Word: fingered
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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...beginning of the sixth hour. Most dancers are now showing the effects of all the dance hours logged. Our feet hurt and our leg muscles beg for mercy, but like the climber who tackles the mountain "because it's there," we valiantly strive onward. Donna Summer's "Finger on the Trigger (Love is in Control)" propels us forward, though the minutes tick by more and more slowly...
...change pocket cut laterally into the button flap. It was small, but large enough for a tiny, hammerless handgun he owned and sometimes, to his wife's horror, threatened to license and carry. In an instant, he moved his hand and, in a theatrical reflex, leveled a pointing finger at the retreating shapes. With the gun in hand, he knew, knew, he would have fired. Aiming for the legs. But he certainly could have killed them both for their disdain...
...ichi',"went the countdown last week, "four, three, two, one." At "zero," Japanese Prime Minister Yasuhiro Nakasone aimed a glove-covered finger at a button in his Tokyo residence. The prime-ministerial pressure detonated a dynamite charge 440 miles north of Tokyo and 780 ft. beneath the Tsugaru Strait, which separates Honshu and Hokkaido islands. The blast blew away the final rock separating two pilot tunnels under the strait that have been boring toward each other for the past 18 years...
...skills to extract its story. On the reluctant process of diamond formation: "They want to be graphite, and with a relatively modest boost of heat graphite is what they would become, if atmospheric oxygen did not incinerate them first. They are, in this sense, unstable-these finger-flashing symbols of the eternity of vows, yearning to become fresh pencil lead." Noting that the last Ice Age stopped around Ebbets Field, vanished home of the Brooklyn Dodgers, he writes: "When a long-ball hitter hit a long ball, it would land on Bedford Avenue and bounce down the morainal front...
...conductor, to weld a hundred men into one singing giant, to build up the most gorgeous arabesques of sound, to wave a hand and make the clamoring strings sink to a mutter, to wave again, and hear the brass crashing out in triumph, to throw up a finger, then another and another, and to know that with every one the orchestra would bound forward into a still more ecstatic surge and sweep, to fling oneself forward, and for a moment or so keep everything still, frozen, in the hollow of one's hand, and then to set them...