Word: spieled
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...costliest item in most campaign budgets is TV. Half an hour of prime time in New York City costs at least $75,000. Elsewhere, congressional candidates pay $2,000 or more for a one-shot, one-minute spiel-in which, understandably, they tend to decry the high cost of living. TV politicking has progressed from the soapbox to the spectacular. The image-conscious candidate today is not content merely to exhort or debate in a studio. To hold his audience, he commandeers dramatic vignettes and perky musical numbers. In Congress, many incumbents studiously identify themselves with the controversial issues that...
...brand new painkiller, says France's Dr. Henri Laborit, dampens the aches and pains of arthritis, burns, cancer, childbirth, neuralgia, rheumatism-just about all the ills the flesh is heir to. Such fantastic claims may sound like the spiel of a turn-of-the-century snake-oil peddler, but the medical community has learned to take Dr. Laborit at his word. When he reports on the properties of the compound which he calls Ag 246, he speaks with the authority of a researcher who has already been credited with important drug discoveries...
...Chamber of Deputies in Brasilia was nearly deserted when Justice Minister Milton Campos walked briskly up to the speaker's platform. Brazilian Congressmen rarely listen to speeches with more than half an ear, much less to a routine government spiel. It was far from that. "The government," announced Campos, "wants elections. It wants them clean, authentic, democratic, and it will promote them with full guarantees of liberty...
...deserted night, when the hours are small and panic is huge, Erie begins his hour-long self-sell monologue. The spiel sounds like a matter of life and death, because it is. The air is never airy in O'Neill. It is obdurate and oppressive, and his characters slash at it and through it with fast talk, sweet talk, crying talk, any kind of talk. It is a poet's speech-not that O'Neill could ever write a poetic line, but in the sense that a poet regards prose as an inadequate tool to express...
...other 11 months, carrying out, as ever, her inevitable business. Explore her infinity on your own, put your own ear to her breast, then hear her internal rumblings. You must slow yourself down, not rush through on Gray-Line sightseeing tours, inundated by some puerile spiel. "Man," wrote Jon Hendricks in a jazz poem to Manhattan, "if you can't make it in N.Y. City you can't make it nowhere .... I wrote the shortest jazz poem you ever heard. Nothin' 'bout huggin' and kissin'; one word: Listen...