Word: wetness
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...came by sea. By other accounts, they forded the Massacre River from the Dominican Republic. One way or the other, in the hot, flat northeast corner of Haiti one morning last week, a band of Haitian exiles led by former army officers waded back into their homeland. Still dripping wet, silver-haired General Léon Cantave, 53, quickly organized his meager forces. Then they all marched off to overthrow, or at least harass, François ("Papa Doc") Duvalier, Haiti's brutal dictator...
Boys in Baggies. The true surfer is scornful of the "ho-daddies" (a gibe of undetermined origin) and "grem-mies" (gremlins, usually girls), those hangers-on who may never get wet behind the ears as far as surfing goes but like to immerse themselves in the dense jargon of the in group. To all, "baggies" are the loose-legged boxer swim trunks worn by the boys. "Hot dogging" is either class-A surfing or show-off stuff. To "take gas" or "wipe out" is to lose a board in the curl of a wave and land in the foamy "soup...
...duel, but he was no square. He pledged a fraternity, acquired the "Biername" (drinking nickname) of "Toni," and at frothy functions would bang his stein on an oak table in unison with the rest of them. Later, in Cologne, he dazzled the frauleins at the local Pudelnass (Sopping Wet) Tennis Club. Among those who knew him, many were surprised when Konrad Adenauer (class of 1897) grew up to be a politician and eventually Chancellor of West Germany...
...cotton, plain-necked, sleeveless, and fairly short of skirt, with side slits topped by tiny bows. Priced from $2.98 to about $50.00 the shift can go practically anywhere on practically anyone. It is fine for toe-testing at the ocean's edge, or to cover up wet bathing suits for drinks on the clubhouse verandah (après beach, nothing picks one up like a good belt). It is also socially acceptable for cocktails and dinner at the most exclusive playgrounds in the East. And house wives love it. "Just perfect," says one enthusiast, "not only cool, but some...
...summer sky still breaks over the land in splinters of green, gold or luminous waves of grey, staining the hills blue and purple and vermilion, heaping the valleys with shimmering veils of mist. In that weird, wet Atlantic light-or so they say-the swarthy chieftains and pale queens who once ruled the five kingdoms of Celtic Ireland still clatter across country. As the island's endless sleight-of-sky creates and dissolves horizons, the landscape seems dreamily unreal. The reality of Ireland is special: it lies on a border region where tragedy and laughter, jollity and gloom, hell...