Traveler, consider our Phoenix. An hour away by air, this flat, posh suburb of Greater L.A. is your finest summer vacation bargain. For the price of a bad weekend in a tacky Pacific Beach motel, you can live it up in style at one of Arizona’s finest resorts and rent a Cadillac into the bargain.
By Mary Lang and Margot Sheehan, Aug. 29, 1991
In the 1940s, when home air conditioning was a rarity in most of the U.S., it was already commonplace in Phoenix.
“Butts and buttes,” I thought, suddenly seeing at a distance a fat, totally naked, out-of-shape 'man in a white floppy hat — my first customer, not buying — walking at a rather fast clip in the other, the gay direction of the beach. Meanwhile, I walked down to test the water (56°, the surfers had judged with scarily accurate authority). Black’s, in terms of both water temperature and sun, is never stultifyingly hot or murderously cold.
By Alexander Theroux, June 13, 1996
Two girls stretched out to the left compare the shades of tan on their stomachs.
Who might be at the beach that day? What did someone who had been at the beach the day before say to someone else who had been at the beach that day? Who is supposedly having a party that night, who supposedly knows the person having the party, and who probably going to the party has a car with an empty seat in it?
The faint sound through the earphones is like the buzz of a mosquito on the other side of the room when you're trying to sleep. It nags at your attention, keeping you alert. Then, when you pass over a chunk of metal, it’s as if the mosquito has entered your ear, but it’s bigger than a mosquito — a mosquito hawk. Yet for you it’s a happy sound.
By Stephen Dobyns, July 1, 1999
Brueckner personally has known two professional pyrotechnicians whose deaths were linked to fireworks.
For the past few days, Americans in other cities have been flocking to stands and stores and roadside tents, where they've been loading up on fireworks. Even in Santa Ana and Buena Park and El Centro, people have been stocking up on sparklers and snakes and smoke pots.
HEY, LADIES! Let's hear it for men! Give a shout-out now to the body masculine! Here's to five o'clock shadows, Adam's apples, square jaws, and rough skin. To testosterone, to the Y chromosome, to the stereotypically "stronger" sex. To lats, six-packs, thighs, hams, calves, tri's, bi's, and pecs. Now, you ask me, the male physicality wasn't built for aesthetics. Those angles and edges, the purely functional proportions: men's bods are too utilitarian, at least for my taste.