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...knew the Crimson would have the best defensive front in the league. They lead the nation in rushing defense. We didn’t know the O-line would be this good. They’re opening up running lanes and keeping the QB du jour’s shirt clean, having permitted just one sack through two games...

Author: By Jonathan Lehman, CRIMSON STAFF WRITER | Title: Rating Passers, Ignoring Wikipedia | 9/28/2006 | See Source »

...Next to Thornton, Heder is, well, emasculated. His “Napoleon Dynamite” typecasted schtick of the anti-hero-we’re-supposed-to-root-for is running thin. Surprisingly, he didn’t don a “Vote for Pedro” t-shirt. That said, “Scoundrels” doesn’t do Heder justice for the charisma and actual screen presence he actually possesses. His character is so poorly written and socially ignorant you almost want Thornton to sling blade him out of existence. Supporting roles from Sarah Silverman...

Author: By Jessica C. Coggins, CRIMSON STAFF WRITER | Title: School for Scoundrels | 9/28/2006 | See Source »

...Vassort, dressed comfortably in jeans and blue cotton shirt, stands on the terrace of his whitewashed house, taking in the view of long golden beaches and a broad estuary snaking eastward into a hot, rocky valley. Retired since selling his restaurant near Avignon, France in 2002, Vassort, 74, now lives year-round in this sun-washed setting where he once took his other stories...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: A Place In The Sun | 9/26/2006 | See Source »

...fake arm--thanks to certain modifications by prosthetist John Miguelez's team. Ralph had bit the dust, replaced by a more tapered, slightly lighter shell made of carbon fiber and acrylic resin. The modifications improved my range of motion and wardrobe--I could now button a dress shirt. But I was hardly wearing a second skin. The rigid shell chafed my forearm and got so hot in the summer that sweat dripped out of a small hole used...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: How I Lost My Hand But Found Myself | 9/24/2006 | See Source »

...Just above my computer in my office at home hangs a photograph of An and me, taken in 1990 during our first postwar reunion. We are in his driveway in Saigon, he in the loose trousers and white shirt he always wore. His little Renault, which had long since given up the ghost, is lying in state behind us, covered in years of grime. We had just spent the afternoon talking about the past - his as well as mine - and the present. Ever the reporter, An was deeply concerned about Vietnam's economy and the corruption that was making...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: The Journalist Who Spied | 9/21/2006 | See Source »

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