Word: feeling
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...blinding glare. The creatures aren't caressed with the moody lighting of most monster films; by sticking them out in the sun, Blomkamp demystifies them and shows off their CGI sophistication. (Virtually all the aliens were created digitally; he used very few puppets.) "I wanted the image to feel incredibly raw and unmanipulated," he says, "almost like it came straight from the camera sensors right onto the screen. So instead of setting the shot up and really making a big deal of the effects and then going back to normal footage, I wanted it to feel as if the effects...
...camp life - just another reality like bug bites and sunburn. "The kids made light of it. It was just the flu," says Howie Salzberg, the camp's director. To help pass the time, quarantined kids were given access to television, DVDs and video games, causing some healthier campers to feel jealous. "They were saying, 'How do I get sick?'" Salzberg says...
...wrote. The Giants are good, the stadium is great, and the fans are all right. Also, as my mom pointed out to me after the game, the game I had gone to marked the 50th anniversary of Willie McCovey’s first major league home run. I feel like that should have been a sign, but sadly it’s not. Thinking back to that game, I realize I had no idea what happened in the actual baseball game. That’s because I was too distracted by all the trappings AT&T Park has to offer...
...terrific team to watch. And continuing my “Angels-now-equate-to-the-Braves-of-the-’90s” analogy from the earlier post, Mike Scioscia, the manager of the Angels, is a seasoned coach not unlike the Braves’ Bobby Cox. I feel confident rooting for a team that’s in safe hands. One thing I discovered on this “personal journey” was just how much I love the Braves. Watching the Braves beat the National League-leading Dodgers twice in extra innings on back-to-back...
BOSTON, Mass. — I could feel it from a block away. As I moseyed down Arlington, shi-shi Newbury Street on my left and the Commons to my right, I could tell that tonight wasn’t just any night in Boston. When I reached the peak of the bridge leading into the Hatch Shell, my suspicions were confirmed. People—everywhere. Smooshed together as far as the eye could see, seated on lawn chairs or sprawled on blankets, snacking and chatting, just soaking in the dusk-hour breeze. “This is summer...