Word: jocked
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...Bushes moved into the Blue Room for coffee, the awkwardness that usually attends these rituals was missing. Bush and Clinton have little in common--not intellectual curiosity, not ideology, not attention span. But in December, when George W. Bush with his sports-jock patter made his first postelection visit to Clinton with his rock-star genes, they just clicked. The new guy had no questions about Third World debt. He wanted to know what made the place tick and how you mainline yourself into the nation's bloodstream. Clinton told Bush he was lucky to know already where the light...
Harvard, of course, aspires to make us all like Harry Bailey and Sam Wainwright--or even, God help us, like Mr. Potter, the wealthy, grasping banker of Bedford Falls. And no one here, no gov jock or pre-med or final club frequenter wants to be George Bailey. No one wants to suffer and sweat and barely scrape by, to give up youthful potential in favor of adult burdens, to sacrifice dreams on the altar of necessity. No one wants to be at the end of their rope on Christmas Eve, staring down into dark water and needing a little...
...impish sense of foul play that turns any wish into a curse. Ask to be rich, powerful and married to your dream girl and--poof!--you'll become a cuckolded drug lord. Say you want to be a star athlete, and you'll be missing some important jock equipment. Request a smart Satanic comedy, and you'll get this bag of old tricks...
...while at the same time wrestling with the intricacies of the executive bureaucracy, the external forces that shape policy decisions and the continuous power struggles between major political players. If nothing else, the show comes in fabulously handy as a sort of pop-culture visual aid to a Gov jock like myself in Government 1540 lecture. When I.B.M. Professor of Business and Government Roger B. Porter explained the difference between the communications director and the press secretary this past Tuesday, all I had to do jot down "think: Toby...
...when, just past the florist, I spotted three tiny 16-year-old gymnasts waiting for a manicure in what was an obviously desperate, misguided attempt to appear as if they had reached puberty. I decided to get a manicure and haircut at the Olympic Village barbershop to achieve the jock look I had always craved. It seemed easier than working...