Word: sorting
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Dates: during 1990-1990
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...term policy, the immediate effect is likely to be more pain. "We are raising taxes in the teeth of a recession," Ratajczak noted. "I am not sure that many people would call that a useful idea." Added Fosler: "The budget agreement was very much like spraying shrapnel. It was sort of an AK-47, as opposed to a target rifle, in terms of its impact on the economy. Lots of sectors are going to be paying higher fees and costs for public services...
...Soviets," says a top U.S. official. "If we weren't getting cooperation, it would have a bearing on a whole range of issues." By drawing back the Iron Curtain without bloodshed, undertaking democratic reform at home and supporting a number of U.S. policies abroad, Gorbachev has created a sort of personality cult in Western diplomatic circles. American officials claim to support policies, not politicians, but in private there is widespread fear that current Soviet policies may be inextricably linked to the current embattled Soviet leader...
Ernest, I came to understand, was a sort of brilliant grown-up orphan: he had an air that was both distinguished and tattered. Something in his mind had broken years before. He survived on technique. Ernest taught me how to forage for an all-American diet: wait politely behind a fast-food place at closing time and accept the unsold hamburgers and fries. A third problem, keeping clean, was difficult but manageable: a cold-water spigot in the morning...
...neither neurotic nor political, and so steer by a functional homing instinct. Human beings invented national boundaries and the miseries of exile; they have messier, more tragic forms of navigation that often get them lost. The earth is home, and all its refugees, its homeless, sometimes seem a sort of advance guard of apocalypse. They represent a principle of disintegration -- the fate of homelessness generalized to a planetary scale...
...later years a person sometimes visits his childhood home and circles it with a sort of alienated wonder. Someone else's lights are burning inside upon someone else's Christmas tree, and the child that once lived there is now a stranger in the skin of a middle-aged man. It seems a sort of obscure outrage that the windows and doors are not all open at once, telling stories. The home, like the mind, is a time capsule. Where are the stories and jokes of the house? Its old animation has become a ghost and gone into memory...