October 18, 2009 |
After logging thousands of miles over the last month, going from one fashion capital to the next, one runway extravaganza to another, it's time for a reality check. Alexander McQueen's Atlantis fantasy and Chanel's high-class hoedown were something to look at -- and blog and Tweet about. But come spring, what will they mean to a woman's wardrobe? And will they mean enough that she will buck the retail trend and actually spend on clothes? That's the challenge for the store buyers who hit the designer showrooms after everyone else has gone home, for photographers who spin visual fantasies to sell clothes in advertising campaigns and glossy magazines spreads, and for editors and stylists who will ultimately try to teach women how to wear what's new when it hits the racks in four months' time.
January 23, 2000
When I first saw "Power Hubs" (Special Millennium Issue/Leadership, Dec. 19) asking whether it would be nice if rich and poor weren't gouging each other's eyes out; our schools weren't crowded and toxic hellholes packed tighter than Tokyo subways; our cities were livable; our canyons and beaches weren't paved; our open space was protected, and driving to the airport and boarding a plane didn't take more time than flying to Seattle, I thought The Times...
August 30, 2004
Re "Taking a Ride on Disney's Dark Side," Commentary, Aug. 26: I very much enjoyed reading Jonathan Turley's account of the wickedly good time he had at Disneyland. I too had found the experience to be very unsettling and for some of the same reasons. The sheer amount of organization and manipulation of "guests" struck me with more than a little shock and awe -- only a totalitarian state could muster such efficiency. On the other hand, I can recall seeing an interview with a very successful school principal in the San Fernando Valley who had been inspired to study hard and come to the U.S. from China after she saw photos of Disneyland.
June 13, 1999 |
Welland Rudd isn't a typical American. He's never eaten Thanksgiving turkey or watched fireworks on the Fourth of July. At 52, he has yet to set foot on U.S. soil. Rudd isn't a typical Russian, either. Although he speaks the language fluently and has lived his whole life in Moscow, he cuts an unusual figure here. What sets him apart is the cafe-au-lait color of his skin.
November 30, 1986 |
An exhibit booth--just the booth, not the people--was once taken hostage by a New York trucking company in a dispute with an air freight firm over an unpaid bill. The kidnaping stunt worked. The panicked company that owned the booth scurried to scrape together something--anything--else for the trade show that was about to open in Washington. Meanwhile, it pleaded for a settlement and, barely in time, the deal was made and the booth set free.
July 15, 2009 |
Think about homemade ice cream, creamy and cold and full of fresh fruit flavor. Think about ice cream so light it seems to float off the spoon. Think about ice cream that comes to the table not in cute little scoops, but a good 5 inches deep, so tall it towers above the dish. You're not thinking about ice cream at all; you're thinking about a frozen souffle. Now you're never going to catch me saying anything bad about ice cream, particularly the homemade kind.
October 27, 1991 |
"How's your fern?" Once a humorous greeting offered by Steve Allen, this has always been and will continue to be a serious question to indoor gardeners. Every year, millions of indoor plant enthusiasts wrestle with the sometimes difficult task of keeping ferns alive in a home environment.
July 21, 1993 |
OK, let's dish about "The Donald." Donald Trump sleeps in his underwear and practices "self-enforced insomnia." He once went 16 months without making love to his wife and then, according to Ivana Trump's deposition, he raped her. When Ivana underwent plastic surgery to enlarge her breasts, Trump was aghast: "I can't stand to touch those plastic breasts!" And yet, according to Ivana, he submitted to liposuction and plastic surgery to trim down his stomach and chin and to cover up a bald spot.
October 21, 1991 |
The sale price was $59.95, a bargain we could hardly believe. After bringing them home, I pulled two from their individual cardboard boxes, set them up and admired them. They were beautiful, and they were ours. I ran my hand across the wood, feeling the slick finish while experiencing the pride of ownership. We sat down in front of them. "A little high," I said. "A little heavy," my wife said. "We'll get used to them," I said. "Will we really?" she asked, unsurely.