Word: thunking
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...favorite fountain, in the pool of which a young stone maiden lay prostate at the feet of a scholarly hero, who held an open book aloft in one strong stone hand. Peace settled over Roxanna. And then, from the eastern corner of her garden, came the earthly, foreboding thunk of a steel spade violating the virgin earth. She lifted her skirts—which were, of course, of white muslin—and sprang toward the source of the offending sound. As she approached, the sound grew louder. The pitiful whisper of soil as it flew, displaced, grated her soul...
...doing something as square as raising a kid. (In his Babble blog Baby Daddy, Steve Almond endearingly refers to his 3-month-old as "the little f___er.") In a typical hipster-parent offering, an edgy novelist, musician or feminist sex writer has a baby--Me! Who'd'a thunk it!--and wrestles to reconcile his or her sensibility with the numbing demands of the cradle. For blogger Rebecca Woolf, that moment came when her baby barfed on the Moby section at an indie record store. Mom's response: "I call that punk rock...
...favorite method of gauging the vitality of India's publishing industry is to weigh it. That's what I did with the October issue of the local edition of Cosmopolitan. At 1,016 pages it landed with a solid thunk on my desk, evoking a mixture of shock and curiosity. Shock that anyone would need a thousand pages-plus of sex advice, fashion and beauty tips; and curiosity as to the secret of Cosmo's success given the struggle so many publishers in America face over declining readership and fickle ad sales. The verdict? October's Cosmo weighed a hefty...
SCORSESE: So we shoot the scene, and all of a sudden you hear a thunk. And I'm thinking, I better say cut. And, thank God, I didn't. Jack picks up a gun and points it at Leo, and he didn't know at that point that there was a gun there. So what you see from Leo is real. I love that...
...girl, 4 ft. 11 in. tall, a mere 86 lbs.; dark circles above her cheeks; a Kean-eyed elf. Then, with no more strain than it would take to raise a hand to a friend, she is airborne: a backflip, landing on the sliver of a bar with a thunk so solid it reverberates; up, backward again, a second blind flip, and a landing. No 747 ever set itself down on a two-mile runway with more assurance or aplomb. She leaps, twists, spins, and the 18,000 people in Montreal's Forum realize that they are witnessing an exhibition...