Word: itches
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...Cejudo plans on giving the gold medal to his mother, who, though not a U.S. citizen, is now a resident alien. "You ask my mom, she'll tell you she's American," Cejudo says. "She has to study for the [citizenship] test." A few years ago, Cejudo had an itch to reunite with his father. He never had the chance; Jorge Cejudo died in Mexico City in May 2007 from heart failure that stemmed from years of alcohol and drug abuse. He was 44. "I would sure have loved him to see what we've been through," says Cejudo...
Meetic has clearly scratched an itch. More than 30 million people now have a free personal profile on one of its sites. Since the firm hit the dating scene in 2002, it's picked up around 650,000 paying subscribers in 15 countries, and is the leading dating site in almost all of them. Last year, Meetic earned $36 million before taxes on revenues of $166 million - almost exclusively from subscription fees that range from $47 to $85 a month...
Documentary films are mediated too, by the filmmaker's natural desire to find a coherent narrative, to lure you into the stories of the people onscreen--to (it's not a bad word) entertain. Nowhere is this itch to Hollywoodize reality clearer than in American Teen, director Nanette Burstein's account of one year, 2005--06, in the lives of four high school seniors in Warsaw, Ind. It's the rare documentary that could score at the box office, and not just because Paramount Vantage, its distributor, is pushing it hard. You're likely to have an absorbing, unsettling time...
Blame the homecomings on boredom, nostalgia or an indomitable drive to compete ("I got the itch," Favre reportedly told teammate Al Harris). But not all comebacks are success stories. Just ask Bjorn Borg, who left tennis in 1983 and un-retired in 1991, wooden racquet in hand. He didn't win a single match that year...
...When we arrived at the house in Maine, my roommate noticed that my cheeks looked unusually blotchy. They began to itch, and I ran to a mirror to discover that the hives had spread to my horrified face. I wanted to cry, but the rash didn’t actually hurt that much. It was the embarrassment, even shame, I felt at being so visibly and conspicuously out of control that upset me. My face glowed angrily with a rash that I couldn’t make go away, and even though I was surrounded by my closest friends...