Word: snailing
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...Other People is real. And unavoidable, unless one adopts the J.D. Salinger method of hermetically-sealed containment. But most people probably prefer a bit of relational activity in their lives. So if one exists in this world, Other People will come: by plane, train, or automobile, via e-mail, snail mail, or personal courier, over the telephone line if that's what it takes. And as I return to the College for this, the fall of my junior year, the press of the real world and my responsibilities to others therein is felt ever more keenly...
...JonBenet's mother turned later in the day into a homicide investigation, that the big news about the case in August would be the grudging release of the autopsy would have been called crazy. What, no arrests, charges, indictments, trial? But, as last week's development underscored, the snail's pace of the JonBenet Ramsey murder case continues to defy reasonable expectations...
...many in Hong Kong worry about how long they can expect to live outside it. Already, Chinese Internet users must register themselves and their modems with the Public Security Bureau. Internet service providers are held accountable if problematic pages seep through, and e-mail is sniffed as thoroughly as snail mail has been scoured since 1949. While a hardline approach may work for now in China, though, Beijing's leaders may find that building an electronic great wall around Hong Kong will be an impossible feat. The virtual medium looks like Hong Kong's most powerful protection for free speech...
...upon the self, but a kind of protective numbing of the emotional self following some interminable psychological chaos--a kind of writer's block, a lover's block. Bashfully and impulsively, their songs attempt to define themselves, to heal their centers, achieve form, succeed, each reaching out delicate as snail antennae hoping to rebut the past. Admittedly, as Kozelek acknowledged, his songs sometimes come off "whiny and pretentious" but most of the time meaningful, as when in "Uncle Joe" the narrator pleads, I'm looking at the ceiling with an awful feeling of loss / and loneliness. / The after late-night...
After taking the elevator downstairs to the periodical room, I had 17 minutes left. The lady there explained to me that my desired article was in Lamont Library on microform. I rushed over to Lamont, fearing that if I were too late, the delicate secrets of African snail smuggling would fall into the wrong hands and be lost from the free world forever...