Life — May 17, 1928 — page 25: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

€ - ie - C a t- Es of Fe Tara most of those in America. Their produc- tion of “Les Oiseaux,” a free adaptation from Aristophanes, with songs and cracks by Bernard Zimmer, is the most interest- ing thing we have seen so far in Paris— in the theatrical line, that is, They are pot all very good actors and the scenery is just as bad as most modernistic scenery which tries to get its effects on very little money and too much imagination, but the whole thing as an evening should be a Iesson to every one of our own little groups above and below Fourteenth Street, New York. Vive la France, if you like! Robert Benchley. The Confidential Guide to current plays will be found on page 28. Omar Speculates Wut tipsters shrewdly urge, “I guess ....T think...” My wife in dreams wears coats of er- mine, mink; Alas! The surest things I pick are sure Only in this: when bought to rise, they sink. Some few make copper yield them loaves of bread, And some by steel are housed and over- fed; All turns to basest metal at my touch: Whatever stuff I buy drops down like lead. I see potential wrecks in every skiff And falling men on every noble cliff. The nightingale becomes a crow and mocks Me with: “You could have made a for- tune if = Along my path dead alibis revive; My airships soar before they take a dive; My motors halt; my radio goes mad; My coal yields frost; and only brokers thrive. And if you see a knowing gent about Within the groves where sucking lemons sprout, And if he says he has an inside tip, Take it yourself. -and tell him I am out. 5 5 Elias Lieberman. LISSEN ! “Mrs. Winract speaking, Mrs. Post. Would one be guilty of a very Srevous faux pas if one drove to one’s country club in one’s town car?” Come Eleven! “Give me a seven! I need a seven! Noth- ing but a seven'll do! Tell me—is this a seven? It ain't? Then it won't do! I want a seven, I tell you! Let me have a seven! Here it is! I know this is a seven! Come on, seven! Come on! Mama needs a pair of shoes! No, these sevens are too small, mister! Let me try something big- ger! Don’t you think I have an extraor- dinarily large foot for a woman? Aw, go on! I have!” H. E. App Similes “As plain as the ‘No’s’ on a banker's face.” “Well, Bill, old man, meet the companion.” Won’t You Write Me a Letter? Here, in so far as space permits, is a list of reasons why so many radio sets are dumped at the back of garages along with Mah-Jong sets, empty bottles and broken flower pots. It is a Handy Guide of What Not to Do On the Air. It’s the reason why so many people give their radio sets to poor old, lonely Grandma, whose mind isn’t what it once was, any- way. Here are the things that set me in a tantrum: Station announcers and entertainers who implore you to write them letters telling them that you cannot live without their music. You know what happens to friends who are always asking you to write them? You know what happens to baby girls in China? (Just to prove how maddening this can be, I am going to show you that two can play at this game. If you like this department, won't you sit down and drop me a few lines telling me that I am the nicest little girl in the world?) Stations that broadcast whoopee (to comicbooks.com