Word: spaniards
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...great occasions lately, the rest of the world has broken back. By any objective measurement, Britain's Sandy Lyle, the current Masters champion, is the most accomplished player of the moment. In some order, he is followed by the Australian Greg Norman, the Spaniard Seve Ballesteros and perhaps the Americans Lanny Wadkins and Strange. A winner of $3 million and no major titles, Strange was the signature U.S. golfer...
Punctuation thus becomes the signature of cultures. The hot-blooded Spaniard seems to be revealed in the passion and urgency of his doubled exclamation points and question marks ("Caramba! Quien sabe?"), while the impassive Chinese traditionally added to his so-called inscrutability by omitting directions from his ideograms. The anarchy and commotion of the '60s were given voice in the exploding exclamation marks, riotous capital letters and Day-Glo italics of Tom Wolfe's spray-paint prose; and in Communist societies, where the State is absolute, the dignity -- and divinity -- of capital letters is reserved for Ministries, Sub-Committees...
Bright sun warmed some of the best ski competition of the Games in the women's and men's giant slaloms. The leader after the women's first run was Blanca Fernandez-Ochoa, a Spaniard (and, reporters told each other happily, a sometime bullfighter) whose brother Paco won the slalom at the '72 Games in Sapporo. Blanca, a powerful, driving skier, looked so strong that Spanish fans phoned to Calgary for champagne as they waited for the second...
...film has its more serious adventures, like that of Montoya, a stereotypical Spaniard played by Mandy Patinkin. Montoya seeks to avenge the death of his father and is involved in a ruthless search for the six-fingered killer. When he finds him, he intimidates his prey by emulating a broken record. "I am Inigo Montoya," he drones repeatedly. "You killed my father. Prepare to die." This attempt at humor, like many of the film's "comic" touches, entirely misses its mark...
...since women were around to be delighted. Though the great days of jewelry design have come and mostly gone, they have not disappeared entirely, as Barbara Cartlidge's Twentieth-Century Jewelry (Abrams; 238 pages; $60) very handsomely makes clear. In the early part of the century, designers like the Spaniard Luis Masriera were turning out lovely art nouveau brooches--golden angels balancing gleaming pearls--and as late as 1949 Salvador Dali transformed one of his famous surrealistic eyes into a diamond, ruby and enamel watch. The gold and the jewels still shine in the '80s, but too many designers, alas...