Browsing Month February, 2001

They’re American; we’re Mexican. It’s a whole racial thing

“The men are blue-collar workers, sunburned laborers taking a break from mowing suburban lawns, hauling drywall into a new South County housing tract, or digging ditches. They wear ball caps or T-shirts that advertise the names of their businesses

February, 1946, Texarkana: the Phantom Killer

“One of the things we kept doing long after the killings ended was to patrol the country roads where youngsters continued to go parking, despite all the warnings we’d been giving. One night, around midnight, I was driving down this dirt road and came up on a couple. I walked up to their car and more…

For a lot of women the pain is more fear than pain

“There are moms who come in: ‘I don’t feel my baby move,’ they say. Some of them know. You can see the fear on their face. A minute or two goes by and we can’t locate the heartbeat. They know. It’s so difficult

Breakin 2, Irish Bugaloo: Michael Flatley’s nemesis and Rose McGowan

“Time to dance. I busted a lindy circle followed by a double spin. The goth paused a beat and did the same step. We eyed each other, as if for the first time. I worked up a trade-slide block turn in skater’s position, and he followed the move effortlessly, moving into a Frankie’s Roll that more…

I was the reporter seated directly behind you during your arraignment…

“If you know anything about Roseanne, you must know that she is a non-conformist and rarely does what society expects of her. I believe that you and her would definitely ‘hit it off’ and the conversation would definitely be interesting and fulfilling for the both of you.”

400 dead at Rattnal, 900 at Tappovar, but the figures stopped shocking hours ago

“You can’t smell death at 3,000 feet up in the air. Nor can you see death at that height. You can only spot pockets of destruction. Patches of desolation. Yes, you start realising something is amiss. Three helicopters and yet no villagers waving frantically at the flying machines. Something terribly wrong. Dead towns, you see, more…

Out for a pleasant pedal, you find reminders of war and death instead

“There’s even more to be said about leaving your bike on the side of the road while you scramble through a field to find yourself standing on a cliff-like edge, peering into a crater left by a bomb more than a lifetime ago. Minutes of stunned silence lead you back to your bike where, with more…