Word: gourmets
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Dates: during 1970-1970
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THERE'S A GIRL IN MY SOUP-but it might as well be a crouton. In other words, the film, adapted by British Author Terence Frisby, is about as dreary as his play of the same name. Peter Sellers is cast as the galloping gourmet of British television and the Errol Flynn (albeit a spindly one) of the British boudoir. Prinking Lotharios always meet their match, of course, and Sellers' downfall comes at the hand of a goofy colonial bird (Goldie Hawn). Sellers is fitfully amusing when not indulging an inexplicable penchant for removing his clothes...
Death March. Each day Fuji's 150 paper mills pour 2,000,000 tons of raw waste into Tagonoura's waters. The catch of cherry-blossom prawns, a gourmet delicacy unique to the area, has been halved in recent years. Pulp sludge has settled on the floor of the port, reducing the depth of the channel from 30 ft. to 18 ft.-too shallow for even small freighters...
Both airlines are among the pleasantest to fly on-expert pilots, comely stewardesses, gourmet food-but the similarity ends there. Austrian, which is 98% state-owned, has been a losing investment during most of its 13 years of existence and has dropped a total of $40 million. It provides a daily service to New York by leasing half of the cabin of an aircraft flown by Belgium's Sabena. By contrast, Swissair is 70% privately owned, flies to 56 countries and has not lost money since 1949. Last year it earned...
Sunday to Sunday. An ardent gymnast and weight lifter, Margaret nonetheless bristles at the suggestion that she is some kind of Amazon in sneakers. Shy and demure off court, she is a green-eyed blonde with a fondness for gourmet cooking and fashion design. Maggie grew up in Albury, New South Wales, playing tennis against the boys. At 15 she had collected so many trophies that her parents sent her off to train with Frank Sedgman in Melbourne. At 17 she became the youngest woman ever to win the Australian championship. Two years later she was ranked the world...
...players themselves. His beat was sharply defined and unfailing as an atomic clock. He was a scholar with a mania for research and a memory that neatly stored away the data in mental cubbyholes for instant retrieval. Though he cared deeply for paintings and literature and was a gourmet, music was his passion. Everything and everybody, including himself, was to be sacrificed to its perfection. He was fearsome, unforgiving and, in his own performances, nearly flawless. "Well, what do you know," chortled a musician once when Szell momentarily beat a measure incorrectly. "Somebody just threw a spitball into Univac...