Word: horridness
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...outsider, an orphan. These people think he is theirs. Leo knows better: "Because I dream, I'm not." He is half Italian: Leolo Lozone, conceived during his mother's fruitful collision with a sperm-soaked Sicilian tomato. A bright, lonely boy could not be the spawn of this horrid clan. Surely he is not destined to replicate their mean lives and dead-end careers or the madness to which they are all heir. And so, in this slum of bruised humanity that never seems quite human to him, where "the birds endlessly bitch about winter," Leo will scribble his thoughts...
...General-designate has been tripped up by that thing that trips us up day after day, makes us late for meetings, causes us to call in sick when we are well: the struggle for good surrogate care for our kids. Hard sometimes even if you are well to do. Horrid often if you are not." Anne Nelson, author of "Rock-a-Bye Nino: Confessions of a White Mother with a Brown Caregiver" in Mother Jones, contends that "Professional women with the income and requirements of child care are saying, 'Why is the Washington male crowd picking on this woman?' " They...
...worst part of it is some vibration of horrid pleasure. Too many of these people enjoy killing. It has become a sort of cultural addiction...
Along the way, though, a lot of the fun goes out of this tale of a maladroit family and hapless, unwilling tax inspector. There is a dark and extremely unamusing family secret that has made the Catchprices so miserable and so horrid to one another. What begins as slapstick evolves into tragedy, and Carey does not adequately prepare the ground for this transition. In the end, a reader is left with the uncomfortable sense of having laughed in all the wrong places. If that was Carey's intention, he succeeded, but he should perhaps expect only a muted form...
...every horrid neurotic thing the good doctor has sworn to stamp out. But to Leo's family, Bob is the one thing Leo is not. He is available. For stupid fun. For off-the-wall counseling. For generally shaking things up. Murray, with his curious blend of pathos and aggressiveness, is terrific, and so is an acutely uptight Dreyfuss, never once copping a plea for our sympathy. At the end What About Bob? skids into silliness, but not before Frank Oz proves that he's a director with just the mean sense of humor these bland times desperately need...