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Matt Damon, formerly of the Class of 1992, is one of the few people who can say, “I go to work and there was [Jack] Nicholson in this trench coat and hat, with this giant dildo and he just looked at me and he’s like, ‘I just thought the whole thing would be better if I had the dildo...
...Young Man. A dilatory student at Sydney University, he drew cartoons for an off-campus magazine and drank with the Sydney Push, a group of young swells that included future writers Germaine Greer and Clive James. "I would sport a black beret," he recounts, "and wear a black duffel coat over a black turtleneck sweater, which would render me indistinguishable, I thought, from leading existentialists like Albert Camus." One day the magazine's editor fired the art critic, pointed at Hughes and yelled, "You're the cartoonist. You ought to know something about art. Good. Well...
...lack of fur in the already borderline-gauche clothing worn by denizens of Cambridge. Fur is everywhere in this year’s designer collections. It decorates the outside of pockets and the tops of handbags. It shows up on the lining and the cuffs of pretty much every coat that I saw modeled for the season. Though fur has always been a steady seller (specially among the elderly and J.Lo), this year, fur has become ubiquitous and—strangely enough—PETA has been much less of a bother about it than usual. In Italy...
...this effort, the charismatic sea otter may be its own best friend. Marine mammal experts aren't always as sentimental about the sharp-toothed creatures as the public is--one expert referred to otters eating shellfish on their tummies as "buzz saws in a fur coat"--but no one doubts the value of the "aww" factor. "When you've been bitten by one, you don't think they're so cute," says Michelle Staedler, the Monterey Aquarium's sea otter research coordinator, "but then you look, and they're a big ball of fluff." [This article contains a complex diagram...
...gatekeeper, an odd little man known as Mr. Nick. Sporting silver loops in both ears and wrapping his salt-and-pepper braids into a bun behind his head, 56-year-old James Melvin Nicholas stood out in the crew-cut, uniformed staff. The breast of his white lab coat was smothered in goodwill medals given to him by VIP guests. His accent was effeminate and Mississippian. He held the lowly title of medical support technician. But from behind the nurse's station, where he worked, everyone knew who was in charge...