Word: odd
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...dead habits of the mind. ‘Doubt’ is nothing less than an opportunity to reenter the Present.” That’s a tall order for any play, particularly one that clocks in at about an hour and a half. So it feels odd to say that “Doubt” should be tighter, quicker, faster-paced–anything to wake up the play’s latent vitality...
...Playing a greater role, perhaps, is the odd world that contemporary astronauts inhabit. The first astronauts were a disciplined bunch, but they were also test pilots. That meant that-with the exception of the well-mannered John Glenn-they spent their time enjoying the good whiskey, fast cars and plentiful women befitting their celebrity status. Back then NASA called these things high jinks and looked the other way. "The country needed heroes, so a myth was created," says Burrows. "NASA didn't go public with these matters...
...rest of us, perhaps it's enough to drop the odd smart reference to June 16, 1904 (that's Bloomsday for Joyce fans, or, dear nonreaders, the day Ulysses takes place), the evocative aroma of madeleines (nostalgia muffins to novelist Marcel Proust), or George Eliot (remember, she was a woman). Bayard argues that the real secret to knowledge, cultivation and passionate reading lies in avoiding the traditional, linear approach to books. "Books aren't so much made to be read, as they are to be lived with," he says. Hey, doesn't that remind you of something Franz Kafka once...
...cries more than she sleeps. You're worn out, which doctors misdiagnose as postnatal depression. Along comes a psychiatrist who promises to make you feel better. Ignoring the impact of a difficult baby, he sheets home your troubles to repressed feelings of resentment toward your mother. His methods seem odd. He tucks your hair behind your ears, dries your tears and hugs you. He suggests walks on which he holds your hand and spills about his own life. One time, out of nowhere, he asks you what your clitoris looks like, and another time to describe an orgasm. When...
There are years when fashion is alive with a sort of electric promise, when each collection is a wildly inventive and witty romp through the wonder of clothing and last year’s styles by comparison seem frumpy and full of odd, useless accoutrements—such as shoulder pads. This year is not one of those years. This year in fact makes last year seem like a glistening beacon of originality, and leggings a glorious flattering invention (I know you may find this hard to believe; I do too, because I looked like Jean Paul Sartre...