Word: paled
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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Most people think their children are angels, at least some of the time. But Elizabeth Smart fits the storybook image better than many. She's a good student and athlete. Tall and willowy, she had played harp at her grandfather's funeral two days before she disappeared. She favors pale blue. Her cousin has heard her say idiot once. On the surface, there was no reason she should have been singled out by anyone...
...about 7:30 a.m., all Utah radio and TV stations had been given Elizabeth's description to broadcast. On Friday, nearby Emigration Canyon was cordoned off after one of the hundreds of volunteer searchers saw a man fitting the kidnapper's description--white, with dark hair and a pale top--and shots were reportedly heard. But police could find no one. Even the $250,000 reward (originally $10,000, but swelled by donations) has flushed nothing...
...goodbyes to relay exactly how much the other person means to us, how they have changed us, and how they will be remembered. It may be a harmless custom, but it is certainly not a meaningful one. For whatever affection or flattery is uttered in those final moments should pale in comparison to the expressions of appreciation that have built up and sustained a friendship or relationship. Those close to me know how much I care about them already, and I don’t need a final elaborate goodbye to get my point across...
...gratitude is flowing. The crowds greeting the Queen in her recent tours of the country are big and kind: 20,000 in Falmouth, 30,000 in Newcastle (including a streaker with "Rude Britannia" painted on his pale buttocks). Partly this is sympathy for a woman who has just lost her sister, Princess Margaret, who died at age 71 in February, and mother, who died Easter weekend at 101. Perhaps, after the throngs that lined London's streets for the Queen Mother's funeral, it also represents a surprised rediscovery that the royal family-not just charismatic black sheep Diana...
...color aptly named bronze. As I read the June issue of Glamour, it seemed that a race of she-bots stared back at me, their bronze metallic skin glowing in the studio-filtered sun, their blonde hair only slightly lighter than their newly tanned skin. All of the winter pale models with their milky white skin had been dipped in vats of gold paint and transformed into Brazilian versions of themselves. I flipped hurriedly to the magazine’s end, looking for some sign that at least a few ‘normal models’ remained, but found...