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Word: somehows (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...ramp, I misinterpreted Dennis' signal to slow down for some kind of monster-truck high five and hit the gas instead. I Fonzied five feet over both Caprices, clearing my front wheels by 15 feet. I felt like Bo and Luke, only really scared. When I landed, my head somehow hit the steering wheel and cracked my helmet visor in two, despite the fact that I was buckled in so tight I couldn't move. Sadly, this is how I got my first hickey...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Digging My Own Grave | 8/13/2001 | See Source »

George was not the best Beatle, God knows (nor the worst—sorry, Ringo). His oeuvre pales next to that of John and Paul, but George’s tunes are somehow unspeakably beautiful—simple, evocative, wise, true. (Let us overlook “I Got My Mind Set on You” for a moment...

Author: By David C. Newman, | Title: POSTCARD FROM LONDON: My Sweet George | 8/3/2001 | See Source »

...metal stop and go. The only words of wisdom shared by my dear driving instructor were that if he at any point yelled, “Hands off!” I had to remove my hands from the wheel and let him take control. Those instructions were somehow less than reassuring...

Author: By Kate L. Rakoczy, | Title: POSTCARD FROM NEW YORK: Taxi Driver | 8/3/2001 | See Source »

...Agriculture Committee, issued a statement denouncing Condit. "Charlie's sick of seeing that clip on TV of him next to Condit," a fellow Blue Dog tells TIME. Indeed, the "Ag" committee has rarely been so packed with TV cameras going live - although the media horde trailing Condit somehow missed him leaving a late-night committee session last week to meet with the FBI and Washington police for a fourth interview. This time the questions were meant to help them compile a profile of Levy. Tabloid reports alleged that Levy and Condit's wife had shared an angry phone call...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Under the Hot Lights: Gary Condit's Cowboys | 7/29/2001 | See Source »

...year-old classes I teach for HARMONY. We call the ringleaders in any given class the “kingpin”—usually male, he’s the class clown who doesn't know any of the answers but somehow manages to talk all of the time, distracting the other children from the lesson and making an hour-long class seem like it will never end. My silver-chain wearing, Eminem-reciting, classical-music-is-only-for-white-people kingpin informed me one sticky afternoon that he couldn’t play the scheduled freezedance because...

Author: By Antoinette C. Nwandu, | Title: POSTCARD FROM CAMBRIDGE: Waiting for Prince Charming | 7/27/2001 | See Source »

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