Word: pencilling
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...California Gold Rush of the 1850s, his reasons were purely practical: to provide sturdy protection for the legs of gold miners. These days, the closest contact with gold I have is the sprinkling of edible gold leaf on my chocolate molten cake from Finale. So I wonder: with pencil, not dirt pick, in hand, are jeans a relic of the past? A bold assertion, followed by a question, that raises doubts about my sanity, I realize. But allow me to qualify my statement. I like boyfriend jeans. I like your boyfriend’s jeans. But I don?...
...things got easier. Italian suddenly clicked. I could eye my vanilla gelato to see how much longer it needed in the mixer and judge the doneness of my frittata by its firmness. After slicing watermelon every morning for breakfast, I could wield a knife as deftly as a pencil. I could give porcini mushrooms a sponge bath with my eyes closed. I knew the recipe for egg pasta by heart and they counted on me to make the daily batch of dough. By the end of my stay, my ankles were swollen, my forearms were burnt, and I couldn?...
...their breed. For one thing, he's never gone fully CGI; he sticks with the two-dimensional cartoon style established by Walt Disney, which he, through stubbornness as much as subtlety, has brought to anachronistic perfection. Ponyo is totally handmade. "I think animation is something that needs the pencil, needs man's drawing hand," he told the press at Venice, "and that is why I decided to do this work in this...
...slighted. Where other cities have megalopolitan pride, Philly carries a provincial grudge. So it was happy to see the sporting public embrace Atlanta. In beauty contests, the Phils couldn't win, didn't try. They had a different personality, drawn with the brute simplicity of a police artist's pencil. They were the skungiest bunch of biker types and overfed beef this side of Meat Loaf. In this high-priced age of media sports, a team has to have sex appeal, charisma and watchability, and the Phillies fill the bill. If the phrase ''winning ugly'' had a face, it would...
When my shift ends, I leave the reconstruction of the party for another day, and join the wisdom of wonks whizzing through the streets. Amid the chaos, I continually bump into friends from past campaigns, proving that D.C. really is a small town. We pencil each other in – everyone has a schedule – and catch up at dinner, probably rescheduled several times. Fellow interns tell me where they are now; former staffers lament what could have been. Some call this “networking,” but I object: I actually like these people...