Word: smelling
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...multiple-digit statistics simply confirm what the smell of fat frying across the land has long made clear. Americans in massive numbers daily ignore the hand-wringing of nutritionists, the sneers of gourmets and the prickings of their own consciences. For them, fast food takes the worry out of being hungry. A first visit to an outlet of an unfamiliar chain may cause some anxiety and confusion; dazzling permutations on the basic hamburger, bearing odd, hyped-up names, take some time to master, much less understand. But a snack that hits the spot on one day is likely...
...rosy glow of a middle-aged kid rummaging through the old baseball cards in his musty attic. Kahn's latest work has no purpose, nostalgic or otherwise; rather, it is a random collection of essays, each designed to illuminate a different facet of the game. And while the cheesy smell of old newsprint may be gone, along with the saintly aura that decades-old newsreel film seems to lend the athletes of a bygone era, there is still enough magic left in Kahn's writing to draw the reader into an account of the "new" game. Each chapter...
Lavish Gym. Class crackles in the clean, conditioned air at Dr. Kenneth Cooper's $2 million Aerobics Center, a lavishly renovated antebellum mansion in north Dallas. The center is a gym. and people sweat there, but the locker rooms are cozy with rust-colored carpet, and their smell is more Brut than Ben Gay. Cooper is the author of Aerobics, the exerciser's Old Testament, The New Aerobics, and two other books about the exercise system he developed while he worked as a health researcher for the Air Force...
Cavallon immigrated to the U.S. in 1920, at 16. He worked as a mechanic, winding armatures at a plant in Springfield, Mass., but "I put the idea of being a mechanic out of my mind because I didn't like the smell of oil." The smell of linseed oil was another matter; he spent five years studying art at the National Academy of Design in New York, did odd jobs as a carpenter and studied with the pioneer abstractionist Hans Hofmann. "I really didn't understand abstract painting," he recalls. "It took a long time to penetrate...
...what had to happen, did. Late for a class one afternoon I raced down the hall, and foolishly grabbed for the closing iron-gate on the antiquated elevator. Slamming inside, and swinging the door behind me, I sensed a smell of squash rackets and straight teeth. She was there. In the elevator. With me. Well, you can only stare at the graffitti on the elevator-walls for so long, and you can only chew your shirt-collar in anxiety for so long, and you can only notice that the elevator is not moving, the elevator is not moving the elevator...