Word: amberes
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...right to exist as a state. This stance has led to a break between Habash and the more moderate Yasser Arafat, thus making the P.F.L.P. chief a rallying point for those fedayeen who might grow dissatisfied with Arafat's leadership of the Palestine Liberation Organization. Sipping amber-colored tea in a Palestinian refugee camp, Habash last week explained his views to TIME's Wilton Wynn and Abu Said Abu Rish...
With the spectators behind us, Walker skirts a dozen disabled vehicles before hitting a rugged series of parallel flash-flood ravines. Beyond the windshield, the horizon pitches erratically. Suddenly a blue two-seater racer materializes inside the amber cloud of dust enveloping us. Like a mechanical mantis, it springs from gully to boulder until Evans grows impatient and swerves to bump it aside. Evans laughs: "From here on out I'm running my own race...
...ABOVE THE CONCERT bedlam in the skydeck of the Civic Center, around an elegant open bar in the Royal Roost hideaway and at hors d'oeuvre-covered tables seemingly secure behind amber one-way glass, just that prospect--Carter's potential for "sweeping the country"--was the talk of paunchy potential donors, paunchier Rhode Island political hacks and lean-with-ambition Carter staff aides alike...
...skateboards are as different from their 1960s predecessors as a ten-speed bike is from a velocipede. The original skateboards were made of wood and had nailed-on wheels of metal, rubber or clay. The new models, up to 30 in. long, are made of fiber glass, with clear amber polyurethane wheels, adapted from roller skates, that give the rider more stability and versatility. "Compared with the new skateboards, the old ones were like cars with wooden wheels," says Frank Naswor-thy, 24, a Virginia Polytechnic Institute dropout now on his way to becoming a millionaire (he was the first...
...Tiny Mummies! The True Story of The Ruler of 43rd Street's Land of The Walking Dead!" It was a great piece, nasty and accurate. "The Ruler of 43rd Street" was William Shawn. The New Yorker's editor, whom Wolfe called "the museum curator, the mummifier, the preserver-in-amber, the smiling embalmer" of the magazine. Wolfe later explained that he wrote the piece as outrageously as he could, trying to be as sensational as The New Yorker was staid. A sort of reverse parody. Shawn wouldn't grant an interview, or let his picture be taken (both are matters...