Word: faintness
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...gold star, then, to Jane and Louise Wilson, to those who dumbfound. Not just to those who make old ladies faint and the complacent squirm, but to those who remind us that making sense of art is not always enough, that sometimes you just have to love it first. Two of the Wilsons' video installations, "Crawl Space" and "Stasi City," are showing at the MIT's List Visual Arts Center through April 9, in a rare U.S. appearance and a lucky one for Boston. To find more of the Wilsons' work now showing in this country you have to travel...
...turning into a truly shallow and pathetic person. The proof? Ask me to name the most important moment in my life this past year, and I answer without hesitation: getting high-speed access to the Internet at home. It happened two weeks ago, and I'm still faint with excitement. I feel like getting bumper stickers printed up: ASK ME ABOUT MY CABLE MODEM! For months, years even, I've been stalking my local phone and cable monopolies, only to be told that broadband access to the Net wasn't yet available on my block. The phone company's offering...
...favorite parking spot near the State Department, then settled onto a well-worn bench. Whenever Gusev, 54, a technical specialist for the Russian intelligence service, fiddled with something in his pocket, the G's state-of-the-art radio-signal detector would come to life, indicating that a faint low-frequency transmission was emanating from a bug somewhere in the gray State offices...
...retrospect, it's certainly not offensive stuff, and incredibly easy to listen to. That said, there are some tracks that just don't quite work. The faint tribal chanting on "Congo" seems experimental for experiment's sake, and the guitars on "Throwing It All Away" are pretty, but the sentiment is a little overwrought, as are the lyrics overly-melodramatic to the point of banality on "Follow You, Follow Me." It seems as though the producers, probably under the urging of the current band members, were stretching to select tracks to fill a pre-determined quota. It might have been...
...life went on. As the sun rose Sunday morning, the loss at The Game became a faint memory (or perhaps that was just due to excessive tailgating). The morning light restored perspective. Sure, they can buy overflowing pitchers of beer for $7. But was that worth the ponderous Gothic architecture, the seedy neighborhood and a crime rate that necessitates that each "college" be a gated community? The answer, of course, was no. There is no incentive large enough to want to become a dreaded Yalie...