Word: sadly
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...have never managed to learn to walk in them? +3 9) Are you unable to resist flaunting your extraordinary night vision by wearing your Ray-Bans inside? +6 10) Do you still wear multiple polo shirts at a time, all collars popped? Because that’s just sad. +0 Scoring Guide: 0-5: Congratulations! Your few sartorial quirks are inoffensive enough to seem charming, instead of a symptom of some terrible Urban Outfitters-borne disease. 5-10: Once a day, someone watches you walk by and thinks, “What an asshole.” However, there?...
...indication of our tilting away from the sun is the repackaging and reshaping of that most artificial of foods—candy.With our dining hall lifestyle, it only makes sense that we notice the changes in one of the few foods we actively choose for ourselves. It is a sad state when we eagerly anticipate the shift from pumpkin-shaped dyed sugar to reindeer-shaped dyed sugar, but complacently accept eating hangover chicken breast after hangover chicken breast. DICTATED DIETSAlthough Harvard University Dining Services (HUDS) has made a commendable effort to integrate local and seasonal foods into our monotonous diets...
...building’s sixth and uppermost floor, professional director David R. Gammons ’92 offers criticism to the undergraduate cast of “Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama’s Hung You in the Closet and I’m Feelin’ So Sad...
...around outside playing hide-and-seek under the stars without worry of being snatched, molested or organized into youth activities, while parents sipped beer or pop while playing Yahtzee with their pals after hand-washing the dinner dishes. Nobody felt slighted, and nobody called child protective services. How sad and ironic that television - primarily responsible for making a mishmash of family life - should inadvertently be the one to call attention to the current sorry state of affairs by dragging the poor little ones off to a ghost town all by themselves. Don't adults get it? Kids nowadays live...
...settled into my seat for the festival's Rostropovich Memorial Concert, I thought how sad it was that death had succeeded even where the Soviet hammer had failed, in silencing this seemingly indomitable voice. But then there was the sound of the cello again, that warm and human sound, as the soloist poured forth on the stage, and it was as if Slava were there once more because every cheek in the house was wet, and at this moment, a moment he would have loved, it was enough to know that in his playing, and forever in his instrument, there...