Word: charmed
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...wait before having sex with a new guy. Apparently, even if you both want to have sex, it’s your responsibility as the woman to hold off, because once you do the deed, he will lose interest. “Even though he may turn on the charm subtly (or not so subtly) pushing to get you into bed, the truth is, he’d rather have you turn him down than give in…As long as you dangle the promise of sex in front of him, he’ll be fixated...
...please, let's not blame the machines, either. French and Italian cafes ditched the handmade espresso years ago for automation and don't seem to have suffered ennui because of it. You think Café Flore in Paris would lose its charm because it served automated café au lait? Je pense que no friggin' way. Sit down in Starbucks and enjoy a cup and some conversation? Sure, if you can manage to snag a seat from the WiFi squatters who have set up an office for the price of a latte. (Here's a suggestion: Set up joint outlets...
...many, Obama’s charm will be enough. We are so starved for political energy that we will gladly take Obama even if his flair never coalesces into a realistic platform. However, it would be far shrewder for us to acknowledge our own desperation for a likable candidate, hold out for just a bit longer, and demand that Obama turn his campaign into more than just eye and ear candy. He may indeed be a tremendous candidate, the first in years to be able to fuse the ability to persuade with the resolve to take difficult, potentially unpopular stances...
...middle of Harvard Stadium, this silver plastic structure, dubbed “the bubble” by its devotees, encloses the stadium’s turf and is part of a general plan to improve the crumbling football stadium. Unfortunately for the those used to the brick charm of the Ivory Tower, the bubble is sadly lacking in aesthetic. But no worries—the jocks don’t care about looks when it comes to their stadiums. What really matters for the soccer, lacrosse, and rugby teams (among others) is that inside, the bubble is all business. After...
...Philip Glass’ score puts you on edge like musical version of nails against a chalkboard. But without Dench, none of it would stick. Dench plays Barbara Covett, who fills notebook after notebook with the unfiltered impressions of her keen and bitter psyche, and with all the charm of a steel fire door. In retrospect, this behavior hints at something much deeper than bitterness, but Patrick Marber’s (“Closer”) screenplay holds onto every detail until the moment of greatest effect. Thus, by the end, we are disturbed to find ourselves so well...