Word: picnicers
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...field hockey, or next to it, Harvard rugby. Occasionally a huge cheer would go up. The Harvard and Dartmouth bands were on faraway fields practicing their halftime shows, and McInally could hear the music as he kicked. It was only a couple of hours before game time. Tailgaters with picnic spreads were arriving, and McInally knew that inside Dillon Field House, the football team would soon be showering and dressing, getting tape applied, getting ready...
...Picnic Forks. In JR, the patterns are again discernible, this time in a world where means have few ends-only the creation of more means; where the techniques of doing things have become more important than the things themselves; where language is debased in the service of such perversions. The book generates a cacophony of banalities and corruptions that drown out love, art, and whatever other human activities can be heard struggling beneath the din. At such moments, JR seems derivative of Thomas Pynchon's V and Gravity's Rainbow. But it is more likely that Pynchon...
...brassiere strap hung errant and anomalous." But these lapses are overwhelmed by the novel's bitterly comic vision: a world in which an eleven-year-old boy known as "JR" parlays a bid to supply the Army with 9,000 gross of wooden picnic forks into a multinational conglomerate. Barely literate, he works out of a telephone booth and gets his leads by subscribing to dozens of commercial magazines and catalogues...
...through dairy lands, north into lakes and woods, we pulled into a little campground (which doubled as a chain saw outlet and vendor of used snowmobiles) a mile or so outside the proud community of Rhinelander, Wisconsin. Three dollars for a little plot for the tent, a picnic table, and a bunch of rocks in a circle to start a fire in, a fire which I later couldn't get started because of wet wood, an episode ending in a most unwoodsman-like display of burned fingers, smoldering copies of the Milwaukee Sentinel, and constant invocations of deity piercing loudly...
...Picnic at the Radcliffe Yard. Another casual get-together annually spoiled by pretensions. Aside from avoiding those people who refuse to let the topic of conversation stray beyond the recently read German translation of Camus, you now must contend with the group of Wellesley women carted in to appease the males. The beginning of open exploitation season for women at Harvard...