Word: chorused
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After voting overwhelmingly for Al Gore ’69 and his Jewish running mate, then noisily questioning Bush’s legitimacy, we have fallen into line as the administration’s loyal chorus, unthinkingly accepting every antiterrorism measure and muting our criticism of the administration’s atrocious record on other issues in the hope that Bush will link security at home to support for Israeli security. American Jews, historically at the forefront of every fight for minority rights and expansive civil liberties, have thus freely surrendered to Bush any political leverage they might have...
...broke/ They broke and/ Oh, what a break for me!" - and the corniness of his stage-tenor rendition; he's given a vocal swoop to it and, on "Me," touched his heart. Will this rain never stop? She apprehensively glances outside; no change in the weather. He finishes the chorus with "Long as I can be with you/ It's a lovely day." She's still not won over...
...second dance chorus begins, the two face each other, this close, and stop, each briefly folding arms in a gesture of defiance or daring: okay, what'll you try now? The music persuades them to sway in syncopation, then to enlarge the movement, describing a circle as their arms swinging wider (right, left, four times each). They stop, twirl, clap hands simultaneously and (on "Oh what a break") do a ten-tap strut to the front of the gazebo, landing in synch on the right foot. The first time, Ginger had to undercut Fred's flourish; this time...
...lead to a triple twist for her. Their movements are freer, more familiar; competition is giving way to camaraderie. For the first time the two touch, though only to push the other off into a tandem of quadruple spins. Facing each other at the end of the second dance chorus, they hop again, this time like gleefully agitated kids...
...time for the final, fastest dance chorus. Lightning and a thunderclap cue a quick change in the emotional weather. Ginger hears this, but she's not frightened, as she was a few minutes ago; now she's jizzed. The horn section starts bleating like impatient klaxons, modulates seven times, up the whole scale, as the dancers do slide-taps, facing each other, too close for comfort. Something's got to give, and it's the music. The trumpet blasts a kind of sexual cavalry call, to which the two respond with a furious stomp; they've got firecracker feet. Fred...