Word: wet
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Dates: during 1980-1989
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Catchy pop music of the sort you wish wouldn't catch you. Deborah Harry and the band have a sound that contrives to be both congenial and clammy, like a wet suede coat. In The Tide Is High, their current hit, they sound like a bunch of loaded reggae freaks who wake up in a Mexicali beer joint. As the title implies, this record is a machine-tooled product, but if Detroit had as keen an idea of its market as Blondie, there would be no need for federal subsidies...
...Plan S. Many preferred to join relatives abroad-they flew out of Rome and Naples at a rate of 200 a day-but the vast majority simply stayed put. Deeply suspicious of the central government, they clung to the shattered remnants of their old lives, enduring privation, disease and wet, bitter weather that turned their devastated villages into muddy swamps. "What the people in Rome and Naples seem to have forgotten is that we are all farmers here," explained Felice Imbriani, mayor of Conza della Campania, some 60 miles east of Naples. "What we need are trailers for ourselves...
...know who they are--in fact, you probably make jokes about them. They wear grey sweats all the time, they consume obscene amounts of food, and their distinctly metallic-looking hair is usually wet--in the winter, frozen. I am talking about swimmers, women swimmers in particular...
Silence smothers Vanderbilt Hall like a wet blanket. You can stand in the courtyard of the Medical School's only dormitory on a Saturday night, and the loudest sound you hear is your own breathing. Wait a minute! What's going on here? Isn't this a Saturday night? Isn't this a dormitory? And don't 250 students live here? So where is everybody? Where is the party, the beer, the music? At least there should be some music! Over in the common room some guy is playing the piano and upstairs some other guy is doing a Gregorian...
...insistence upon staying in the air, the Army is guarding the bronze. The two soldiers stand, staring each other into trances, polished bayonets and helmets gleaming in the midday sun. Their faces are covered with sweat. A civilian strides up to the soldiers from the crowd and pulls a wet washcloth from his pocket. He begins to dab the faces of the two men, methodically. They do not move, speak, blink, but they allow him to shift their chin straps slightly to wipe their lips. He asks them repeatedly if they are comfortable, and though they do not reply...