regret that I accept your letter of resignation." Observed the astonished Haig in his memoir, Caveat: "The President was accepting a letter of resignation that I had not submitted...
...bill. Brian Kiley, a local comic, clearly wants to be a Steven Wright with personality. Some of his lines are gems--like the one about the blind and deaf person who reads lips with a yellow-highlighting marker. But he was too much of a Brian-two-note--varying incessantly and to no great effect on such tired themes as polyester leisure seats and mobile homes--and couldn't capture the audience. Master of Ceremonies Brett Butler tried hard, but was undistinguished. Many of her lines were no better than this one she told to a patron in the front...
Those of you with the requisite number of fingers will note that this is our third (3) issue of the What. With this numerical advance has come a process of maturity: from eager freshman enthusiasm to sophomore disillusionment to the jaded professionalism of real vets. Every morning, we editors drag our aching bones out of bed, suck some nicotine into our already charred lungs, and swill down a brand of coffee best kept in government-approved drums with yellow and black warning labels on their sides. All in quest of the product that you, the comfortable reader, now hold...