Word: shirts
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...waste anyone's time or money. You won't find that phrase emblazoned on a T shirt, but it's essentially the motto of Western Governors University (WGU), a private online school that has worked hard to prove it is anything but a diploma mill...
...find Chris; he had a YouTube clip of his talk show interview on his Facebook profile. When I showed up at his Matthews dorm room for an interview in mid-October, I was afraid that he would be wearing a tie. Instead, Chris was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. He had a bouncy flip of black hair and an easy smile. I thought we would beat around the bush for awhile, but Chris got right to the point. When he was three years old, he had a poster of the 42 American presidents in his bedroom. Within weeks...
...usual Wednesday afternoon subway crowd: tiny Asian grandmothers clutching shopping bags, girls in leggings lost in their iPod worlds, thirty-somethings in scrubs who got on and off at Charles MGH. But the black passengers seemed changed, somehow. Maybe it was the young black man wearing a shirt of the type that usually has a hip-hop artist plastered across its front, only Tupac’s face was replaced by Barack Obama’s. Or maybe it was the black woman who sat in the seat across from me, beaming when our eyes met. Or maybe...
...fashion (and the philosophical ponderings of the intersection between the two) thrust upon me by a pair of kicks. With the conference celebrating Andy Warhol’s legacy at the Sackler this past weekend and Barack Obama’s image superimposed on t-shirts and posters across campus, this idea of art, popular culture, and fashion—that art is fashion and fashion is art—kept popping into my head. That fashion is a form of artistic expression, and vice versa, seems inevitable in today’s consumer culture, but was this always...
...mystery and anticipation. The audience was a mixture, as well—of old and young, rustic and intellectual, neophyte and old believer. When the man that they were all waiting for, that had brought them together under those timbers that night, took the stage—burly, black shirt, slightly stooped with guitars in both hands—that hum of anticipation burst into a roar. Without a word, he sat down at his stool in the spotlight, adjusted the microphone towards his instrument, and began to play.There are few living guitarists who could consider themselves equal...