Word: beamingly
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Like grizzled combat veterans, the survivors of the first day's run clustered last week at the bar in an Alexandria, Minn., lodge. Belting down tumblers of Jim Beam and Pabst, they compared horror stories: a burnt-out piston, a broken ski, a torn suspension, a collision with a tree. Their bright thermal suits were splotched with oil, eyes were red from fatigue, and windburned faces were scratched from encounters with barbed wire and flying stones. Some hobbled, others seemed permanently hunched from their battle. The weary combatants had just completed the opening day of one of sport...
...would be hard to find a less "Beautiful Thing" than the opening track of this album. Clapton's choice of lyrics has always tended towards the fourth-shot-of-Jim-Beam simplistic, and though Richard Manuel and Rick Danko dreamed up this particular opaque gem, Clapton's lazy guitar and uninspired vocals add no lustre. This prolonged and painful recollection of a past love is chicory-bitter moaning. It won't generate much energy except in your fancy new turntable. You know, the kind you can program to skip tracks...
...heard it ratcheting over their headsets, sounds like a buzz saw. Others have compared the racket with the sound of an electric mixer or the continuous firing of machine guns. Since July, short-wave radio operators in Europe, the U.S. and elsewhere have been tormented by a mysterious radio beam that Western intelligence sources say emanates from what is probably the world's most powerful transmitter: a 2 million-watt Soviet military radar station near Kiev...
Nicknamed the "monster" or "Ivan the Terrible," the Soviet station ranges across the standard short-wave radio band, sometimes jamming as many as 100 frequencies at once. Its directional beam sweeps across northern Europe and reflects off the Arctic ionosphere to scan the U.S. for missile launchings. Interference seems to be most severe in Scandinavia...
...talks of happiness-"Up till now I've been the happiest member of our family"-and the hard-won beauty of her face sets the claim. Then she comes on a memory that has her beaming (they are all splendid beamers since they knowingly beam against the grain of what they've endured): "When Jimmy was a boy, we called him 'Hot'-he was always fired up-but he never liked it; so when he got away to Annapolis, he wrote me right away: 'Dear Gloria, Please do not call me "Hot" and please...