Word: buggings
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...salient feature of this season's supply of advertising and public-relations fiction, all written more or less from the inside, is that people, plots and other parts are virtually interchangeable. If ad fiction can become plentiful and anesthetic enough, it may yet rival science fiction: the bug-eyed monsters will be replaced by tyrannical clients, the clean-cut spacemen by bright-eyed space-buyers, and the half-dressed blondes by other half-dressed blondes...
...freight-hopping, hitchhiking bum, and 3) a species of religious nut who visualizes himself "wandering the world ... in order to turn the wheel of the True Meaning, or Dharma, and gain merit for myself as a future Buddha (Awakener) and as a future Hero in Paradise." He is a bug on prayer, and some of his meditations are beguiling, as when he contemplates "David 0. Selznick, equally empty, equally to be loved, equally a coming Buddha." A hip peg in a square world, Ray meets his oddball twin in Japhy Ryder, a twinkly-eyed Zen Buddhist hobohemian who lives...
...more than with the subject. He has to teach the students history; he can't merely teach history to the students. There's some analogy to this in the college section, but very little in the lecture." Labaree found teaching immensely to his liking. "I guess this is the bug; once it catches on, you never give teaching...
Identity's name apparently has to do with knowing "one's identity with each of life's facets," according to an editorial by Mr. Robinson. But he indicated in an interview yesterday that he didn't plan to have a bug about such philosophical matters as did, for instance, the editors of i.e., The Cambridge Review. I read the editorial on identity backwards and forwards and in the bathtub, and could find no real clue to the riddle of identity. Mr. Robinson comes out on the side of simplicity, I think, and that is praiseworthy. "...Simplicity," he says...
Change of Bed. Twenty-one years old and squirrelishly pretty, Sally Jay Gorce arrives in Paris determined to burst into bloom. She settles among the Left Bank's blissfully bug-bitten expatriates, embraces the two tenets of their haute couture: 1) hardly anyone washes, and 2) the girls change their beds oftener than their dresses. In no time at all, Sally Jay is blooming like a geranium...