Word: curlings
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...immerse themselves in the dense jargon of the in group. To all, "baggies" are the loose-legged boxer swim trunks worn by the boys. "Hot dogging" is either class-A surfing or show-off stuff. To "take gas" or "wipe out" is to lose a board in the curl of a wave and land in the foamy "soup...
Despite the impressive skills of modern science, the way to discover profitable mineral deposits around the Mediterranean often seems to be to curl up with a good book. Perusing the Greek classics and pinpointing their references. Italian Entrepreneur Jean-Baptiste Serpieri in 1864 rediscovered the ancient mines of Laurium near Athens, from which the classical Athenians extracted their wealth and the lead needed to build their fleet. Geologist Charles Godfrey Gunther located copper on Cyprus by reading Latin manuscripts. The latest to cash in on the classics is a short, stocky Greek named Alexander Xenarios, who spent 30 years roaming...
...their piping voices. They are prodigious acrobats. Li-Pu's groom does not scale an enemy wall; he vaults over it with a somersault. The soldiers' duels mate the formality of ballet with the split-second timing of a trapeze act. Girls make ribbons of cloth hiss, curl and swirl through the air like rainbow-colored py thons. The evening's most exquisite miming re-creates a boat trip upriver. Using only two paddles as props, the players sway and dip with uncannily precise imprecision, lyrically evoking a sampan bobbing on the water...
...Bearer; Mrs. Marion Javits, wife of New York Senator Jacob Javits, as Capricorn, the Goat; Justine and Lily Gushing, daughters of slick Ski Resort Operator Alexander Gushing, as Gemini, the twins in yellow silk sheaths and sequin-studded grey turbans. To be sure that the headgear crushed not a curl, Hairdresser Mr. Kenneth was backstage with teasing comb at the ready...
...with a lined, cornfield face and greying locks that spiral above him like a halo run amok. He speaks, and the words emerge in a soft, sepulchral baritone. They undulate in measured phrases, expire in breathless wisps. He fills his lungs and blows word-rings like smoke. The sentences curl upward. They chase each other around the room in dreamy images of Steamboat Gothic. Now he conjures moods of mirth, now of sorrow. He rolls his bright blue eyes heavenward. In funereal tones, he paraphrases the Bible (" 'Lord, they would stone me . . .'") and church bells peal. "Motherhood...