Iban Goicoechea is having a nightmare. He’s standing in the living room of his house, talking to a friend with whom he served in Afghanistan. The friend wants to take leave and visit some family elsewhere. Goicoechea is helping him with the request form.
My sharpest memory of elementary school is a portrait of Anne Morrow Lindbergh at the end of the third grade hallway. It’s strange to think she didn’t know about the baby then, but when I used to walk by it, neither did I.
Most people don’t consider manicures to be anything more than luxury grooming. But Breanne Trammell, an assistant professor of communication arts at Ramapo College of New Jersey, sees them as performance art.
I shivered under heated blankets against the cold steel of the operating table, and a nurse with colored contacts strapped me down to keep me still.
When I was younger, my uncle, the Middle East correspondent for ABC News, was sent to the region to cover its many wars and conflicts. My mother assured me that he would be safe: The bulletproof vest was just a precaution, the combat boots for walking through the mud.
Out of context, the idea of a slightly overweight pop star in a blue velvet blazer sounds unappealing at best. Throw in some pelvic thrusting and the thought becomes downright absurd—nothing an American audience would embrace.
On Feb. 25, a sign went up on the doors of Lansky’s, a Jewish delicatessen on the Upper West Side. It read: “We have tried our best, but due to rising costs, we could no longer stay in business.”
I remember a lot of people being puzzled the night of the Academy Awards, not because there were any huge upsets (quite the opposite, really), but because, when it was time to announce the award for Best Picture, there was First Lady Michelle Obama, looking beautiful as always and surrounded by
“The Digitizer” sounds more like a machine that makes “wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey stuff” (as Doctor Who fans would put it) than a groundbreaking piece of real-life technology.