Word: teal
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They're painting the Yard. You're gazing out of your 11 o'clock class, it's sunny, and you notice that the Yard has been transformed from its hopeful-looking greenishness into turquoise. Turquoise. Azure. Teal. One might expect--and even accept--a nice hunter green, even kelly green, but the color of the Yard is now currently bordering on blue. The administration has not gone crazy, of course. Commencement is coming up in June, and the Yard would be even uglier than it is now if thousands of students, alumni and parents trampled the Yard into a muddy...
...trip abroad, into uncharted writing-program territory, is indicative of the new Expos. So, too, is the new look to Sommers' office, with tall windows looking out onto the Barker Center for the Humanities and with boxes still stacked against the teal walls since this summer's move from Vanserg Hall...
...inclusion of poor work by Boston area artists. Although the curators nobly attempted to showcase local talent, most of their selections are weak in comparison with pieces by better known artists. Carol Cohen's "Greek Revival," plates of glass etched with a body and set in a mauve and teal neo-classical base, pales in contrast with Nancy Spero's deft exploration of female power and representation in the ancient era. More disappointing, however, is the glaring exclusion of some of the most talented Boston-trained photographers such as Jack Pierson, David Armstrong, Mark Morrisroe and Nan Goldin (the subject...
...this technique were not enough to squelch narrative interest in her people, Proulx often introduces parenthetical flash-forwards detailing the ways in which her characters will die: "(Some year or two later, Snakes, using a climbing rope with a single core in a color pattern of purple, neon pink, teal and fluorescent yellow, hung himself in the cab of his truck. A note on the seat read, 'I'm not going to wear glasses.')" The emphasis in this passage pervades the entire novel: things survive and are worth careful descriptions, while people are passing fancies. That could have been conveyed...
...tried to fall asleep in Lamont yesterday, on the fifth floor in one of those cubicles formed by the walls of books. There I was, lounging in a teal plastic-leather chair with my feet propped on an even less comfortable wooden one. My head was resting on the arm, poised for slumber, but all I could do was stare at the Cambridge History of Iran on the shelf in front of me. Lamont just isn't equipped for napping...