Word: jig
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Dates: during 1960-1969
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...marched up and down Massachusetts. His right hand grew half an inch with all the hearty handshaking. He clapped men on the back: "How are you, buddy?" He reduced the women to squeals of delight with his rugged good looks. He was able and eager to dance an Irish jig when the occasion demanded. He spoke of the issues in stern, confident tones. He campaigned unabashedly on the claim that his influence would be felt in Washington on his brother's New Frontier. His slogan: "He can do more for Massachusetts...
...center, amphora is the Earth with latest comic strips so hips for dying, fires the moist puts out the hots so dearth of plenty is merryment for Milesians, prying apart the union of Sky and Earth, these scaps under Anaximander made a meander of elements to a four-square jig of fire-water called "tab 's' to be inserted in slot 't'"--in short, a fence "apeiron" with seeds tied hatching to its string, knitting the cold wet hamburg of the world to clay and fleshing it with glaze, an onion ring sliced for a sky that curdled, by fire...
Russia's Valery Brumel danced a little jig to loosen his leg muscles. He lifted his left hand in a crisp salute-a signal that he was ready. Suddenly he was galloping violently toward the pit. His left foot slammed into the ground and his body hurtled upward-left arm tucked against his chest, right leg thrust high. He barely grazed the crossbar; then he was clear and falling, the bar quivering behind him. The jump measured 7 ft. 5 in., a new world's record. And as Brumel bounced joyfully from the sawdust pit, 81,000 people...
...last it was time to move out. One Ranger began to twang out a tune on a captured Viet Cong guitar, and a companion did a twistlike jig, holding onto the bipod of his automatic rifle like a boy dancing with a broomstick. The bag for the day had been seven Viet Cong killed, eight prisoners, 53 suspect villagers arrested, seven rifles, more than 100 rounds of ammunition-and one guitar...
...Moscow. But Benny dug the wrong cat. Arching his back, Nikita Khrushchev replied: "No, I don't like Goodman music. I like good music." All jazz started off "boo-boo-boo-boo-boo," complained the Soviet Premier, setting it to his own clopping time by dancing a jig on the front lawn of Spaso House. Russian or American, it was all Chinese to him, and so was that other whatchamacallit, abstract art. Amateur Painter Dwight Eisenhower once told him that modern art "makes me sick to the stomach," and Nikita bobbed his head approvingly: "It's the same...