Word: sweated
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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Fujimori hardly blinks; he is unfazed by the stench of sweat and sewage. He moves toward the cell bars, his face so close that the guerrillas would gladly put him in a choke hold if not for the armed guards, and suddenly he smiles at them. Strolling on through the cellblock, he sees an inmate weaving straw hats. "Those are good looking," the President says; "let me buy one." The inmate's reply is hardly Marxist: "Ten soles" ($4). He hands the hat through the bars, and Fujimori puts it on. "Pay the man," he tells an aide...
...many games. Taken out of context, the Patriots' winning ways and playoff spot could be misunderstood as a regular occurrence. But for those of us aware of the gloomy history, this team is finally doing what it should have done several years ago. We've put in the blood, sweat and tears (or at least the couch-potato minutes) to really appreciate every successful touchdown pass. Thus, it is our job to educate our dormmates, reminding them of the pain of every interception or fourth-down failure. "Look," I say excitedly. "We actually converted on 4th and 1!" My friends...
...write, I am thinking about ice for my foot. This weekend, the Hollis Hall Hornets played another round of mud, sweat and tears soccer, finally being eliminated in a valiant effort in the Freshman Intramural (IM) soccer semi-final. The fields behind the Palmer Dixon courts were grey and the sidelines empty, but the shouts and celebrations after a well-placed goal could have punctuated a World Cup game or the Major Leauge Soccer championship in Foxboro last month. Yes, Sunday afternoon is a perfect time for IMs, because for some of us it's not a hobby...
...which pervade my department. In short, being a hunter is far more unpleasant than it needs to be, if it needs to be at all. The humility of the listening class and of the gatherer himself contribute to a classroom atmosphere in which students are far less likely to sweat and squirm as well as scream and sneer...
...this is fine, if a little too stridently observed--see David sweat in slow motion. But then he finds his true love (Lynn Redgrave!) and Shine takes a dive into soapsuds. The film ceases to be a cogent study of the disease of genius and devolves into two lesser creatures: an ordinary weepie and an Oscar contender. Shine is not an instrumental but a choral work--a trusty hymn to the human spirit. You will be moved, ladies and gentlemen. Perhaps that is all you, and the Academy, need to know...