Word: snug
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...must take immediate action. Precious University resources are flowing from the endowment coffers for pom-poms and megaphones; pleated mini-skirts for the gals, and snug-your-bum slacks for the guys. Underprivileged students, meanwhile, yearn for larger scholarships; scientists of every stripe cut throats for research funds; and the window men at Lowell House have vowed not to remove their scaffolding until someone starts paying the bills down there. Can we afford cheerleaders in times of fiscal austerity...
...night resort hotels. Instead, they pay anywhere from $3,000 to $15,000 to buy rights to a week or perhaps as much as a month each year in a villa, bungalow or apartment. Typical of such deals is the package offered by the newly built Snug Harbor Marina Village in Fort Myers Beach, Fla. Snug Harbor charges a moderate $2,500 to $6,000 a week for two bedrooms and two baths, plus the use of a village-owned fleet of 22-ft. to 25-ft. cabin cruisers docked outside. About 100 miles to the north in Madeira Beach...
...torching his way through a couple of Arthur Alexander scorchers, Soldier of Love and A Shot of Rhythm and Blues; Paul lighting into That's All Right Mama and striking sparks off Carl Perkins' Matchbox. George gets to sing at least once on his own (a very snug version of Nothin' Shakin' but the Leaves on the Trees); and Ringo turns in an exuberant rough-house performance of I Want to Be Your Man. These songs all have the blind energy, nerve and joyful rowdiness of genius before history took over...
...have that gut in my way. So I've slowly crept back up." The occasional cruel remarks that tortured Nicklaus, Stadler shrugs off. When he was described as "a carnivorous moose stalking his dinner," his reaction was to say, "Moose aren't carnivorous." In his snug green Masters jacket, Stadler was asked about the changes a major championship would bring in his life. He had been the eighth leading money winner in both 1980 and 1981, and now he was No. 1. Beyond money, he was starting to play golf for history. "I've kind of thought...
...have us accept an argument that leads only to suicidal hopelessness?" The R.I.C. man, still jaunty, hums a bar of Feelings. The judge shouts, "You're losing it, Kidd!" Catcalls are tossed out promiscuously ("Lies! Lies!"), and as Kidd's peroration snaps to a finish in the snug Princeton classroom, hands bang approvingly on desks. Standard procedure in an important college debate tournament? A gathering of the best and the glibbest from 20 colleges...