Word: habitations
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...music is “authentic;” it depicts the grim realities of inner-city life. Or so white people will tell you. But then again, the Roots once served as a backing band for Dave Matthews, and they’ve made a habit of playing yard concerts for stoned Ivy Leaguers. Movies completely out of touch with mainstream American black culture (like “Collateral” and “Superbad”) use their tunes when they need a rap song to soundtrack an onscreen party. Hell, the Roots have even sampled Radiohead...
...vast network of scenes and characters that comprise his vision of 19th-century London. The show’s skeletal set, designed by Grace C. Laubacher ’09, changes from a courtroom to a city street with ease. Its many wooden posts also have the irritating habit, however, of obscuring faces at key moments. The show’s truly excellent chorus helps to keep Sondheim’s increasingly weighty narrative snowballing along, in spite of a few lengthy scene changes which throw off the show’s momentum. The chorus also gets to sink...
...Clinton's campaign for President was run through the early primaries and has expressed special contempt for Mark Penn, the erstwhile chief strategist who was demoted in early April. Ickes loves to refer to the rest of the campaign's high command as "the thought police" for its habit of denying reality for the sake of message discipline...
...divine blessing or guidance, phrased in any fashion, also took off with Reagan. Presidents from Roosevelt to Carter did sometimes conclude their addresses by seeking God's blessing, often using language such as "May God give us wisdom" or "With God's help." But they didn't make a habit of it. In fact, five of the eight Presidents during this period concluded this way in less than 30% of their speeches. Harry Truman, Lyndon Johnson and Ford did so a bit more often, but still none of these Presidents concluded even half of his addresses this way. Reagan...
...dismounted, his face was submerged in the warm, diaphanous folds of her riding habit. He could smell her perfume intermingled with the musky essence of her being. He felt the muslin sweep down his face, at first in abundance, then diminishing where it closed around her waist, and then there was nothing between them, only his own breath intensely hot against the rising swell of her bosom...