Today’s puzzle was very well-constructed but the general cluing was a little blah. The trick was hard to discern and there was no “revealer,” tipping you off to what was going on. It was sink or swim, or, in my case, float around thrashing helplessly for a while. Here’s the deal:
There were six italicized across clues that turned out to be two-word answers with the second word differing from the first by only one letter. And you had to use both letters for the down answers. So, e.g., for the clue “Eat, quaintly,” the answer was BREAK BREAD, but you had to fill it in in just five squares, using BREA and then K/D. The K and D both fit into the last square (that’s called a rebus). Then a crossing down clue was “Place where everything should have a mate,” and the answer was SOCK DRAWER, with the K and D both being used. (LMS noted there is a second place where everything should have a mate — the place you keep all your Tupperware containers — with those damn disappearing or “extra” lids.)
In addition to that craftiness, some good clues/answers were: “Item of feline furniture” for CAT CONDO, and “Tiny pedestals of a sort” for TEES (think golf). It was also cute that BRAYS (“Complains, donkey-style”) was crossed by the ASS from TD PASS (“Reason for an end zone celebration”), giving us yet another tuchas in the puzzle — a regular feature in the NYTXW these days, giving a whole new meaning to the phrase “behind the times.”
Was there a mild political note in the puzzle? “Confident assertion” right in the center of the grid gave us the Obama-esque YES I CAN, and “DC address?” gave us SOTU (for State Of The Union (address)). One Rex commenter noted “When Trump gave the SOTU, all I could think was STFU.”
I was waiting for a train on the subway platform years ago when an announcement came out of the loudspeakers. But it was just blasts of static — you couldn’t make out a single word. Then it was repeated in Spanish. It was still just static, but you could tell it was Spanish static. And what I loved about the scene was, there were tons of people on the platform, and not one person tried to find out what was said. Not one person said “What was that?” or “Could you understand that?” And that was because everyone knows that in the entire history of the subway system every announcement ever made was a complete lie. “We will be moving shortly.” “There is a train directly behind this one.” Or my favorite: “We are sorry for the inconvenience.” You ever see those guys who drive the trains? They have death in their eyes and are counting the minutes to retirement. I asked one once: “Does this train stop at 18th Street?,” and he just stared at me blankly and said “Please kill me.” You think they care about our inconvenience? You think he’s worrying — “Oh, no, Professor Liveson may be late for his class because of this delay — what will his students do?”
Even when the news is bad, it’s a lie. I was on a train once, going up to Hunter, and I was in great shape. I had a seat, a book to read, and a snack and a drink, if needed. Perfect comfort. The train stops at a station, the doors open, the doors close, and then the doors open again. And I’m thinking — NO! We did that already — we are supposed to move forward now, not open the doors again.” And then the announcement came: “Ladies and gentlemen, due to [insert any lie] all uptown service on the East Side of Manhattan has been suspended indefinitely. If you need to get uptown, cross over to the other side of the platform, take the downtown train to Grand Central Station, take the shuttle to Times Square, and take the 1, 2, or 3 train to 72nd street where a shuttle bus will be waiting to take you to the East Side.”
And I’m thinking, right — I’m going to take seven trains in the wrong direction to get to a shuttle bus that there is no chance in hell exists. I’m staying right where I am unless someone in a uniform with a gun tells me to get out. Sure enough, after a minute or two, the doors closed and we proceeded on our way like the announcement was never made.
How about the “sick passenger” announcements? Ever get one of those? I’m on a #6 train around 23rd Street and we stop dead for a few minutes and then it comes: “Ladies and Gentlemen. Due to a sick passenger at East 149th Street, all service on the East Side of Manhattan has been suspended indefinitely.” What!? East 149th Street is, like, Canada!! Some idiot has a tummy ache five miles away and the greatest city in the world is brought to a complete standstill?? I’m guessing they have to wait for medical help to arrive. They can land a man on the moon within one inch of where they plan to land, but it’s beyond human capacity to coordinate getting help to this guy at some point up the line so the trains can still move?? Or is this one of those football-type injuries where his neck may be broken so any movement is dangerous? Has Lawrence Taylor sacked someone on the #6 train at East 149th Street? Not likely.
The terrorists have been trying to attack the subways for decades and haven’t succeeded. But one guy with the flu paralyzes the entire system. They shouldn’t be checking our bags for explosives – they should be taking our blood pressure. “I’m sorry, sir, you’re at 140 over 90. We can’t let you on that train – you could paralyze the entire city.”
Enough. There is a train directly behind this one. We will be moving shortly.
The Wellington Files 