Word: truth
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...Gates established a reputation for discretion and consensus. He let Casey fight the CIA's secret wars and the even more vicious inside-the-Beltway wars. He must have driven the special prosecutor crazy during Iran-contra, sticking to the truth but giving up nothing that could sink the Reagan Administration. When Gates finally left government, he wrote a bland, ruffle-no-feathers memoir. He never talked out of school about the Bushes. He never took on the CIA in public or offended the rank and file. Gates is a company man, a loyal civil servant, a realist. Reducing...
...shreds, and corsages go flying. The sexy are made to be distinctly not. The video is filmed in reverse—the director claims it’s a visual pun on the palindromic song title, but that seems like an ad hoc explanation more artistically palatable than the truth: it looks cool. It opens with shots of hair-pulling and punches, only to turn into a fight abated. Brawlers fly out of swimming pools, piñatas are thrown into trees, and the cake smeared all over poor Lovefoxxx’s face is put back on the serving...
...percussiveness of the Keys that best defines them. One can’t help but be moved by their driving beat, and both are such strong instrumentalists that, as they become possessed by the meter itself, they seem to be calling on some long-lost rhythmic truth. Sounding older, deeper, and more organic than others who’ve borrowed so heavily from the blues, they combine formidable talent with a soulfulness that many find lacking in groups like Led Zeppelin. Auerbach coaxed his myriad licks and blues scales out of the same Gibson SG all night, fingering and manning...
...kids and spouses who talk past us. So I was apathetic about a Ford victory. But it's hard to take him losing like this. I'm skeptical of anyone who pins their misfortune exclusively on the color of their skin. But in Harold Ford's case, the awful truth is simple: if he were white, he would have...
...suppose if you're single, meeting people by eating great food prepared in a bad kitchen probably beats volunteering for charities. But to me, underground restaurants feel a little '90s, infused with that anticorporate, Burning Man, do-it-yourself zine enthusiasm. I'm glad they exist, but the sad truth is, much as I wish it weren't true, I would rather sit antisocially at a stuffy restaurant where no one is reading poetry at me. And where they have chairs...