Word: anyways
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...That, anyway, is the proposition of The Queen, an immensely entertaining and seemingly acute chronicle of the week Diana died, as dramatized through the very different reactions of stern, befogged Elizabeth II (Helen Mirren) and of Prime Minister Tony Blair (Michael Sheen), who was keenly attuned to public sentiment and how to manipulate it. The film, written by Peter Morton and directed by Stephen Frears (best known for Dangerous Liaisons), won the screenplay and actress prizes at Venice this month. Friday The Queen helps launch the 44th New York Film Festival before opening in selected cities...
...become the next big thing. “People are trying to make the Princeton tailgate the big tailgate this year and not go up to Cambridge at all.” But Smith is no dummy—he’s going to head up to Harvard anyway. “Me and my friends will just drink a lot before we go.” Awesome. For the most part, though, Yale students seem just as determined as their Harvard counterparts to elevate their BACs before watching I-AA college football. “All that will...
...finale; the sprint, how quickly can you stuff your face.” And stuff they did. The men’s champion said he was drawn to the grueling—and drooling—sport because “I’m a big eater anyway, so I thought, why not give this a shot.” Lane added that he’s training for an eating contest in Boston. Lane manifested his mastery of mastication. He gracefully alternated between the greasy ring in his right hand and the cup of water in his left...
...adolescence factor can't be dismissed. Squint a little, and you could see the Pythons as British versions of the American college jocks who reached their apex of glory and achievement as young men, then went into real estate, coasting on their lingering allure. It's true, anyway, if we see the TV show and Holy Grail as an extension of the glamorous days Jones and Palin spent at Oxford, and Cleese, Chapman and Idle at Cambridge...
...army convoy rattled through Al-Adhamiya like a carnival roller coaster, each turn as blind as the next. Not that the soldiers could see much anyway. Night had fallen on the old Baghdad quarter, a byzantine maze lit only by kerosene lamps flickering from rugged stone houses. We moved warily in the darkness, patrolling for insurgents in blind alleys custom-made for ambushes and narrow passages perfect for concealing roadside bombs. It was anyone's bet who faced a more dire risk, the hunted in terrorist cells or the hunters in humvees, along with whom I was riding under...