Word: balding
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...that games' remarkable ability to forge otherwise distant connections. When racists attacked a virtual Darfur refugee camp in 2006 in the online role-playing game Second Life, it caught the attention of KallfuNahuel Matador, a bald, blue-skinned avatar. "It was like somebody had thrown a virtual bomb," says Matador, a Canadian who asked to be referred to by his online name so as not to blend his real life with his second one. What he saw motivated him to organize a team of online superheroes to secure the camp, make patrols and recruit players to stop similar acts...
Visitors hoping to catch a glimpse of the bald eagles on Camano Island in Washington State's Puget Sound are more likely to see a different bird in the sky: a police chopper skimming the cedar forests in search of an outlaw. Colton Harris-Moore, a gangly 18-year-old with furtive eyes and a dimpled chin, has been on police blotters since he was accused of stealing a bike at the age of 8. Since then, he is suspected of having committed nearly 100 burglaries in Washington, Idaho and Canada. Police allege that he graduated from bikes to cars...
...love to write a murder mystery. The obvious way would have been to write about a weatherman who's an amateur sleuth, but that would be a little too obvious. I've made my hero a chef. The chef is African American, a little on the stocky side and bald. Which pretty much rules out Will Smith or Jamie Foxx playing me in the movie...
From here, Von Trier fashions a conceit from the juxtaposition of modern psychotherapy and bald psychoanalytic symbols. The couple’s respective reactions to grief—Dafoe’s intellectual distance manifest in his treatment of Gainsbourg, whose psychic pain becomes physical—exaggerate at a rate that reaches the suspenseful around the second act, and plows right through to the comically ridiculous by the third. Gainsbourg’s agonizing depression, it seems, is demonic rather than psychological—the wolf whose psychiatric sheep’s clothing leads Dafoe’s analyst...
...only 7.30 a.m., but the front door of house number 54A is already open. Outside, a short, bald man dressed in a neat, black-checked shirt and faded gray trousers stands beneath the nondescript building's huge windows, bows his head and puts it against the wall in a sign of obeisance. Arun Mukherjee, an accounts clerk in his late 40s, has been stopping here at Mother House, Mother Teresa's home in Kolkata, on his way to work every morning for decades. For him, the building is no less than a temple. "I feel very calm when I stop...