In the You-Can’t-Make-This-Stuff-Up Department, Federal District Court Judge Lewis A. Kaplan denied Trump’s request for a one-month delay in his rape trial. Trump based his request on “a deluge of prejudicial media coverage.” But the judge noted the news coverage was largely “invited or provoked by Mr. Trump’s own actions.”
“Oh yeah, there’s that,” Trump’s lawyers said.
According to the story in the NYT (I’m not kidding), Trump says he could not have raped the accuser because she was “not his type.”
I can see that. When I go out to rape someone, I’m pretty choosy too. It’s the “choosy” defense. That should sit well with the women on the jury, no?
There was a cartoon in The New Yorker years ago in which the lawyer is pointing to his client and saying to the jury, “Ladies and Gentlemen. Does this look like the face of an embezzler?” And the client is covering up his face with his hands.
Speaking of cartoons, Owl Chatter’s art-friend Bob shared these thoughts about Ed Koren:
I remember that Ed Koren was always very friendly and engaged with the Brown Art Department office staff and they clearly enjoyed bantering with him. I was fortunate to be at a small dinner party hosted by several Brown grad students that he attended. He came down from New York and stayed in Providence the days he was teaching. I recall that at the dinner party a delicious paella was served – my first experience of that very special dish! It’s nice to recall this memorable evening from 50 years ago.
Here’s another sample of his work:
[In case you can’t read the caption, it says “A wonderful cat is coming into your life.”]
Here’s a poem from today’s Writer’s Almanac by Catherine Abbey Hodges from her collection Instead of Sadness. The poem’s title is “Dark and Late.” I’m sharing it because I like the phrase “the spill of years.”
This dark porch
has brimmed
with light
like a bowl with water
like a throat with laughter
afternoons of light
years of afternoons
scintillating dawns
flagrant noons
underwater-green dusks
and nights
dark and late
lit by candles, hands,
eyes with the leap
that’s the life
we’ve come for,
what we carry
nonchalant
white-knuckled
down the spill of years,
what carries us, what
meets us in the end
and on the way
in each other.
It’s the birthday of “Beat” poet Bob Kaufman today. He was born in New Orleans in 1925, the tenth of thirteen children. He died at age 60 in 1986. His mom was Black and his dad was Jewish. Herb Caen, columnist for the San Francisco Chronicle, said he had Kaufman in mind when he coined the term “beatnik.” Kaufman’s circle included Allen Ginsberg, Kerouac, Ferlinghetti, et al.
In an interview in 2000, Ken Kesey recounted:
“I can remember driving down to North Beach with my folks and seeing Bob Kaufman out there on the street. I didn’t know he was Bob Kaufman at the time. He had little pieces of Band-Aid tape all over his face, about two inches wide, and little smaller ones like two inches long — and all of them made into crosses. He came up to the cars, and he was babbling poetry into these cars. He came up to the car I was riding in, and my folks, and started jabbering this stuff into the car. I knew that this was exceptional use of the human voice and the human mind.”
Kaufman spent 20 years in the Merchant Marines, but also spent time at Riker’s Island. In 1961, he was nominated for England’s Guinness Poetry Award, but lost out to T. S. Eliot. When JFK was shot, Kaufman took a vow of silence and didn’t speak for over ten years. Then he walked into a coffee shop and recited his poem, “All Those Ships that Never Sailed.” He said:
All those ships that never sailed
The ones with their seacocks open
That were scuttled in their stalls
Today I bring them back
Huge and transitory
And let them sail
Forever.
He had a daughter, Antionette Victoria Marie, with his first wife, and a son, Parker, named after Charlie Parker, with his second wife. The daughter passed away in 2008 at age 63. Here he is, a bit scraggly.
In the puzzle today, the clue at 1A was “The earth before God separated light from darkness, according to the Bible,” and the answer was CHAOS. But several folks said the word “chaos” does not appear in the Bible and thought “void” would be a better answer. I shared the following:
“In the beginning there was a void. Then there was another void. And one void led to the next.”
If I’m lucky, there won’t be any responses.
At 28D, “Artist Albrecht of the German Renaissance” was DURER. Check out the curls — here’s what he looked like in a self-portrait at age 28.
Durer ran with all the big dogs of his day, as the saying goes. He was in contact with Raphael and Leonardo da V, among others.
Here’s his portrait of Hieronymus Holzschuher (1526), which, you’ll have to admit, is a spitting image of the fellow, no?
Durer’s marriage to Agnes Frey was not a happy one. It was arranged for him, and he often referred to her disparagingly, i.e., calling her an “old crow.” He and the old crow did not have any children, and the Durer name died out.
KRAMER VS KRAMER was in the puzzle. I remembered Dustin Hoffman played Kramer, but forgot that Kramer was played by Jersey Girl Meryl Streep. Remember her in Sophie’s Choice? Devastating.
The clue at 48D was “Singer Perry” (4 letters), and the answer was KATY. Several old timers confessed they filled in COMO first. I’m not that far gone, thankfully. Or maybe I just forgot him. In any event, here are the two Perrys — Katy and Como. He was quite the heart throb back in my mom’s day. Pat Boone too.
We’re going to let the young Cat Stevens play us off tonight, continuing a small theme. Last night it was “Catch the Wind.” Tonight, “The Wind.”
I listen to the wind, to the wind of my soul. . . .
Good night, folks. See you tomorrow.
The Wellington Files 