Word: mr
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...strange to me that a person I grew up with and was very close with remains one of the biggest mysteries of all." David's manner is as gentle as Ted's is brisk, and he speaks with a great earnestness. (The teenagers he counsels call him Mr. Rogers.) When he talks about his brother, however, his voice is full of resignation, the sort felt by someone who has watched a relationship curdle beyond recognition...
...necessary ingredients of the continuation of life," he'll assert later in the day, and insists on buying me one. The cappuccino is handed to us in paper cups, having shot, fully formed, out of a large brown machine with the push of a finger. If Mr. Morris noticed this lack of sophistication, which, considering the level of observation shown in his book, I'm sure he did, he didn't comment. He's much too polite for that. We sit in a vinyl booth, at a table covered in red Formica, underneath a wall filled with photographs...
...remember saying to him once in a moment of frustration, "Mr. President, I just have great difficulty understanding some of the things you think and some of the things you do." He said, "But why? I'm an open book." "Yes," I said, "but your pages are all blank." He looked at me with his head on one side, generally puzzled that I found him puzzling...
...Webern's Piano Variations are mirror variations: Everything reflects. So too, Morris suggests, does everything in Reagan's life. His famous words, "Mr. Gorbachev, tear down that wall!" are foreshadowed in his college days, when Reagan plays a part in Edna St. Vincent Millay's Aria da Capo and speaks the lines, "This wall is actually a wall, a thing / Come up between us, shutting me away." One of the most jarring moments of Reagan's otherwise happy childhood is when he comes home one night to find his father passed out, drunk, on the snow of their front yard...
...there in the universe. The violent form this angst is taking is even more disturbing - the thought that that pretty boy I-banker that sits next to us on the train may be harboring thoughts of man-anguish chaos certainly disturbs me. I think I may prefer an abstract Mr. Willis shooting down the entire world than this haunting - and scarily authentic - perception of my American yuppie. This new analysis of men, however, plucks an uneasy chord in evangelical Hollywood; that the average man might have a much blacker psyche than South Park suggests. Perhaps we women really should learn...