Word: galleys
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...tone for the Midwest stop was set en route from the West Coast. As champagne was being poured in the galley, the French contingent's well-meaning but far-from-fluent American stewardess announced that "champignon " would soon be served. Her passengers whooped with ungallant laughter. In Gaylesburg, Ill., to tour Secretary of Agriculture John Block's 3,000-acre farm, Mitterrand donned rubber boots, a farmer's cap and a sky-blue jacket with MR. PRESIDENT stitched over the heart. He and Block disagreed about American exports undercutting European Community farmers, but Mitterrand lightened the mood...
...most unpleasant stench. Seasick, any reasonable person might suppose; lovesick, the opera crowd prefers to believe, bringing the beast into their own frame of reference. Would that the basso profundo could hypnotize the creature with his low tones as easily as he does the chicken from the galley, on which he demonstrates his powers...
Conner, who owns a drapery business in San Diego, works not only his crew like galley slaves but his shipbuilders too. Desiring a twelve even swifter than Freedom, Conner ordered three new $1 million boats after 1980, discarding Magic and Spirit before embracing Liberty. Weighing the virtues of Freedom and Liberty right up until the deadline last week, Conner finally chose the new boat. Besides Liberty and Blackaller's Defender, Turner's old friend Courageous will head out again, skippered by John Kolius...
Deprived multitudes who do not know that a trireme was a three-tiered galley and Edward George Bulwer-Lytton was the author of The Last Days of Pompeii may have more luck with the gummy red spaceship that moves around the outskirts of Duluth. It contains a race of highly competent centipedes who can change themselves into beautiful women or Hubert Humphrey. The aliens do not threaten the commonweal nearly as much as do the Aztec Terrorists Society, a black drug dealer named Big John and Police Lieutenant Darlene Ecks, who enjoys strip-searching suspects...
...mention rent control) and perfect sense on another (what could be more fun?) I've spent the better part of the last four years, staying up very late at night helping to produce and print the paper, which makes no sense on one level (a career in galley-proofing?) but perfect sense on another (what else should I do? Sleep? And where else is excitement, weariness, brotherhood bound up so tightly as by a clattering press run at 4 a.m.?) And, too, I've devoted more than one dinner to defending the paper against its sizeable horde of detractors...