Word: ironization
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...pressure cooker set at 15 lbs. for 15 min. would do the trick. Anthrax dies in wet heat above 250[degrees]F. But you would end up with pretty soggy letters. Speaking of soggy, boiling your letters won't work because the water reaches only 212[degrees]F. Ironing with steam heat may kill off the spores if you can get the iron hot enough, but then you risk setting your mail on fire. As for microwaving, you would need to somehow reach very high temperatures for long periods of time. It might work, but the experts don't recommend...
...three men are left on guard, the rest crammed into a tiny room lined with iron beds. Squatting around a smoky hurricane lamp we eat a meal of stale bread dunked in thin soup and drink strong black tea. After finishing, two of the boys turn to karambol, a game like pool in which flat counters are flicked across a board. Farid, another section commander, sits intently loading an ammunition belt with machine-gun rounds. Allah Mahmad lounges on one of the beds and talks wistfully of wanting the kind of education for his four sons that he never...
...power get shared out in the E.U. The members agreed to tone down a proposal calling for the overthrow of the Taliban in favor of "the emergence of a stable, legitimate and representative government for the whole of the Afghan people." More immediately, the ministers underlined their intention to iron out the details, by their next meeting in early December, of a common European arrest warrant for terrorist offenses, including a joint definition of just what such offenses include...
Welcome to Harvard. Oil paintings line the walls of dining halls where chandeliers hang from palatial ceilings. Georgian architecture characterizes first-year residences, separated from the city by a formidable cast-iron fence. Final clubs exude elitism. Everything points to one message: “Welcome fellow members of the ruling elite. Come view the amusements of the idle rich...
...Back on the border in Termez, ill-kept former Soviet tank firing ranges litter the desert. Broken barbed wire marks the outskirts of a separate military installation. Few people are on the streets. The banging of ripped corrugated iron against concrete supports is the only sound competing with the ever-wailing wind. In the bar room on the ground floor of the Hotel Surkhon, the town's lone oasis, a few young men are drinking beer and vodka chasers around the pool table. The melody, Things Can Only Get Better, booms from the audio system. It's a tenuous hope...