Word: airs
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...ethnic Albanian civilians whose homes, limbs and loved ones have been blown away by alliance munitions. Throughout Yugoslavia and even beyond its borders, weapons deemed "smart" and "precision-guided" have veered off target, destroying property and lives. On Monday -- only a day after NATO apologized for a Saturday air strike that killed 47 people on a civilian bus in Kosovo -- it was reported from Montenegro that the alliance had inadvertently bombed a second civilian bus, allegedly killing a further 17 people...
...except to kill, often and quickly, and they had the preparatory advantages of being insiders. Any of the hundreds of backpacks littering the hallways could have been booby-trapped with explosives; the choir room or the janitor's closet could have been wired to blow. With explosions filling the air with smoke and the alarm bells filling officers' ears (arriving SWAT officers tried to get an assistant principal to turn off the alarms, but she was so rattled she couldn't remember the code) caution was paramount -- and yet strategy was nearly impossible...
...Mansun sets itself apart from most art-rock by occassionally throwing the listener a life preserver. "Negative" is a slicing, biting rock stomp and "Legacy" clears the air with its crisp and tender crescendos. Overall, it's a godless, fearless, overblown and manipulative stab at the center of your music consciousness. Listening to Six, at first, is a battle. In the end, the fight makes the album even more rewarding...
Your first instinct might be to reply with an air of moral superiority when you read such comments as, "If this were my fault in any way I'd be angry about it, but as it is, there's nothing I can do," as Andrew G. Eil 02 said in this Wednesday's Crimson. Perhaps you thought, "At least now you've learned the lesson that you need to back up all your files in the future." Don't feel guilty--even the victims of the virus must have had a fleeting thought to that effect...
Over the past few years, I have developed the bad habit of writing down notes on scraps of paper, inserting them into pockets of my wallet and then completely forgetting their whereabouts. A spring cleaning of my wallet recently turned up the business card of an Icelandic air-traffic controller, several unnamed phone numbers and a plethora of crumpled receipts, each bearing some scrawled epiphany that time has rendered completely unintelligible...