Top of the Stack
Once upon a time, Art Schlichter was the number one quarterback in the nation. Then he discovered gambling. He would never recover.
In the late 1980s, as more of New York City’s women and children succumbed to the plague of AIDS, inescapable truths emerged about ethics, sex, poverty, and the future.
Helena’s dancing so overwhelmed me with awe and happiness that when I heard that she was at a place on Hollywood Boulevard called the Greek Village, I dragged every date there and made him pay clip-joint prices so I could see the girl move.
Why Oscar De La Hoya was the Champ everyone loved to hate.
Tribute to an NCAA coaching legend.
What’s a nice guy like David Cronenberg doing messing around with junkie poet William S. Burroughs? Filming his unfilmable book, “Naked Lunch” that’s all.
She is girl and woman, boy-cut hair and D-cup breasts; she is Melrose Avenue and the floundering androgyny of the ’80s; and she is Betty Boop dresses and the role-divided certainty of the ’50s. She is a relief to men and a pal to gals.
The unexpected rise and prosperous reign of Katharine Graham at The Washington Post.
Having the smartest, hippest show on TV didn’t make Garry Shandling any less neurotic … or brilliant.
The strength of this novel is the author’s ear for dialogue, talk so good that it evokes the clink of glasses, the dead hours of early morning, the smoke in the air and the strains of the jukebox.
Sex has to be really twisted for it to do any good on a small screen.
“We did want to make sure the full span of the game’s history was represented, and include a sampling of profiles of great players and coaches, and the many ways peculiar to basketball that the sport presents itself, from clowning to analytics.”
If the ’60s was one great party, what happened in the Yuppie ’80s? Could sobriety and fitness be any fun at all?