Word: tippler
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Want evidence that the CIA is trying to get its groove back? Consider the tale of the tippler. An agency spook trying to recruit a potentially useful overseas target felt compelled to warn his bosses recently that the man enjoyed a drink. Fearing that deskbound managers would veto the contact, the spook was thrilled to be told "to use his instincts, be smart and see" what develops. The episode, related to TIME by someone close to the agency, is meant to illustrate how, a year into Director Porter Goss's tenure, the CIA is inching back to the risk-taking...
...press corps whips up margaritas in the back rows of the 757. "It takes an animal to know an animal," Bush proclaims, to the whir of a blender. "And I'm not admitting I'm an animal, with 60 days to go in the campaign." The ex-tippler doesn't break his sobriety, but he is filmed doing something else that other photographers were forbidden to capture: drinking a nonalcoholic beer with the gusto of a man who has downed the real thing...
...press corps whips up margaritas in the back rows of the 757. "It takes an animal to know an animal," Bush proclaims, to the whir of a blender. "And I'm not admitting I'm an animal, with 60 days to go in the campaign." The ex-tippler doesn't break his sobriety, but he is filmed doing something else that other photographers were forbidden to capture: drinking a nonalcoholic beer with the gusto of a man who has downed the real thing...
...husbands were killed over the last year in Boston. Did that merit any televised specials? Tens of thousands of Americans are murdered annually. Some of them did useful things with their lives. None of them have been eulogized like Nicole Brown Simpson and Ronald Goldman--the one a promiscuous tippler who puttered around in Ferraris without having contributed anything significant to society, whose lifetime occupation was that of silicon-impregnated consort to a brutish gladiator and rental car shill, the other a member of that most dispensible of species--the "aspiring actor/model". Are these two typical of murder victims...
WHEN A CRITIC AND FELLOW tippler suggested to Tennessee Williams that he | might be a better playwright if he stayed off the sauce, Williams patted his companion's forearm and with a satisfied smile challenged, "Improve A Streetcar Named Desire." The discussion stopped right there. The years since its debut in 1947 have only intensified the relevance of Streetcar's vision of sexual passion as a force so powerful that the principal characters must all lie to themselves about it. But if Streetcar emphatically belongs back on Broadway, it deserves far better than this starry but mostly wan and torpid...