Word: yet
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Dates: during 1990-1999
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...Aliens aren't our job," says Chief Benedict wearily. Yet much of his time is spent picking up lost strangers on the reservation and turning them over to the border patrol. He points out a dozen regular drop-off points, like old marinas and abandoned houses. For several days last week, he was on the alert for Hussein Fayid, an accused Lebanese murderer and reputed Hizballah money mover. Authorities traced Fayid through Toronto. Just outside the Mohawk reservation, he slipped away...
...Yet government officials say they expect it to get worse before it gets better. The political unrest in Pakistan and an unfounded rumor, started by smugglers, that there will soon be an immigration amnesty for illegals already in the U.S. are likely to cause another surge in crossings. But many Mohawks don't take the problem all that seriously. "After all," says Little Tree, "to us, everyone is an alien...
...Yet collecting Pokemon and pitting them against one another is not a new kind of quest, simply one tweaked with technology. In Asia, fathers and grandfathers still tell of growing up in the midst of World War II, of nights of not knowing what to do with yourself except sneak into the tall grass of the countryside to catch crickets, then take them home, cupped in your hand, to raise in the dark of matchboxes, training the insects for fights with the crickets of other boys who have been on the same nocturnal hunt. The more experience each cricket...
...Yet for all that, there have arguably been just two moments of final consequence to art's mainstream in the past half-century: Abstract Expressionism, with its reinvention of the spiritual; and its brazen opposite, Pop, whose smart, smirking celebrations of Brillo boxes, billboards and Mickey Mouse smiled into the heart of postwar America and found it made of chrome...
Hundreds of works are on view, all of the Whitney's rooms and corridors crammed with pieces dating from AbEx to those practically yanked off the walls of today's downtown galleries. Yet nowhere is the primal battle pitted so bluntly as in the opening salvos on the top two floors of the show. First is Pollock's Number 27 (1950), its swooping marks scraping away the recognizable shapes of the world, implying in the skeins of paint a web of pure energy, limitless and deep. Its yellows and pinks, its muted greens and blacks are autumnal; a pure buzz...