Word: shouting
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...Most of Hada's countrymen seem to share his optimism. While he is speaking, young men holding red and white flags - the flag of the Nepali Congress, one of the leading political parties of the country - jump in to a pickup truck, and shout: "Long live democracy!" In a little while, they will join the drive towards Kathmandu, like several thousands of people who are pouring into the capital to celebrate their victory over the King. The roads towards Kathmandu, just a day ago deserted due to the curfew, are now jammed with noisy pickup trucks, buses, and cars draped...
...through bushes and gardens, jumping over walls, to make it to safety. "Of course I'll be back tomorrow," Adhikari said, at the end of it all, panting for breath. "What else is there to do? We'll keep coming until the King gives in to the people." A shout went out that the police were coming around through a back alley. Adhikari and his friends got ready to run again...
...hover-scooters go on sale at Target. So Lupe Fiasco’s “Kick Push,” an ode to the essential motions of the sport, already has the chips stacked in its favor. Fiasco starts the video, as all must, with a shout-out to his homies, but what follows isn’t the standard booty-shaking fare. It’s pleasantly low-key; clips spliced out of skateboarding home videos, wide shots of grungy urban blocks, and throughout it all, Lupe himself dipping about amicably. Half the pleasure is in seeing...
...want to start this column with a shout-out to a small and oft-ignored subset of my readers. I don’t mean residents of Pfoho or my aunts down in New Jersey, though I’m glad they’re reading too. Instead, I want to acknowledge my as-of-this-writing-unborn grandchildren. I want to do this because it occurred to me recently that some day, as my distant kin are sitting in their dorm rooms in Allston looking out onto their gorgeous new student center (or, heaven forbid, envying it from somewhere...
...take their vocalizing cues from the swingin' precision of Ella Fitzgerald, the hiccupping innocence and intensity of Buddy Holly. Instead, they sound indentured to the wildly mannerist melodramatics of Mariah Carey and Michael Bolton. ("Just sing the damned song," my friend George Grizzard has been known to shout at his TV.) But at least the performers, and the show's mammoth audience, are exposed to the Great American Songbook, pre-Eminem, pre-Titanic...