Word: slices
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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Though Julia Child was a cooking teacher, what she really taught was how to be alive. She lived until she was 91, mocking Atkins, Ornish and anyone else who believed that a slice of French bread or a pat of butter would kill...
...missing was a boiled bunny when CATHERINE ZETA-JONES testified in a Los Angeles courtroom last week in an apparent real-life case of fatal attraction. At a preliminary hearing, the Chicago star read aloud from letters sent by her alleged stalker, Dawnette Knight. One note promised "to slice her up like meat on a bone and feed her to the dogs." Another included a mock obituary for the Welsh actress, who is married to her Traffic castmate Michael Douglas. The letters left the actress "hysterical," her husband testified. Knight, says her lawyer, sent them because she harbored a crush...
...with new "real tones" that play actual (rather than synthesized) songs, a battle is brewing. Mobile operators and the small outfits that supply the synthesized songs - Finland's Jippii, Italy's Buongiorno Vitaminic, France's Musiwave and Germany's Jamba! - are clashing with the big record labels over whose slice of the ring-tone pie should be biggest. But how did an unlikely innovation like ring tones get to be such a big business in the first place? It's definitely not about the music. Most ring tones are only about 20-30 seconds long, and until recently have...
...stomach hurts. It's 7 A.M., and somehow person after person after person has persuaded me to pull an all-nighter so they can show me their little slice of Vegas--their glossy strip club, their late-night pool-cabana scene, their Studio 54, their swank ultralounge. And now, at an after-hours nightclub, the bass pumping, my eyes jolted open every few seconds by the shock of manufactured cleavage, they are offering me a beer. Not even a light beer. All I wanted was to see a nice Cirque du Soleil show, work my expense account at Le Cirque...
...stomach hurts. it's 7 a.m., and somehow person after person after person has persuaded me to pull an all-nighter so they can show me their little slice of Vegas - their glossy strip club, their late-night pool-cabana scene, their Studio 54, their swank ultralounge. And now, at an after-hours nightclub, the bass pumping, my eyes jolted open every few seconds by the shock of manufactured cleavage, they are offering me a beer. All I wanted was to see a nice Cirque du Soleil show, work my expense account at Le Cirque with my only famous friend...