Word: jarringly
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...used to be a Star Wars fan. That is, until I realized what the term "Star Wars fan" entails. One day while surfing the net, I found the enchanting site www.jarjarmustdie.com. Faced with pictures of Jar-Jar being bludgeoned, hacked, served on a silver platter, etc., I realized that some "Star Wars fans" have too much time on their hands. Now I'm just a "Star Wars observer." Less chance of spiraling into delirium, I would hope. I was actually happy The Phantom Menace wasn't the religious event it was supposed to be. After all, the marketing juggernaut clouded...
...horror film, which appears to be a self-filmed documentary of three filmmakers who get lost in the Maryland woods while tracking down a local witch legend, has become the Elvis, the E.T., the Pet Rock of 1999--the hottest item in a hot summer. Shagadelic--what's that? Jar Jar Binks--remind me. Ricky Martin--isn't he Dino's kid? For this moment (and treasure it, because it may vanish as fast as it materialized), Blair Witch is the must-attend social event for plugged-in America...
...last time I went to the bank with a jar of pennies, the teller laughed so hard you'd have thought I was asking for a loan, not trying to make a deposit. Times have changed. The loan officer isn't friendlier. But the teller accepts every penny I find, and lately I've been looking under seat cushions. In case you haven't heard, there's a penny shortage. It's so severe that a bank in my neighborhood pays 55[cents] for 50 pennies, and some restaurants offer free desserts to anyone hauling in enough coin...
When I was laughed out of Citibank with my jar a few years ago, I was told to roll my pennies and write my name and 14-digit account number on every roll. Then the bank would accept them--for deposit only, the sum to be held against my account until the bank got around to its own count. The message seemed clear: even banks don't want pennies. By the way, that penny dish at many checkout points is a nice idea, but it doesn't help. I contribute often but rarely withdraw because I wither under the lethal...
...things that survived this packing process are the things that jar me now. The first time I saw the snow globe collection after it was unpacked was Thanksgiving break. I went down the stairs to retrieve something for my mother. Turning a corner, I found myself presented with an elaborate configuration of plastic domes. My mother had unpacked them. Look, I thought, a souvenir of every place I've ever visited--every amusement park rollercoaster I've ever been on. What is it doing here? It belongs on the second shelf of my bookcase, in my bedroom...