Word: shrills
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...never been much of an environmentalist. Maybe it's because so many of the most ardent activists have a shrill, we-must-abandon-our-vehicles-and-go-live-in-a-mud-hut tone to their message. Or maybe it's because I was reared in the South, where a disproportionate number of folks drive big trucks, regard wildlife as something to be shot and mounted and deploy enough hairspray every day to open ozone holes the size of Georgia. Whatever the reason, even after more than a decade of environmental indoctrination on both the West and East Coasts, I still...
...hands appeared, instead of the normal insistent two. An intelligent conversation might ensue—you might even discover the real purpose behind the system of sectioning (and if you do, let me know). At the very least, your TF will be grateful to you for staving off the shrill onslaught, which, in my experience, never hurts your grade...
...America’s refusal to participate, prompted Roosevelt to excoriate Wilson in newspaper columns. He railed against “ultrapacifists” who spoke “with the shrill clamor of eunuchs.” Germany had precipitated the war, so failure to respond was doing “positive service to wrongdoers,” he wrote. These calls for war (not to mention Roosevelt’s military history with the Rough Riders) seem to be a contradiction for the president who won the Nobel Peace Prize for mediating an end to the Russo-Japanese...
Allan Dizon grew up to the shrill squeals of dying pigs. His family home-a humble, jerrybuilt affair of concrete, wood and tin sheeting-stands in the township of Lorega, Cebu, close to a municipal slaughterhouse, but a distant remove from the white beaches and luxury resorts that many people associate with the Philippines' second city. Lorega is a tough area of backyard swineries and poverty, where the chief alleviators of misery are cockfighting, illegal gambling machines and drugs. For a brief time at least, Dizon was one of its more fortunate sons, working as a photojournalist at a local...
With chic cheek-bones, a jawline that could slice bologna and a warm voice that could go shrill in odd moments, Carole Lombard was perfect casting for this 1934 romp, directed by Howard Hawks, about a Broadway director (John Barrymore in all his spuming comic majesty) and the actress who was his protege and is now his career lifeline. The film was a career maker for Lombard, who died in a plane crash...