Word: turnings
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...dormitory room at the University of Texas. As it grew into a giant, Dell Computer insisted on keeping only a six-day inventory, vs. a six- to eight-week supply for most of its competitors. That not only lowered costs but also gave Dell the ability to turn on a technological dime--a vital capability in an industry in which hot new products may become obsolete well before supplies can be cleared out of the inventory pipeline...
Before that, however, Soliah had been thinking of negotiating her way back from pseudonymity. An attempt in 1989 came to naught. But this year, through an intermediary, she passed word to Larry Hatfield, a veteran reporter with the San Francisco Examiner (coincidentally, a Hearst publication), that she might turn herself in to the FBI if she could avoid jail time. She broke off talks when America's Most Wanted aired its segment. Says Hatfield: "Kathy's side thought that the show indicated bad faith" on the FBI's part. She also became skittish when L.A.P.D.. detective David Reyes...
...retrospect, I'm glad I tried those new clubs because otherwise, I would have been forever plagued by the "should-haves." And one of the activities did turn out to be a perfect fit. But since, I've become an editor at The Crimson and joined another group similar to one I'd been in high school. I'm not saying you won't try something new and find it's just right for you, but there's something to be said for sticking with what you know. Because at Harvard, even the familiar takes on a different light...
...distance from the bookcase to the bed should be exactly four paces. I long for the precision of space I know. Now, missing the feel of moving through darkness with confidence, I turn the lights on when I get a midnight urge to wander. Am I afraid of bruising the white walls? Or am I afraid they will bruise me? Before, I could navigate a labyrinth of rooms and corridors in pitch-blackness. I had breathed it in so thoroughly that I had even memorized which wooden floorboards murmured at my step. Silence was easy. That house was comfortable, settled...
...distance from the bookcase to the bed should be exactly four paces. I long for the precision of space I know. Now, missing the feel of moving through darkness with confidence, I turn the lights on when I get a midnight urge to wander. Am I afraid of bruising the white walls? Or am I afraid they will bruise me? Before, I could navigate a labyrinth of rooms and corridors in pitch-blackness. I had breathed it in so thoroughly that I had even memorized which wooden floorboards murmured at my step. Silence was easy. That house was comfortable, settled...