Word: whitings
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Through the peep-hole is a bizarre scene. Lit with a black light, the space inside is scattered with white contraptions made of wicker-like threads. The twisted objects vary in shape, but are all roughly the size of large Christmas ornaments. There is no ostensible rhyme or reason to their placement, and they glow in the black light with an odd iridescence. The world inside the box looks like the bottom of the sea shot through an underwater camera...
...freshman affair for Harvard in the Mystic Lake Invitational, as three out of the Crimson’s four sailors were rookies. One of those three, Jason Michas, teamed up with the lone sophomore at the regatta, William White, to help the Crimson’s A boat to a sixth-place finish while freshmen Sam Millham and Alma Lafler took eighth place...
...Trombone,” a powerful preacher who discovers the same joy in the vigor and spirituality of his preaching as he had in making “heartfelt patterns of soul-felt sound” on his trombone. Unlike the well-defined character of Hickman, white senator Adam Sunraider—originally named “Bliss” by Hickman, his former foster parent—eludes definition. Little of what Ellison left behind provides any explanation for Sunraider’s radical transformations, as he changes from Reverend-in-training to filmmaker, to powerful race-baiting politician...
...article draws on a white paper by a Madison Avenue demographer about 2010 Census projections. In an extended interview, Peter Francese of Ogilvy & Mather tells the trade publication what every other business is finding out: "In terms of marketing, there is no average American." This shouldn't really come as a shock to the industry; it's not like it happened overnight. There is no racial majority in the nation's 10 biggest cities, married couples account for less than half of households, and customers of every age and clime are increasingly unpredictable. This was a hard lesson...
...cultural sense, but it's still a great loss. I, for one, am sad to see the Average Diner go. I related to him; he took me out of myself; I measured my appetites against his. Sometimes I gloried in my conformity, as when writing hosannas to the universal white-bun hamburger of old. At other times, the Average Diner allowed me to celebrate my bold heterodoxy: he didn't like rare hamburgers or dark chocolate...