By Richard Stengel

Lizandick (liz n 'dik) n. pl. [contemporary usage fr. Liz and Dick, often followed by exclamation point, i.e., Lizandick!] 1. Archaic. Mythic American actress and Welsh actor whose names were eternally coupled despite their celebrated uncoupling(s) 2. Aging and forever expanding histrionic duo whose sum is greater than their individual parts, and whose mutual moves are perpetually played out in public (did you hear that ~ started a limited-run revival of Noel Coward's Private Lives in Boston last week?). 3. Any pair of people who come together, split, come together, split, until they seem to make a profession of it or until their acquaintances move past empathy to ennui.

In spanking-clean hard hat, electric-blue jumpsuit and unblemished tennis sneakers, he looked more like a catalogue ad for blue-collar chic than a bona fide construction worker. But it turned out that Atlanta Mayor Andrew Young, 51, swings a mean pickax. Reproved at a political meeting for junketing about the globe instead of minding the store at home, Young replied: "It would be nice to stay here and fill the potholes. If you find a pothole, see me. I'll fill it up myself." Naturally, the next day, Hizzoner's office received 60 calls. In four scheduled stops he unhesitatingly attacked urban craters, cleaning them out, scooping asphalt into the holes and smoothing them over. All in all, a neat job, proving that this mayor at least can dig himself out of a hole by digging into one.

Dear Mum,

What a week! You 've probably already seen the snaps of us and the prince in the papers, but I'm enclosing a few more. Would you believe it! Vicki, Lucy and I met Him aboard the Invincible in Barbados. He was soooo charming, and so much less proper than I expected. He took a shine to us right away and we agreed to rendezvous with him the next day at the beach. We stayed with a friend while Andrew was at a house just a hop and a skip away. He called us "The Three" (what a card!) and he told us to call him "H" (I think it must stand for huggable!). We spent practically all day larking about in the pool. He couldn 't keep his hands off us, but Mum, I promise, it was good clean fun. He told us his greatest fantasy was to go to a party dressed as a frog, kiss the prettiest girl and tell her he was a prince. Well, Mum, I've kissed a lot of frogs in my time, but now I've pecked a prince! Anyway, I hope his mum isn 't too angry.

Love to all,

Tracie

"I'm pickin' up bad vibrations./ Watt's givin' me palpitations./ Gee whillikers, what a sensation." Such adulterated lyrics, until last week, would have meant little to Interior Secretary James Watt, 43, which, of course, was the problem. Watt, it seems, is a dim bulb when it comes to rock music. Otherwise why would he have tried to ban the wholesome harmonies of the Beach Boys from the annual Fourth of July concert on the Mall in Washington, D.C.? The Beach Boys, announced Watt, attracted "the wrong element" at their last Fourth concert in 1981. The environmental impresario's alternative choice to show "the glories of America in a patriotic and inspirational way": Vegas Lounge Lizard Wayne Newton, who is in his element crooning before gamblers clutching highballs and waitresses. Such undesirable Beach Boys fans as George Bush, Michael Deaver and Nancy Reagan (a closet B.B. groupie) thought Watt was out of tune and touch. The Great Conductor himself, Ronald Reagan, called Watt into the Oval Office for a brief musical seminar. Then the President presented him with a plaster statue of a foot with a bullet hole in it, symbolic of where Watt had shot himself.

--By Richard Stengel This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.