Word: creeks
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...perhaps its ratings liability, was that it resisted easy pigeonholing. It captures the joy and miseries of adolescence but from a wry, adult perspective, without easy nerd jokes, implausible sex scenes or a single false moment. "It's closer to Welcome to the Dollhouse than to Dawson's Creek," says executive producer Judd Apatow. "And as much as I liked Welcome to the Dollhouse, it didn't make as much money as Scream." Indeed, the closest analogs to Freaks are not TV shows but independent films--Dollhouse, Rushmore, Dazed and Confused. Unfortunately, there aren't as many outlets for indie...
...laborer and two dozen other guys in work shirts and battered jeans are gathered in the basement of Eagle County's government building, hard by the vacation resorts of Vail, Beaver Creek and Copper Mountain. They're listening to instructor Gustavo Heredia explain bail bonds, warrants and plea bargains. Many in the crowd are recent arrivals from Mexico. None can speak English. And all are in trouble for such offenses as drunk driving, driving without insurance, spousal abuse and fighting. Four-fifths of them are in the U.S. illegally, but deportation is no big worry in the Colorado resort country...
...pretty good season to be a bitter old person, which is to say, as defined by TV advertisers and the Internet economy, anyone over 27. Not only did dotcom whippersnappers get spanked by the NASDAQ, but TV's youthquake--when networks unleashed a hot-bodied army of Dawson's Creek clones to capture young audiences--triggered an avalanche of zit fatigue. The teen cop (Ryan Caulfield), the earnest young politicos (D.C.), the sexy prepsters (the never-aired Manchester Prep)--all were dead on arrival, while older-skewing dramas thrived...
...Seen: chillin’ on the rocks in front of the Science Center, beside a Crazy Creek chair in the Quad, attached to bicycle saddle bags...
...grew up on the edge of Washington's Rock Creek Park. The National Zoo was part of my stamping ground. I used to slip for miles through the forest, playing war, keeping to the creek, making myself invisible, until I crossed the water at the ford and headed up toward the elephants and the snake house. My older brother and I were feral, free-range children, independent at ages eight and ten in a way that seems strange or impossible now. We engaged from time to time in juvenile gang warfare. We had vicious rock fights with boys from another...