Not appropriate for describing the newspaper, and from the short piece "Fermented Surf for Your Turf," by Patrick di Justo, in Wired 18.06 (June 2010). The piece is about Lea & Perrins Worcestershire Sauce.
The raw stuff stinks like rotting garlic, but when cooked the taste is oniony.
Interesting because of the wispy kite string of an ending. Also, in a way, the word can be read as onioni or onyony.
This issue of Wired , which I was reading on a plane heading to Asia, has an excerpt of Nicholas Carr's book The Shallows, a book I want to read.
Do you remember when every airline installed TV screens? Once they had, the assumption was that everybody would prefer to pull down the window shades; however, I wanted to read by sunlight. I didn't understand why the people who wanted to watch television were to be taken more seriously than those who preferred to not watch television, and I resented being held captive by hundreds of blue screens blinking and distracting me (at least my plane on this trip had privacy screens, which, tilted at the right angle, shielded passengers from one another's viewing choice). I also resented the way there was no escaping giant screens within the airports, a/k/a petri dishes for cultivating screen plague and blabbery.
First came the airports, then elevators (in the first part of the decade, in an elevator, a woman once pointed to a TV screen and turned to me, remarking, "Weapon of mass destruction.")
An English teacher I knew limited her son's exposure to television. She said she didn't realize until it was too late that she should also have been limiting his exposure to computer screens and the Net. I don't know what she meant by "too late," but maybe Mr. Carr's book will give me some idea.
On my trip, a woman told a story about her daughter. The daughter and her boyfriend were heavy texters. Then came a breakup. The daughter was distraught. Her mother suggested she and the boy get together and talk things over. "Talk?" the daughter said. "But that's so awkward!"