Caity won free tix to yesterday’s Yankee game, so Linda and I agreed to watch the (5!) kids so she and Danny could go. We decided to take them on a short (1.25 mile each way) hike in Jockey Hollow National Park. There are soldiers’ huts from the Revolutionary War there that we thought the kids would get a kick out of. About halfway through the hike, Linda and Isaac (who is three) got separated from the rest of us (Lianna, Zoey, Leon, Raffi, and me, 14, 8, 6, and 4, respectively) because we were going faster. We got to the end and waited for them, but minutes passed and they didn’t show up. I figured Isaac got tired or cranky, or it got too hard to negotiate the trail with the small stroller we brought, so they headed back and we’d meet them at the car. But a small part of me worried that they somehow got lost, even though the trail is simple and straight. So we decided to nix the soldiers’ huts and turn around to find the others.
We were moving a little faster than before, propelled by that little bit of worry. My phone dinged with a text. It couldn’t be Linda; she didn’t have her phone with her. It was Caity. She sent a pic of her and Danny at the Stadium. It looked like the seats were good and they were having a good time. Yay! She asked me how the kids were doing.
Hmmmmm. Should I share with her that we “sort of lost” Nanna and Izzy? Nah — she might find some way to kill me, even from the Bronx. (You know, make a few calls.) So I texted back “We’re on a hike! The kids are doing great!” She said “Wow!”
We picked up our pace. The kids (the ones I hadn’t lost), in fact, were doing amazingly well in terms of not whining or complaining. There was some fighting over whether Leon or Raffi should be right behind Zoey as we walked, but that was pretty tame stuff by their standards of warfare. Zoey kept saying, “What if Nanna are Isaac aren’t there?” And I kept saying, “I’m sure they’re there — where else would they be?” But Zoey kept saying, “but what if they’re not?”
She had a point, but not one that I wanted to hear. She put her little hand in my big paw as we walked, and my heart melted. Zoey will do that to you. She has Ana de Armas powers.
We got back to the car to find Nanna and Izzy resting at a nearby picnic table, feasting on the big bag of snacks we brought. What a great day! And we have to go back again soon, because we didn’t get to see those huts!
The Yanks won, 4-3 — in extra innings!
In the car on the way to Lianna’s school this morning, I recounted my favorite lines from Cheers. Cliff was explaining that he applied the principles of numerology to the presidents of the U.S. and was able to predict who the next president would be. He said it will be someone named Yelnack McWawa. Then Frazier turned to him and said “Clifford, tell me – what color is the sky in your world?”
The theme of today’s puzzle was set by 10D: “Classic Maya Angelou poem.” It was Still I Rise. And there was a diagonal running from the bottom left to the top right comprised of fifteen circled letters all of which were “I,” all worked into the crossing words (Get it? The “I” was “rising.”) And there were three starred clues representing things that rise: BREAD DOUGH, BALLOONIST, and UP AND COMER. Beautifully done by constructor Hoang-Kim Vu, IMO. For icing on the cake, commenter Evgeny noted that there were no other I’s in the grid except for the 15 circled ones and the ones in “Still I Rise.” A sweet touch.
Here’s the Angelou poem. It’s also a popular tattoo.
You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I’ll rise.
Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.
Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I’ll rise.
Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?
Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don’t you take it awful hard
’Cause I laugh like I’ve got gold mines
Diggin’ in my own backyard.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.
Does my sexiness upset you?
Does it come as a surprise
That I dance like I’ve got diamonds
At the meeting of my thighs?
Out of the huts of history’s shame
I rise
Up from a past that’s rooted in pain
I rise
I’m a black ocean, leaping and wide,
Welling and swelling I bear in the tide.
Leaving behind nights of terror and fear
I rise
Into a daybreak that’s wondrously clear
I rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I am the dream and the hope of the slave.
I rise
I rise
I rise.
I have never been as blown away, negatively, by a commenter on Rex’s blog as much as yesterday. First let me note, Rex routinely expresses his disgust when people he does not favor appear in the puzzle: e.g., Elon Musk, JK Rowling, etc. And, of course, Hitler and his ilk would never make it into the grid, even if clued appropriately with something like “Nazi mass murderer.” That’s a NYT policy.
So, yesterday, the clue at 40A was “Composer Strauss, the brother of Johann,” and the answer was JOSEF. Okay — difficult, but not at all inappropriate. I got it via the crosses.
And here is the post, in it’s entirety, by someone named Melissa F.:
“Mengele, nicknamed “Angel of Death” would’ve been a good clue for JOSEF. Unfortunately, thanks to scolds like Rex, who freak out when bad people are crossword clues/answers, we get the younger brother of Johann Strauss II. Oh well, first world problems and all.”
Seriously? You expect constructor Adam Wagner and/or editor Will Shortz to treat us to Mengele in the puzzle? And they are “scolds” because they don’t? What am I missing here, folks?
Here’s Strauss — the Josef who made the cut:
My favorite clue/answer from yesterday’s puzzle was at 25A: “Formidable-but-awesome behavior.” Answer: BADASSERY.
When I googled “bad ass images,” a lot of movie characters came up. IMO, the baddest ass among them is Javier Bardem’s character Anton Chigurh from No Country For Old Men. Deliciously evil. Even how he spells his name is evil. What’s that H doing in there? — can’t be up to anything good. When Woody Harrelson was asked “Is he dangerous?,” he said, “Compared to what? — the plague?”
He’s too evil to show an actual photo. How about this?
The seeds that were planted when Luis Rubiales, head of Spain’s soccer federation, planted his unwanted kiss on the lips of Jennifer Hermoso have borne fruit. He resigned yesterday. I guess it turned out to be a kiss goodbye.
And Michigan State football coach Mel Tucker was suspended without pay because of sexual harassment charges. The pay he is going without is from his ten-year $95 million contract. Here’s what it says in the NYT:
“A report in USA Today, published early Sunday morning, detailed allegations that Tucker harassed Brenda Tracy, a prominent advocate who speaks out against sexual abuse, after they teamed up to fight the culture of sexual violence in college sports. Ms. Tracy travels the country counseling college and professional athletes to stand against harassment and abuse, and made several visits to Michigan State in the past two years.
“Ms. Tracy accused Mr. Tucker of making sexual comments and masturbating during a phone call with her on April 28, 2022, according to USA Today, and she filed a formal Title IX complaint with the university in December.”
[Here’s a joke I can’t tell in class. Abe goes to the doctor and the doctor says, “Abe, you’re going to have to stop masturbating.” Abe says “Why?” And the doctor says, “So I can examine you.”]
The same page in the Times reports on a lawsuit by Kylie McKenzie against the US Tennis Association for failing to protect her from a coach who touched her improperly when she was 19 and he was 34. Kylie was once a very promising junior player. She has battled anxiety and depression since the assault and believes it has hampered her progress. Since such acts are rarely one-offs, another woman has come forward to complain about the coach as well.
Former tennis star Pam Shriver is supporting McKenzie, partly because Shriver was also the victim of abuse. Owl Chatter finds the following note in the Times especially outrageous: Shriver testified that USTA’s top lawyer last year warned her to “be careful” about her public statements on sexual abuse in tennis. Puh-leeze — who is your client — the USTA or the Corleone family? Depositions of Kylie and her mother included questions about Kylie’s sexual partners before the assault and the nature of her discussions with her therapist. Her mother was asked if she was ever advised to take Kylie’s phone away because she had kissed a boy, and if Kylie ever believed she was pregnant.
Robert Allard, McKenzie’s lawyer and a specialist in representing victims of sexual assault in sports, said the USTA’s questioning showed a strategy of “belittling, embarrassing and intimidating survivors.” Chris Widmaier, chief spokesman for the U.S.T.A., said the organization had “no intention of revictimizing or shaming” McKenzie in any way. Phew, that’s a relief — for a minute there I thought that’s exactly what was going on.
In any event, I mention these three stories because it has become clear that the only position in which you can still assault women in this country is Republican candidate for President. Maybe that’s why so many guys are candidates. It’s the safe harbor.
Here’s Kylie McKenzie, well-prepared for whoever comes her way next.
The poem in The Writer’s Almanac today is called “Nine-Eleven” and it’s by Charlotte Parsons.
You passed me on the street
I rode the subway with you
You lived down the hall from me
I admired your dog in the park one morning
We waited in line for a concert
I ate with you in the cafes
You stood next to me at the bar
We huddled under an awning during a downpour
We dashed across the street to beat the light
I bumped into you coming round the corner
You stepped on my foot
I held the door for you
You helped me up when I slipped on the ice
I grabbed the last Sunday Times
You stole my cab
We waited forever at the bus stop
We sweated in steamy August
We hunched our shoulders against the sleet
We laughed at the movies
We groaned after the election
We sang in church
Tonight I lit a candle for you
All of you
Thanks for stopping by. Hope to see you tomorrow.
The Wellington Files 