Word: soucy
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...phat! I really need some help, so I thought, "Maybe I should ask Norma." My problem is that my mommy says that I can't watch Power Rangers on TV anymore. Mommy says the Power Rangers "numb me to the real world violence brought on by Republicancaused severe souci-economic problems." She trash-compacted my Power Ranger action figures yesterday. Help! I think she's been replaced by evil alien invaders...
...court painter. Nothing could be further from the truth. After he died, Watteau's work appealed irresistibly to the high and mighty of Europe: Frederick the Great of Prussia had no fewer than 89 paintings by or in the manner of Watteau in his palaces at Potsdam, Sans Souci and Charlottenburg. Alive, Watteau had no time for courts, and little access to them anyway. He sensibly preferred the theater, whose troupes and characters he painted so often, shifting them from the stage to "real" landscapes (which are themselves stages, only of a subtler kind), that it is still hard...
...uncertain terms with the name he drops. I could never get over the way Woodward and Bernstein used to skirmish this way: Bob would tell Carl he saw Frank Perdue on the bus; Carl would tell Bob he nearly ran Rod McKuen down in front of Sans Souci, and so on. I guess it was just hard for me to understand how two people as as sensitive and wonderful as Carl and Bobby could stoop to such silliness...
...journalists. Of course, parties are places for the conduct of business, not discourse. That is just as well. Henry James romantically regarded Washington as the "city of conversation." It would be interesting to see what he would make of the arcane political chitchat that fills lunch hours at Sans Souci and the Madison...
...Southern to reflect the Administration's glory. Persons wearing boots caked with South Georgia slops and pig dung were going to be whooping and rolling and snorting and dancing in the streets of Washington, slaughtering hogs and boiling up big vats of grits out back of the Sans Souci." But as the Carter era wore on, Blount felt betrayed. He would not forgive his fellow Southerner for letting Congress, the Soviets, the Iranians and that killer rabbit make him look foolish. Why, he wonders, couldn't the President be more like his brother, a real, no-nonsense redneck...