Word: meadow
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...sesquicentennial of Goethe's birth, 250 illuminated busts of the German poet were lined up in a meadow in downtown Weimar. Fans could buy stockings imprinted with his lyrics or a vibrator bearing his likeness. An exhibition of his drawings was hung at Buchenwald...
...genetically unnecessary, it still wouldn't be a total waste of energy. It is to sex, after all, that we owe most of the things we consider aesthetically appealing in nature. If it were not for sex, there would be no blossoms and no birdsong. A flower-filled meadow resounding with the dawn chorus of songbirds is actually a scene of frenzied sexual competition. Geoffrey Miller, an evolutionary psychologist at University College London, has pointed out that everything extravagant about human life, from poetry to fast cars, is rooted in sexual one-upmanship...
...ceremony is a "moon ritual," and the 20 people who gathered two weeks ago in this meadow in the middle of Texas believe it will change the world, if ever so slightly. That is because they are witches, and what they are doing in this incantatory rite is casting spells, in this case for "tolerance and understanding." And while card-carrying witches might seem remarkable enough, these are more exotic still. They are Army witches: colonels and sergeants and captains and privates. They belong to a group of 50 or so kindred spirits who assemble regularly at Fort Hood...
...both anticipation and dread--is once again underway. The squadron of landscape-artists has been unleashed; like Stravinsky, they aspire to create a magnum opus of the season's rituals. With ardor, with bags of dirt, they have already begun to transform the Yard from a relatively pleasant, serene meadow into a confusion of cordons, chemical grass simulacra and bare patches of earth hideous to behold. Harvard subsists on tradition: the Yard is made repellent each spring and this one is no different. Why bother, one is compelled to wonder. Why go to all the time and expense...
...both anticipation and dread--is once again underway. The squadron of landscape-artists has been unleashed; like Stravinsky, they aspire to create a magnum opus of the season's rituals. With ardor, with bags of dirt, they have already begun to transform the Yard from a relatively pleasant, serene meadow into a confusion of cordons, chemical grass simulacra and bare patches of earth hideous to behold. Harvard subsists on tradition: the Yard is made repellent each spring and this one is no different. Why bother, one is compelled to wonder. Why go to all the time and expense...