Word: leatherizing
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...meet our ride outside 14 Plympton at 11 p.m. on Sunday night. It's a BMW 5-series, all-leather interior, CD-carriage in the trunk. A pleasant surprise. Next we meet our driver. It's Daniel, a 5'3" Asian-American boy with wire-rim glasses and a mouth full of orthodontic gear. He's a friend of a friend. As we watch him empty his back seat of miscellaneous papers, books and WWF action figures, we wonder--the first of many such doubts--what the hell we are doing. "Daniel," Aaron asks, "How many car accidents have...
Throughout the winter, the self-conscious masses can mask their smelly feet problems with boots, leather armor and thick socks. But when warm weather brings out daisy dukes, tube tops and the requisite strappy sandals, rancid foot sufferers are caught in a bind. Do they dare to bear their toes and risk losing their friends to the stench? Smelly feet aren't a total loss. Andrew D. Hackbarth `99 attributes the name of his party-prone room in Kirkland House, The Swamp, to his roommate's notorious foot odor problem. But usually, the revealing skin of open toe cleavage, spaghetti...
Bill Bradley's leather shoes are cracked, and his suit and tie--as he makes a point of telling me at a doughnut shop in Claremont, near the Vermont border--are suffering through their second straight campaign day. For the former New Jersey Senator, an insurgent trying to grab the Democratic nomination from Al Gore, genteel shabbiness signifies authenticity. Bradley wants you to know he's got bigger things--purer things--on his mind, and the doughnut shop is packed with people who have come to hear about them (and a few who just want coffee and crullers). Ten months...
make no mistake. Jason Falkner is a rock star. In tight leather pants Falkner swaggered up to the mic in front of a packed crowd at the Middle East and announced that he was here to "rock Boston's collective ass." In a decade when "rock star" has become a dirty word among musicians, Falkner reminds you what the word really means. He's had enough gushing "next big thing" reviews over the past decade to wallpaper his L.A. apartment after every album. But with Falkner, all bets are off. All words fall far short of tying down the brilliance...
...beginning of the show may seem promising to most but foretells ultimate doom to us hard-core Tommy connoisseurs. A crowd of actors wearing "interpretational" black costumes of various sorts--most of the men are in leather or vinyl pants, and one tall woman wears her hair in disgustingly cute pigtails--belt out the dates and settings of scenes in incomprehensible British accents. They go on to mimic war planes, perform a bad faux jitterbug that's not even in Townshend's original score and basically stand around looking useless for irritatingly long periods of time...