Word: well-worn
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...first blush, the pieces included in the exhibit—by photographers Carlin E. Wing ’02, Jean J. Ryoo ’02 and Arwen K. O’Reilly ’02, as well as sculptor Kurt D. Mueller ’02—seem to further a well-worn thesis: commercialism is both cause and symptom of a deep-seated sickness of American—or Western?—culture, one that champions quantity at the cost of quality, efficiency at the cost of beauty...
...give even a nickname, the 10-year veteran of the murderous struggle - his wife and three children have all been killed in the fighting - says that he regularly places orders with arms syndicates for hundreds of weapons: M-16 and AK-47 automatic rifles, handguns and ammunition. Tracing a well-worn route, the weapons are bought in Thailand, sent down to Malaysia and then carried on boats through the Strait of Malacca...
Warshall deftly slides into one of the Science Center cubicles sporting a full, bushy beard and a well-worn Phillips Andover cap. He fidgets in his chair, intensely concentrating on the desk’s surface as he formulates his responses. He muses upon his dichotomous role as math concentrator and Jew, navigating between the Science Center and Hillel. “Both groups think I belong to the other group,” he explains while anxiously fingering his Andover ring. “But it’s good for no one to say they...
...members should do to their mothers. Some 500 fans freeze -- for a beat. Then the DJ spins a record, a guitarist slashes a chord and soon lips, lobes and eyebrows, pierced by stainless steel, glint again from the mosh pit. Wallet chains jangle, tattooed fists pump the air and well-worn skate shoes tamp the Hong Kong Exhibition Center floor. It's Friday night and LMF's 11 band members overflow the stage: three electric guitars, one DJ hovering over two turntables, two standing bongos, one full drum set and four cordless microphones gripped by four dragon-eyed meanies. This...
...down the jetway into the belly of a preposterous flying machine, sit patiently in my seat for enormous jet engines to whir to life with deafening power and then peacefully snooze as Bernoulli cheerily combated the force of gravity for hours on end. My mind found itself wandering down well-worn, if paranoiac paths, imagining images of small pebbles and pigeons being sucked into the intake of the engine directly outside my window and my horror at seeing the entire wing of our plane shudder and detach, tumbling end-over-end, destroying the beautiful and necessary symmetry of the airfoil...