Word: armfuls
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...psychiatrist, Andrea disappeared. Rusty tracked her to the bathroom, where she stared at the mirror, pressing a kitchen knife against her throat, deliberating. "Give me the knife," Rusty demanded. She told him to get out. "Let me do it," she said. He moved toward her, grabbing her arm and prying the knife away. Upon hearing the details from Rusty, psychiatrist Eileen Starbranch wanted Andrea hospitalized again. This time she would be sent to Memorial Spring Shadows Glen, a private center in northwest Houston...
...motorcycle," she recalls. "One time my digital camera was taken and photos deleted." Even so, she found her subjects to be gracious and accommodating, often permitting a 15-min. session to stretch into 12 hours. One man she met was a former guerrilla who had lost an arm, a leg and part of his sight in a firefight with Israeli soldiers; his brother died as well. "I lay there for four hours," he recalled. "When I felt I would be martyred, I felt true happiness. I have never felt that again in my life...
...typed with his fists: TIME in 1952 called his stuff "sexy drivel." But anyone could see that the man's books had socko starts and knockout endings. I, the Jury begins with Hammer finding his best war buddy, who had literally (everything's literal in Spillane) given his right arm to save Mike, dead on his apartment floor with a grapefruit-size hole in his gut. Hammer swears revenge. But first, for purposes of evidence or exercise or fun, he beats up a plethora of punks, the bouts described with a grisly precision and brio that still startle. ("I swung...
Filming in his usual Pennsylvania locale, Shyamalan creates an patent allegory for multicultural American society. The apartment complex, where much of the story happens, a Benetton-like array of races and personalities, from chain-smoking twenty-somethings to a weightlifter with a preference for his right arm. “Melting pot” doesn’t begin to do it justice...
...problem. Hefner, in his robe, pipe and ascot, a blond on each arm and around each leg, really looked like a playboy. Ginzburg, unfortunately, was Central Casting's idea of a pornographer: shady, you might say shifty, with a thin, sallow face and a small mustache. But he, unlike Hefner, wasn't selling himself as the face of his magazine. And Eros was so gorgeous, it made the sex appeal of its editor-publisher irrelevant...