Use the fields below to perform an advanced search of The Chronicle's archives. This will return articles, images, and multimedia relevant to your query. You can also try a Basic search
67 items found for your search. If no results were found please broaden your search.
My parents came to visit a few weeks ago for Easter, and I'm not sure I was the best host. It wasn't conscious neglect; I love when they drop by, but I've never felt like I've properly laid out the welcome mat for them.
Thongs. Once reserved for ladies and that creepy male stripper at your sister's bachelorette party , the most infamous name in underwear has found a new butt to cover (or leave uncovered, as the case may be).
Let's not debate anti-Semitism. Let's talk about the story: "For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son...." John 3:16.
Over 30 years ago, Canadian Sue Johanson delved into a career of sexual education. As a registered nurse and founder of the Don Mills Birth Control Clinic, she sought to "address all aspects of sexuality in an informative and nonjudgmental way." Armed with a human anatomical know-how unrivaled by anyone in the Great White North, she took her message to the schools, touring universities and writing three books along the way. These days, with her live call-in "Sunday Night Sex Show" on the Oxygen network, she brings her decades of amassed expertise on dildos and contraceptives to an audience of millions. Throughout this illustrious career, one very important thing has happened to Sue Johanson.
The Recess Sex Survey is back for a second year!
Mistaken Identities
The Grammys are often criticized for offering an inaccurate picture of the "best" music of a given year, but every so often, decisions made by the Recording Academy defy all explanation. Past years have given us such memorably bizarre moments as Jethro Tull's win over Metallica for Best Heavy Metal Performance and last year's Best Dance Recording nomination for No Doubt. Here's a sample of this year's more puzzling nominees:
One of these days I want to plop down on the couch, turn on the television, unbuckle my pants (some of us prefer to watch TV semi-nude; is there a problem?) and tune into VH1's "Where are They Now?" But instead of featuring the lead singer of Bananarama or that guy who played badass Cobra-Kai martial artist Johnny in Karate Kid being featured, I'd like the entire episode to revolve around the network itself. They could call it "Where are They Now: the VH1 that Used to Suck Royally," because those days are long gone, and some of us are wondering how VH1 managed such a remarkable television turnaround.
"What was the name of that CD again, hon'?"
Perhaps you read Phillip Roth's 2000 novel The Human Stain and thought to yourself, "Hey, this would make for a great movie!" Guess what: You were wrong. Very, very wrong.
Ah, the Coen brothers--Hollywood's fraternal theatrical threat, a writing-directing two-headed monster of film noir. With celebrated hits such as Raising Arizona (1987), Fargo (1996), The Big Lebowski (1998) and O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000) under their belts, it would seem that the Coen kids were the archetypal brother-duo, a collaborative do-no-wrong that all other siblings strive to emulate. Imagine all the poor saps growing up in their neighborhood whose mothers would yell at them: "Why can't you be more like little Ethan and Joel? All you do is sit around and watch 'Transformers.' The Coens write and direct a puppet show per week, and last Saturday they sent G.I. Joe through a woodchipper!"
Big Boi and Andre 3000, the oil and vinegar that make up OutKast, have done a strange, strange thing on their fifth collaboration, Speakerboxxx/The Love Below. They've un-collaborated. In a unique twist, OutKast has cast out all musical norms and rules of group unity and cut two separate albums. Different songs, different styles--different products. In fact, all they share is the little plastic CD case.
On September 11, the ABC sitcom "8 Simple Rules for Dating my Teenage Daughter" unexpectedly lost its star John Ritter. Two weeks later, it landed 17 million viewers, easily earned top Nielsen honors for the night and completely trounced its primetime competitors. Lose a legend, rake in ratings. All in all, not a bad trade for Disney, the network's parent corporation. Apparently, these Mouseketeers-turned-profiteers are well-versed in the simple rules of exploitation. ("M-I-C-K-E-Y Why? Because we like shamelessly cashing in on tragedy.")
Tell us about your new album.
For those who don't know her, Lucinda Williams is the godmother of a generation of guitar-playing and world-weary songstresses. Ani DiFranco, Aimee Mann and Tift Merritt each owe Williams a debt of gratitude. Williams' self-titled 1988 album produced "The Night's Too Long" and the Grammy-winning "Passionate Kisses," each of which became a modern country standard. Williams' next masterpiece, Car Wheels on a Gravel Road netted her another Grammy in 1998. Next Thursday, Williams will showcase many of these songs and others from her newest album, the critic's darling World Without Tears at the Lost Highway Records show. The newest album, released in April, is a genre-blending kaleidoscope: "Sweet Side" features rap-spoken word lyricism, while "Minneapolis" and "Ventura" are intricately orchestrated and mellow break-up songs. But ultimately, Williams knows enough to dance with the one that brung her: the best tunes on World Without Tears are typical Lucinda. "Fingers/Strings" proves the highlight of Williams' recent oeuvre, providing a foot-stomping rocker reminiscent of Joan Jett.
File sharing. Kegs on West. Johnny Cash. Sometimes it seems like the best things get taken away just when you're starting to realize how great they are, leaving you nothing but a head-full of bittersweet memories.
I know. It's a dangerous statement. And by all rights, I shouldn't be making it, but for some reason, I just can't help it. Maybe it's the fact that I've been unable to walk down the Bryan Center walkway for the past two weeks without hearing "You're my boy, Blue!" screamed from frat brother to frat brother, or maybe it's because everyone's new favorite post-beer exclamation is "Fill it up again!" Maybe it's because my friends are actually looking into the possibility of purchasing industrial-size cans of K-Y for an upcoming wrestling night. It's almost official: we are all freakishly obsessed with Old School.
Dean Chapman:
After an exhaustive study conducted in a laboratory by a team of experts--ok, a 15 minute study conducted with an old Vibe magazine by a couple Recess editors on rotating trips to the can--we've discovered that the old adage is true: art does imitate life. In fact, nothing seems to be as fresh and unique as it once was. From political figures and movie stars to American Idols and Play-doh, we've seen it all before. Consider these double doses of the same psychosis.
Nan Keohane, President
