Stately, plump Peter Ustinov comes from the rehearsal stage, bearing a plate of cardboard on which tuna and two pieces of toast lie crossed. He plops his plum-shaped person onto a plush sofa. He is sporting a summer shirt that is as busy as a painter’s palette.
Improve your memory! Increase your sexual potency! Relieve your anxiety! Banish your depression! Maximize your powers of concentration! Free yourself from agonizing physical pain! It might be the midway pitch of a parent medicine salesman but, according to some leading brain researchers, you don’t need to purchase any medicine to achieve such spectacular results.
It was the last weekend of August, the 49th lap of a 200-mile Dutch Grand Prix race in Zanndvoort, the Netherlands. Gilles Villeneuve was careering his bright red Ferrari 312T4, bearing the number 12, at more than 160 miles per hour. He was trailing Alan Jones in his Saudi Williams car by seconds and his teammate at Ferrari, Jody Scheckter, by six points in the world driving championship.
Four years ago singer Kenny Rogers found his life “in shreds.” His third marriage had broken up, his group The Fifth Edition was splitting up and Rogers could see the whole kit and caboodle disintegrating into “nothing.” Enter wife No. 4, Marianne Gordon, 34, who is a regular on the hayseed TV show Hee Haw.
The new fall theatre fashion promises to be the three-piece business suit. After 10 years of nonstop electioneering on behalf of Canadian plays and Canadian nationalism, Toronto’s 20-odd professional theatres have stopped worrying about who is to write and perform their plays and begun to worry over whose job it is to pay for them.
I read with interest Nuclear Power: Debate for the '80s (Aug. 20) and the accompanying editorial by Peter Newman. Both link the accident which occurred at Chalk River, Ontario, in 1952, to the recent “Three Mile Island nightmare.” Not clear from their comments, however, was the fact that the Chalk River accident occurred at an early stage in the development of nuclear reactors during an experiment which required temporary changes to the cooling system.
In Finance Minister John Crosbie’s past life as a Commons MP, his sartorial tastes ran to off-the-rack suits and loud checks, his socks showing more bare ankle than executive-length resolve. Last week, however, Crosbie showed up tailored in two-piece banker’s blue at a press conference to announce the Tories’ much-touted mortgage interest and property tax credits scheme.
Surveying the scene from the gracious balcony 20 feet above the throng, the first impression is— diamonds. A man’s ear glitters with two studs; a woman in blue jeans flashes diamond fingers and wrists; and almost everyone else seems to be displaying at least one sparkling stone.
Toronto is a pussycat. The city’s skyline and personality are dominated by the smell of money: the cold, white tower of the Bank of Commerce, the black hulk of the Toronto-Dominion, the self-indulgent gold of the Royal Bank complex—all huddled together as if for warmth at the foot of the city overlooking the lake.
When the Manitoba government announced in July that it was selling off yet another Crown corporation—McKenzie Steele Briggs Seeds Ltd., of Brandon—the rush to “privatize” did more than outrage many Manitobans. It raised again the spectre of multinational corporations taking over the seed business not only in Canada, but around the world—a trend that has gained momentum in recent years.
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