Word: neon
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...some ways Sanders, a.k.a. Neon Deion (which he hates) and Prime Time (which he embraces), seems from yet another time. He has Satchel Paige's wit and flair for self-promotion, Cab Calloway's sense of outrageous style and Jim Thorpe's mind-boggling athletic ability. In the 49ers' 38-28 victory over their nemesis, the Cowboys, on Jan. 15, Sanders stifled the Dallas receivers, intercepted a crucial pass near the San Francisco goal line, and bugged his coach, George Seifert, so much that he was allowed to return a kickoff for the first time all season. He also demonstrated...
...Chrysler Neon. Forget those small American cars that developed a reputation as tinny, tacky and powerless. Detroit's new subcompacts are stylish, drivable and affordable too, none more so than this remarkably popular little Chrysler (average price: $13,000). Most striking are its aggressive lines, responsive handling and tops-in-class acceleration (zero to 60 m.p.h. in 8.4 sec.). Originally intended for young drivers, the surprisingly roomy Neon now sits in the driveways of nearly 175,000 value- minded consumers of all ages, proving that these days good things really do come in small packages...
This scene is emblematic of the world portrayed in Karl Taro Greenfeld's Speed Tribes (HarperCollins; 286 pages; $23), a fast and strutting view of a neon-lit capital that might be called Notes from the Tokyo Underground. In place of the kimonoed ladies and the men in gray flannel suits who form so much of our sense of Japan, Greenfeld pulls back the curtain on a much more colorful and disaffected group -- gangsters, good-time girls, gold-toothed bikers and punks. The economic boom of the '80s, in which Japan's assets grew 80% in just four years, produced...
...Malecon is Cuba's promenade, its boardwalk, its Champs Elysees. Across the Straits of Florida in Miami, kingdom of dollars, citadel of wealth unimaginable, the exiles have a favorite T shirt: it portrays the Malecon after Castro's fall as an endless vista of shiny, neon-lighted fast-food joints. The crumbling, once graceful seafront is still a long way from that plastic vision. Potuombo gestures at the crowd in his cafe, who are placidly consuming not Whoppers or Big Macs but the tepid brown soda that is the sole item on his depleted menu. "These are the real Cubans...
Nearby, Jesus, a 31-year-old bank teller, shelters himself from the storm beneath the facade of Old Havana's Almacenes Lux department store. The Lux is filled with busy people buying soap from Mexico, soda from Venezuela, baby strollers from Europe, and shoes, clothes and neon-color backpacks, some made in the U.S. The buyers are Cubans with dollars, but Jesus has none. He lacks relatives in America and does not work in a dollar-paying job. Is he bothered by his deprivation? He shrugs. "It's in the nature of the poor to covet what the rich have...