Word: tsk
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...happen! Julie went from scamming Newport with Charlotte to silently shutting down that faux alcoholic’s plan and making her take the next bus back to “rehab.” (She didn’t even get to say goodbye to Kirsten…tsk tsk. Maybe she’ll send a “Stalk you again soon” card.) Ryan’s conflict with that surfer from the bad side of the tracks—Stalin or Voldemort or whatever her name is—ended when Ryan managed...
...like the dog that chased and finally caught the car, we don't know what the hell to do with it. We feel vaguely dissatisfied though we have what we should want, vaguely guilty for wanting it, vaguely angry because it didn't come as advertised. People tsk-tsked over last month's study in which women reported being happier having sex or watching TV than playing with their kids. But why shouldn't they? This is how the market defines happiness. Happiness is feeling good. Kids, those who exist outside ads, make you feel bad--exhausted, frustrated, bored...
...problem may have been that the ghost of that old idealism-averse Richard Kerry was sitting on his shoulder, whispering tsk-tsk-tsk. Before making up his mind, Kerry had done his usual high-minded wise-man process. He asked his staff for detailed information, grilled them on it, consulted with a legion of foreign policy Pooh-Bahs--almost always keeping his own counsel, never tipping his hand...
...writer Rick Bragg was suspended and quit after claiming an intern's reporting as his own--the media lit up like the switchboard of a gossipy small town. Reporters investigated reporters. The Times newsroom erupted in finger pointing. Journalism professors raised themselves up on their suede elbow patches to tsk-tsk. Newspapers worriedly reviewed their policies. Collectively, we agonized: Will the public ever trust us again...
...this was a good thing, since I never developed a taste for pot and avoided becoming dependent. But as the medical-marijuana movement flowered and weed's p.r. improved, I often wondered if I shouldn't have relished it as a kid, before I had a personal trainer to tsk-tsk my every vice. Shrinking testicles? Mushy brains? I came to see these as grotesqueries invented by antidrug propagandists...