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The actor and I were sitting in a cavernous, multiroom apartment that, did it not overlook Gramercy Park, could be mistaken for a set straight out of Thrones the couple who owned it, an elderly broker and his wife, were thankfully more Stark than Lannister. Through the doors to our left was a massive stone fireplace, visible from the Winterfellian oak table in the dining room, past which was a bathroom with a floor made up of exactly 4, pennies. An interesting location for an interview, I remarked, as we settled in a side foyer completely filled with hundreds of oil paintings.

As it turns out, even the Red Viper is allergic to cats. Since then, Pascal has been working nonstop, spending a mere 36 hours in L.

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He eventually excused himself to look at the glowing screen. Of course. Pascal came to New York City in , despite spending the bulk of his childhood in Orange County, California, raised by parents who fled the military dictatorship of their native Chile shortly after his birth. Poor, dead Eddie. The Spider. Say what you will, but the man hustled, even making time to get hooked on a rapidly growing HBO drama called Game of Thrones.

So I knew, if I got this, right? It would change things for me. If you have opted in for our browser push notifications, and you would like to opt-out, please refer to the following instructions depending on your device and browser. For turning notifications on or off on Google Chrome and Android click here , for Firefox click here , for Safari click here and for Microsoft's Edge click here.

FB Twitter ellipsis More. Image zoom. By Sam Gillette. Arms rose and fell as torsos turned away from the music and matched their partners' own convolutions. There are no manuals, the steps are sinuous and yet no details are wasted in the description of the movements. Most of the dancers have lost the mother tongue, but their bodies still belong to a buried memory and follow trodden paths.

I felt foreign. The sun's brightness repeatedly lulled the musicians in the Holy Rosary Band, on Gano Street, into believing that Spring had decided to appear unannounced. Pinched out of the warm illusion of a high noon and a scintillating sea by the conductor's baton, Artie anxiously returned his attention to the music, but before the piece's finale he would be back in the water, playing hide and seek with the shoreline, as it dipped and disappeared behind the gentle waves that caressed his longboard.

If we are to believe that the eyes are the entrance to someone's soul, then this embodiment of Lady Gaga at the Halloween party at the Portuguese Social Club, is perhaps one of the more successful denials of such a proposition.

I remember watching Kung Fu with David Carradine, and wondering at how his blind Master always knew more than all of us put together, or seeing Grasshopper walking barefoot in filthy town streets and positing the sanity behind the decision. In other words, in moments such are these, interpretation must gracefully bow to the mysteries of life. Feigning reluctance, the leaders accepted the responsibilities to which they were re-elected and their every gesture became immersed in solemnity.

The accountability for the previous mandate was instrumental in the outcome of the poll, and they promised to maintain the highest levels of transparency in the exercise of power. The show of hands was unequivocal and only the most cynical could negate the obvious. A short wiry man, Tony Pinto effortlessly pockets the balls in quick succession and returns to the side table where a cue case sits open.

He unscrews the shaft from the tip and replaces it with another, made from darker wood and inlaid with mother of pearl. His opponent sighs as he racks up another frame and makes some comment about it not being Easter yet and he not being a lamb. Seeing is believing, and whether you are Thomas, a little child, a devoted parent, and feel that one's eyes bear the power to mark you as a witness, the fact is that the hurried dejection with which this outfit was thrown over a chair, together with the two slumping black plastic bags, is wrenching in what it denies and sobering in what it affirms.

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Unlike the knick-knacks and bottles of hard liquor for which tickets had been sold, the porcelain doll was to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. Made in China, blue-eyed and blonde — perhaps too prissy to be an Edwardian suffragette — she was held, robustly, inside a cardboard niche. Indifferent to the customary returning of the goods and their restocking of future fund-raising evenings, and with both arms stretched forward as a forklift would, the solemn proprietor silently received the box, carefully negotiated the swinging doors, and headed for his parked car.

I stood four feet from the stage, watched and waited in anticipation of the urge to let go and pulse to the beat. Behind me, others swirled and shook with frenzied rapture. An elbow found its way to my ribs and left me wanting for air. Hysterical cymbals announced an approaching climax, and in the expected finale, I was saddened by my ignominious failure to feel. The bridesmaids' dress section in Ana's Bridal Gowns on Warren Avenue is on the first floor, to the left of the men's tuxedo racks as you enter from the parking lot.

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As I sat, waiting to be called back into the basement fitting room once decency was believed to be restored with the dressing of bodies, a woman walked in and approached the dozens of hanging dresses. Of indeterminate age and average height, with medium brown hair and median build, she unracked dress after dress and piled the padded hangers on the couch next to the dressing cabinet.

With the sounds of the struggle between zippers, clips, buttons and laces growing to a flurry, I realized that no one robe would exit victorious. Storming out of the door, and looking back at me, she declared in a pitch made lower by contempt that "with men, it's so simple". Angelo Dundee passed away in his Tampa apartment, surrounded by family and friends.

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Pedro Pascal: From ‘Game of Thrones’ to Game of Blow | | Observer

Joey R. Discretely, the plush, wall-to-wall carpet soaked up the agitation and returned the parlor's mood to one of quiet certitude. Word has it that now and then he puts his hand in the till. The Club's board believes him to be a decent guy all the same, looked the other way and renewed his contract. Patrons particularly appreciate the sense of order with which he arranged the bottles behind the bar, irrespective of their place of origin and sequenced alphabetically.

With diligence, verbs, nouns, adjectives and adverbs were split into columns and lines. Lists were drawn and doubts noted. Language creates an order and uses it to tell its own version of things. The conversation is a mute one and stands to a reason that is all its own, dispensing both cruelty and love, as do all things shared. Before them, I am not a part of the circle, for there are instances I will never understand and others I am not meant to.

He guides me past a folklore dance rehearsal and a room filled with photographs of all who performed in its Banquet Hall.

Pedro Pascal: From ‘Game of Thrones’ to Game of Blow

He makes sure I digest the minutiae. But with all said, he is proudest of his son, whose name he sprinkles on each description of every activity that was sponsored by the Azorean Association. The firstborn's reach is pervasive and has punctuated the father's language even more so than the English vocabulary, and I imagine how it must feel for a son to embody a parent.


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Dona Graciete stands firm as she recalls when gas prices were so high on the mainland that she and other teenagers would wait for darkness to fall and meet behind the church. From there, they would scour the parked cars for an unlocked gas tank lid and siphon off the petrol to an empty five-liter water bottle. He had replaced the lead with salt and a few of us were hit in the backside. Eva will be the ring bearer in her cousin's wedding and she was brought to Ana's Bridal Gowns, on Warren Avenue, for a fitting, by her grandmother.

Silently, she glows with the attention and knowledge of having entered a rarified space, one wholly emptied of men and where history is written with the truth of experience. But everyone there was sewing too, so there was really no escaping it. Silvino's head was turned up, his mouth split open, and his tongue darting from side to side. As his fist came down on the Formica top, another guttural bellow drowned the infernal din that threatened to blast open the brown windowless two-storey building.

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He had another ace in his hand of Lerpa and the thrill of the impending devastation was too large to contain. An empty bottle shattered to my left. I approached the table, cleared my throat, and politely asked if I might photograph the game. The game started at p. As the referee blew his whistle, a light drizzle began to fall on the players, and make the sweaters cling to their bodies and glisten, as the moon's fullest night drew its arc over the stadium in Madeira.

In Warren Avenue, the sun shone sharply, unapologetic for the bitterly cold December afternoon. Sitting outside, around the back of the club, Artur Ferreira kept his cigar alight and fondly eyed the brand new Mercedes SUV his four Dunkin' Donuts franchises had paid for. During a break in the rehearsal of the Folklore Dance group at the Portuguese Social Club, and defying unreasonable odds, an official shirt of the Benfica football team centered my attention.

A long-standing club member with season tickets and reserved seating, I gave up my position following a season when 38 players were bought and sold and decided to withdraw from what I saw as a lame excuse for generalized corruption. Still, the red is a full one and I cannot deny it has stopped running in my veins.

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Standing above the stainless steel counter, I listened as stories of wedding days were exchanged between the women preparing the sausages. Their words belonged to another time and place but in the Portuguese Social Club's kitchen, they rang with the freshness of morning news. Well, I don't know about that but three years later I had a daughter and my husband decided he wasn't ready for married life and went to work on a ship. I haven't heard from him since. Almost under the shadow of the neighboring church of Our Lady of the Rosary, Mariano Rebello started a funeral home that carried his name in In the beginning, their services were only advertized in the window of a local Portuguese grocery store, and rendered in a rented storefront off Hope Street.

Jackie tells me his son Johnny succeeded him in and rapidly became the Portuguese community's natural leader. As I listen, I imagine the figure's stately entrance and think of how respect is a solemn sentiment, which, when worn correctly, must be as hard to dispel as the odor of decay and formaldehyde.