Word: parlor
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...read the transcripts; now see the movie. So goes the current parlor game, "Watergate, Soon to Be Made into a Major Motion Picture." Most casting choices tend to be inspired but impractical - President Nixon played by the shade of a Captain Queeg-ish Humphrey Bogart (they were all "dishloyal officersh"), or Jeb Magruder impersonated by the late Montgomery Clift. Properly, the ground rules should exclude all but those actors available for two months of work, plus a renewable option for the TV-series spinoff. Let those who are without guilt stone the first cast...
...professional criminal, already at odds with the straight world. Now he must also stand against the criminal world as he wages a bloody vendetta against the Mob that had his brother killed. He gets to them by busting up some of their more successful undertakings (a casino, a bookie parlor) and turning the profits over to his sister-in-law. He himself waits for a clear shot at Mr. Big, a long and weary wait...
...cool, has become a sort of madeleine. Irrevocably, the cachet of pop has gone, and many of its artifacts now look tenuous. It cannot be long before some enterprising museum (the Metropolitan?) opens a '60s Period Room, to go with its transplanted Louis Quinze paneling and reassembled colonial parlor: a Wesselmann and a Warhol Marilyn on the stainless-steel walls, a coffee table strewn with multiples and macadarnia nuts, a Panther poster above the vinyl settee, and under the supergraphic in the corner a waxwork group of Henry Geldzahler hustling that week's trend to a slim, wrinkled...
Like the pool hall and the tattoo parlor, the motorcycle usually gets a bad press. T.E. Lawrence (of Arabia) terminated his romance with himself aboard a British army bike, which he had named George VII. During the '50s and '60s, Hell's Angels on their Harley-Davidsons turned in convincing performances as Visigoths at the gates of suburbia. Easy Rider could not keep off the grass, and Evel Knievel, that star spangled Icarus of the carnival circuit, gives young minibike owners potentially lethal delusions of grandeur. But now, during the lull in the great gas panic...
...dealer visiting Magritte at his unremarkable suburban house in Brussels was met by the surrealist in his normal business-suit attire. At tea in the parlor, the visitor dropped something, bent down to pick it up, and experienced an agonizing kick in the backside. When he spun round, he saw Magritte imperturbably stirring his cup as though nothing whatever had happened. As in life...