Word: filtered
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...true that the government must filter and limit information that will directly endanger government representatives. But this idea is nothing new to the business of governing a democracy, and reporters have long understood the need for such discretion and have long cooperated with the government in such endeavors. But if the government persists in attempting to keep the country in the dark, it should expect some form of retaliation...
They run the risk of being sneered at as bubbleheads, but hay fever sufferers can find relief from runny noses, swollen eyes and itchy throats by donning a Martianesque headpiece called the Hincherton Hayfever Helmet. It consists of a clear plastic dome, enclosing the head, into which filtered, pollen-free air is wafted at low pressure. The battery-powered fan, electrostatically charged filter and helmet weigh about 4 Ibs. and are attached to the body by a harness or belt. The inventor, British Architect Richard Hinchliffe, 45, himself a longtime hay fever sufferer, claims that wearing the helmet...
...surroundings convey a similar sense of old aesthetics, a retreat in the midst of a modern, frenetic city. The noise of the heavy traffic on a nearby elevated highway sounds at this height like distant surf. Delicate bamboo shades filter the daylight. The color arrangement is restful: low ceilings of exposed wood, off-white walls, pastel rugs of blue, green and gray...
...artistic styles, even on its basic national character. Yet sympathetic observers also believe that the language may represent a serious obstacle to Japan's functioning as a world power. According to former U.S. Ambassador Edwin O. Reischauer, "Japanese ideas are transmitted abroad only very weakly and through the filter of a few foreign 'experts'. .. Japanese intellectual life for the most part goes on behind a language barrier...
...Stories filter back from Europe about all-night parties on People flights, or about women who dress for the occasion in nothing but sweaters and pantyhose. Not tonight; we were wearier, more wrinkled and better acquainted than most plane populations, but we were not bizarre. As Newark fell away behind us like a beer can thrown out of a car window, we rediscovered each other ("Hey, there's Noam!" "The punk kids made it!") and pondered whether, at a price, to order coffee, tea or gin. Back at North Terminal, only a grubby memory now, veteran squatters were getting...