Word: boye
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Dates: during 1970-1979
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...bell sounds. Dan and Shawn, all 90 Ibs. of them, start flailing at each other's heads. Dan lands a roundhouse right, and Shawn is dazed; his blank blue-eyed stare suddenly brings a hush over the audience. But after a second the boy regains his senses and goes on the attack. He lands a right jab squarely on Dan's nose; Dan reels and then stands perfectly still. In a moment, his face contorts in pain, fear, shock or whatever else a child feels when he's clunked hard. As the tears begin pouring, his father...
...same passage of music could be made to sound dry (with no reverberance) or resonant, bright or grave (accenting the deep tones). The differences were dramatic, and the audience was enthralled. Boulez realized he had a star on his hands. "It reminds me," he said, "of a little boy who is taken to a wonderful play that happened to be presented on a revolving stage. At the end he did not want to leave. His mother thought he had enjoyed the show, but he said, 'Oh please, just one more turn of the stage...
...have a chance for membership in a final club a boy must be, to start with, what is called 'club material'... These clubs for which the Pudding acts as a sort of proving ground, are the real be-alls and end-alls of Harvard social existence, and since there are but ten of them and in lean social years some have been known to take as few as four members, it is not a life for everyone. --Cleveland Amory '39, from The Proper Bostonians...
Thanks for the analysis and insight, Curt. Not much else to speak of, except for one Celtics home game next Wednesday at the Garden. Tip-off will be at 7:30. which seems a lot like the old glory days of the Celtics. Boy, even when the Celtics were winning all those championships I was still on the bench watching Don Larsen on the mound. He used to scuff up the ball, and the umpire would walk out to the mound, and then the manager would come out, and before you knew anything. I'd be traded to another team...
...talking to the camera, or scribbling over and over on a first draft of some comedy routine, we see scenes of Midwood High School, which he attended for three uneventful years, and the playground at Avenue L and East 17th Street where he spent much time as a growing boy. Trying to give us a feel for his background, the camera sweeps past the Orthodox Jews buying fruit at the numerous stands on Avenue J, past the movie house and the pizzerias and the bagel stores, across the colorful, comfortable panorama that is middle-class Brooklyn. Yet even here...