Word: scarlett
(lookup in dictionary)
(lookup stats)
Dates: all
Sort By: most recent first
(reverse)
...ruddy skin, pulpy bosom and self-abasing zinger wit, she's so--well, so very English. One glance at Houston's own Renee Zellweger, and all anxiety about the casting of an American as Britain's favorite wounded bird of the '90s vanishes. (Hey, if Vivien Leigh could play Scarlett O'Hara...) She fits in, and stands out, perfectly. And as the plot of Bridget Jones's Diary ripens, and two handsome men--rapacious Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant) and dull Mark Darcy (Colin Firth)--tumble vagrantly into her heart, Zellweger reveals, as in a soul's striptease, Bridget's appeal...
...just a beginning. To get to the good stuff, like gene therapy and hyperefficient drugs, scientists need to analyze the chemistry of 50,000-100,000 proteins encoded by our genes. But proteins are notoriously complex and finicky (a little heat or mishandling, and they break down like Scarlett O'Hara) and need to be treated gingerly in a process that was expected to take decades. Harvard biochemists MacBeath and Schreiber have found a way to speed things up with Protein Microarrays. Using a robotic arm and a tiny quill, they will allow researchers to deposit 10,000 functional proteins...
...walked through the antique corridors of the courthouse, the "New South" of progress and racial harmony seemed worlds away. It was as if Scarlett O'Hara might be fanning herself around the corner...
...tourists' South says little about the real people who live there, but speaks volumes about what other Americans, like me, expect to find. In the back of my mind I looked for Scarlett when I crossed the Tennessee line. (In a Vicksburg restaurant, my father insisted on trying a mint julep.) We tourists sought out the scores of mansions with porches and green lawns because that's where we thought we'd find the "real" South--and the historical societies, with their steep admissions charges and gift shops, weren't about to disappoint...
...technicolor splendor. To the words, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," I found myself in cinematic raptures that almost resulted in my gagging on a popcorn kernel. In fourth grade, when every other girl in my class aspired to be Paula Abdul, I wanted to be Scarlett O'Hara. During this formative time, I underwent a mercifully brief period where I let Scarlett's Georgian accent bleed into my own speech. I got over it, thank God, about the same time I quit cuffing my jeans and threw out my jelly shoes. Here's a secret confession...