Word: mists
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...nurturing is part of his strategy, it it not part of his natural style. Dean is no Bill Clinton. He does not pretend to spend any time feeling anyone's pain, nor does he have Bush's folksy, quick-to-mist-up touch. "There's a different way I do empathy," Dean says. "I kind of lean into them, and I look at them, and I'll let them know I'm really paying careful attention to what they say. But I don't put my arm around them and all that stuff. Because it's true: when you present...
Manhunt is an exceptionally violent game--garrote a villain with a sharp wire, and a finely rendered mist of blood sprays from his severed carotid. Interestingly, the game's premise feels like an attempt to help you sidestep any twinges of conscience you may feel at your own sadism--hey, it's that sick director guy who's making you do this! Not that this is any excuse, but if you can make your peace with the carnage, the game play is a bracing change from the usual button-mashing slugfests: Manhunt's thrills aren't in the action; they...
...October. A hint of mist in the damp air, a rustle from the trees as they shed their leaves in nature's annual striptease and, everywhere you look, ripe, corrugated pumpkins, waiting to be turned into something delicious by a touch of nutmeg and a hot oven. Except that the mist comes from dry ice stuck in a grinning skull, the whisper in the trees from nylon ghosts hung in the boughs, and the pumpkin, made of bilious orange plastic, has a gizmo inside that groans "Whoooooooo ..." as you walk past. Halloween is upon us again...
...meet, they talk about the weather. When staff at London's Tate Modern museum gather, they talk about "The Weather Project" - and how Danish-born artist Olafur Eliasson's installation leaves them feeling foggy. While visitors have been dazzled, Tate staffers say they've been disoriented by a yellow mist in which a representation of the sun drifts. The haze is glycol, a harmless sugar-and-water mix often used to create atmosphere in nightclubs. The cure? A bit of fresh...
...October. A hint of mist in the damp air, a rustle from the trees as they shed their leaves in nature's annual striptease and, everywhere you look, ripe, corrugated pumpkins, waiting to be turned into something delicious by a touch of nutmeg and a hot oven. Except that the mist comes from dry ice stuck in a grinning skull, the whisper in the trees from nylon ghosts hung in the boughs, and the pumpkin, made of bilious orange plastic, has a gizmo inside that groans "Whoooooooo ..." as you walk past. Halloween is upon us again...