Word: somewhat
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...list of suspects is somewhat predictable: Ike Fisher, Ella's ex-husband whose post-marital relationship seems more forced than it was forged; Lindsey Wentworth, Ella's upper-class executive assistant with a few secrets of her own; Christian Chung, the University comptroller rumored to have vied for Ella's job; Ian McAllister, head of the Economics Department and a staunch opponent of Ella's policies, and Leo Barrett, Harvard's newest president with a past to which only Ella was privy. Diverse though these characters may seem, the author makes little effort to develop their behaviors or idiosyncrasies...
...life were separated somewhat at birth: While Jim Carrey's Truman was born right on cue, producers of the real-life baby Sean's birth battled a few glitches. They included one of the oddest pregnancy complications ever: server trouble. Access to the the AHN site was difficult if not impossible as would-be watchers clogged the lines. Some 300,000 people tried to log in to the site, which was set up to handle only about 10,000. Which is probably just as well: Doctors had to induce labor. Perhaps this baby was suffering from stage fright...
...British cultural establishment, admired by every connoisseur from John Ruskin on down. The leader of the second wave of that peculiarly English art movement, Pre-Raphaelitism. The man who defined the ideals of pictorial sentiment for an exceedingly pious age; whose angels and Blessed Damozels, Arthurian knights and shrinking, somewhat cataleptic virgins were the very essence of escapist painting. What could this industrious and backward-dreaming fabulist have to say to the 20th century...
...annoyed Eliot that The Waste Land was interpreted as a prophetic statement: he referred to it (somewhat disingenuously) as "just a piece of rhythmical grumbling." Yet World War I had intervened between the writing of most of the poems included in Prufrock and the composition of The Waste Land; and in a 1915 letter to Conrad Aiken, Eliot had said, "The War suffocates me." Whether or not Eliot had written down the Armageddon of the West, he had showed up the lightweight poetry dominating American magazines. Nothing could have been further from either bland escapism or Imagist stylization than...
...Even before his death last month there was the 80th-birthday hoopla of 2 1/2 years ago, followed by the flock of recently published books circling, vulture-like, in clear anticipation of his passing. At this point any recounting of his accomplishments--his unassailable greatness as a singer, his somewhat more assailable greatness as an actor, his impeccable taste as a curator of the great American songbook, his ancillary talents as both philanthropist and thug, his status as a totem of midcentury masculinity--inevitably takes on a dutiful, ritualistic air. So what better way to breathe a little life into...