Word: homeness
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...Grant, though, is convinced there's a connection. The question now, she says, is whether seismologists can do anything with her research to try to predict the next big one. "A lot of people are asking, 'Can we use them as a kind of monitoring tool, keep one at home and watch to see if they run away?' " says Grant. "That's obviously not going to work." But she's hoping something might...
...leader of Europe - but doesn't want the job. When Merkel took on much of the E.U., above all French President Nicolas Sarkozy, with her lonely, stubborn and ultimately victorious campaign against a Greek bailout, she became "Madame Non" in France, and Public Enemy No. 1 in Greece. At home, Joschka Fischer, the Foreign Minister of the government she ousted in 2005, gave her an F for an "extraordinary foreign policy disaster." Germany, he surmised, was no longer the "motor" of European integration, but was rather pursuing its "narrow national interests" instead. This is precisely the suspicion that floats through...
...Kaiser Bill. Nor is fiscal probity anti-European - quite the contrary. Article 125 of the Lisbon Treaty, Europe's quasi-constitution, forbids bailouts for the reckless. Moreover, in the last few months the euro has lost more than 10% against the dollar, and the fiscal chickens have come home to roost. The central problem - as critics of the euro predicted before the currency's launch - is not Germany's tightfistedness; it is a common monetary policy without a common polity that sets fiscal policy. (See pictures of immigration in Europe...
...much deficit-spending and too little microeconomic reform throughout the continent, which is why the U.S. and Asia, both more flexible, will emerge more quickly from the Great Recession. In Brussels, Merkel grabbed leadership by insisting, "No, we won't!" Now, if she would only pull it off at home by prodding her resistant electorate toward long-overdue economic reform, with the cry of, "Yes, we should!" Alas, to nix is easier than to nudge...
What happened in those few fateful seconds, I can’t entirely remember, but I do know there were John Travoltas involved. I also know that, when I traipsed home minutes later, my hips were sore and my jeans were split. It must have been furious. And when I sashayed back to my side of the train, I might have burst with pride; my sequined-shoed mentor turned to give me a high five and an emphatic “Yeah...