Last year was anything but effervescent. In fact, it was a year gone flat, as marked most notably by the sudden demise—and immediate resuscitation—of America’s best-loved secret formula. Last year, Coke Was It, and went from being It, to formerly It, to classically It, all in just eighty days.
Our story begins more than a century ago in the steaming jungles of South Asia, where the resinous secretions of millions of lac insects were harvested to meet the industrial world’s need for shellac. Used in finishes and varnishes, shellac in its molded form was made into electrical insulation and fixtures.
MTV made its splash by letting you watch your favorite songs on television. Now Steven Gottlieb wants you to know that you can just as easily listen to all those great old ’50s and ’60s TV shows on your stereo.
<p>"The sport of gentlemen.” That’s what you’re expected to say, or at least think, after you say or think “polo.” If you are going to be precise about it, though, that tag line should go: “the sport of rich men.” A good polo player can easily exhaust two or three ponies in a game, and polo ponies don’t come cheap.</p>
Chili buns were born in the dark, sin-filled pool halls of southeastern Kentucky, where men wanted something hot and tasty that could be easily consumed while they pondered a difficult lie or lied about their prowess at pool. In time some small regional diners added chili buns to the menu, but never with much success.
The feeling of renewal that accompanies the flip-over from December to January doesn’t run terribly deep. We make some resolutions, put up a good show, and then little by little slip back into our same old selves. There are modes of behavior associated with many holidays: atonement, gratefulness, remembrance (joyous or awed), fervor of one kind or another.
If you don’t like computers, microwaves, digital readout, or NutraSweet, you’re not just living in the wrong time, you’re in the wrong place, too. You belong in the mythical Republic of Vermont, a state of mind bounded by the 104 newsprint pages of <em>Voice of the Mountains,</em> the idiosyncratic catalog published since 1946 by the Vermont Country Store.
Only the true tennis zealot would fly away to a warm, exotic place and spend the entire vacation swinging at a fuzzy little ball. Most players want something more—good food, a pool or ocean to splash in, a comfortable room or suite to coddle them.
Now, as then, a terrible disease cries for someone with a solution
The spread of AIDS, and the ensuing fear, is changing the texture of life in the United States. The disease, at first thought to attack only male homosexuals, intravenous drug users, and a few other groups, was terrifying enough when it was considered solely in those terms.
Balancing the risk and risking the balance in a whirling athletic rush
<p>I’m not quite sure how it happened, but on a bright February afternoon in 1982, I found myself in the Bavarian Alps in a rather unusual position—flat on my back coursing down an icy trench on a small, wooden luge sled. Now, luge riding at 57 kilometers per hour was never very high on my must-try list, but somehow, after a rowdy bratwurst-and-schnapps lunch with some local friends, it seemed the right thing to do.</p>
<p>If you still labor under the antiquated assumption that only the queen of England never carries cash, ponder for a moment the fact that you also haven’t run into Wayne Gretzky or Harrison Ford or Bob Dylan in line at the bank lately.</p>
The Case: A Manhattan real estate broker shows a two-bedroom co-op to a young advertising executive (we’ll call him George). The price is $255,000, but George doesn’t bite. The second bedroom/study is too small to be used as either, really, and the fireplace, though paved in Spanish tile, has a permanently clogged chimney.
To the outdoorsman, scenery is at its best when unobstructed by any architecture but his own. It should also include mountains, steep and skiable, and a selection of streams for the fisherman. As for weather, that should be quintessential and extreme for the season, which changes four times a year, at least.
It was only when a sense of pure injustice joined me every morning in the shower and hung around my neck all day, when each pedestrian order issued by benign authority made me writhe in torment—in short, when I could no longer sustain my delusions of grandeur, that I finally stormed in on my boss Ted to ask for my promotion.
Until recently, intense competition among insurers has insulated us from the premium shock experienced by commercial casualty customers, where hikes of as much as several hundred percent, and more, have become commonplace.
Thursday evening in a clean, well-lighted place in Ames, Iowa. A clutch of College students are gathered on couches in front of the big screen, watching football and tossing back Budweisers; a couple are playing backgammon, a few more kids are talking around the bar, and at least four, the nerds, have their books open and are studying.
<p>Jack French Kemp answers to himself and his God and trusts his instincts. He trusts them in a way deeper not only than most politicians but than most men. And now Jack Kemp’s instincts are telling him to run for President. “I’m interested in it,” he says. "It would be foolish of me not to be."</p>
<p>There <em>is</em> a Liz Claiborne. I do not travel in designer circles, and I know very little about fashion. Sometimes these names are made up: there certainly is a Gloria Vanderbilt, whose name goes on the jeans, and there is a Calvin Klein and a Ralph Lauren, but there isn't a Sasson, not designing clothes anyway.</p>
Who Is David Byrne? What Is David Byrne? Does David Byrne Matter? Yes.
<p>In the summer of 1981, I was driving east on Route 24 near Short Hills, New Jersey, a stretch of new road that several years before had, at a stroke, transformed the leafy suburban terrain of my childhood into a futuristic landscape— that had, at a stroke, allowed for the rapid transit of many lanes of cars between the city, which lay strung across the horizon twenty miles distant, and the newly expanded, transfigured and futurized, mall.</p>
Mark Breland has all that it takes to make it in boxing. The only problem is, he doesn’t like to hit people
<p>Mark Breland isn’t going to the gym today. “I just feel . . . <em>aah,</em> you know . . . .” He drawls this semiexplanation at heavyweight Henry Tillman, a big, earnest fellow, and at Tillman’s trainer, a ragged little guy called Smitty, from a supine position on the floor of his smashing new bachelor pad high above Manhattan’s Upper West Side.</p>
In Washington, workweek attire consists of button-down days and black-tie evenings. This month we feature the motif sweater as the new weekend alternative. Eight Washington power players model the star sweaters of the spring season against portraits of their mentors at the Smithsonian’s National Portrait Gallery.
<p>Less than a year after Colonel Taylor Coates had been told not to drive he was behind the wheel again, smoking Chesterfields, another habit he had been warned not to pursue, clear-headed and precise in his own opinion, holding to the patriotic speed limit north on Route 29 away from Culpeper in a flow of armies and horses and artillery across the battlefields of Virginia.</p>
Fujii Chuichi’s bent-tree sculptures are a twist on tradition. Rejecting the wood-carving chisels passed down by his ancestors, Chuichi (who was born in Nara Prefecture, Japan) began exploring contemporary materials such as metal and glass.