What would you use as the clue if the answer is MAP? At 46A yesterday the clue was “Mercator projection, e.g.” Pretty heady for a Tuesday. If you have any idea of what that is, that makes one of us. But I looked it up — it’s the traditional world map we use today.
The Mercator projection is a cylindrical map projection presented by cartographer Gerardus Mercator in 1569. It became the standard map projection for navigation because it is unique in representing north as up and south as down everywhere while preserving local directions and shapes. As a side effect, the Mercator projection inflates the size of objects away from the equator. This inflation is very small near the equator but accelerates with increasing latitude to become infinite at the poles. As a result, landmasses such as Greenland, Antarctica, Canada and Russia appear far larger than they actually are relative to landmasses near the equator, such as Central Africa.
Some folks think this has had sociological effects and prefer an alternative: The Gall-Peters projection that “undistorts” the area sizes. It’s catching on a little. Maps based on this projection are promoted by UNESCO, and they are also widely used by British schools. The State of Massachusetts and Boston Public Schools began phasing in these maps in March 2017, becoming the first public school district and state in the U.S. to adopt Gall–Peters maps as their standard.
This scene from The West Wing tells the story pretty well (and it’s fun). It also shows you the various maps — very helpful.
It was the 17th anniversary of Rex’s blog on the NYTXW a few days ago and he received many nice notes of congratulations. Then, yesterday, this beautiful post appeared at 6:49am, by “anonymous.” (OFL stands for “our fearless leader,” i.e., Rex.)
“I wonder if OFL has any idea of what this blog means to some of us. I have a large supportive family. I have life-long supportive friends. Yet while I’m sitting here in Sloane-Kettering, the one thing that can completely distract me is this blog. I know, it makes no sense at all. But often times life does not. So to OFL, and the regular folks who take the time and energy to contribute , thank you. Life is good.”
Rex rarely responds to a note. Maybe once a month. But he responded to this one with:
I have some idea 😊 but thank you for saying so, and all my warmest wishes ~RP
I am including today’s poem from The Writer’s Almanac for two reasons. It’s nice, and there’s one word in it that is new to me and I’d like to share it. The poem is called “Flamingo Watching,” and it’s by Kay Ryan.
Wherever the flamingo goes,
she brings a city’s worth
of furbelows. She seems
unnatural by nature—
too vivid and peculiar
a structure to be pretty,
and flexible to the point
of oddity. Perched on
those legs, anything she does
seems like an act. Descending
on her egg or draping her head
along her back, she’s
too exact and sinuous
to convince an audience
she’s serious. The natural elect,
they think, would be less pink,
less able to relax their necks,
less flamboyant in general.
They privately expect that it’s some
poorly jointed bland grey animal
with mitts for hands
whom God protects.
A “furbelow” is a gathered strip or pleated border of a skirt or petticoat. Here’s a close-up of a flamingo showing hers (or his) off.
And here’s one of my tax students wearing a dress festooned with a furbelow, and then a twosome going a little nuts with them.
Most cruciverbalists, I would say, have some black holes in their universes — areas of weakness. I’m usually thrown by rap stars and current pop singers, except for Adele, who is very often the answer. Unlike some who shrink in terror at Simpsons references, I’m pretty strong in that area. But there was one today that threw me, to my great shame.
The clue was “Steamed ___,” classic “Simpsons” sketch, and the answer was HAMS. It turns out it’s a scene that has gone beyond viral. It’s been recast into many different variations. Rex was kind enough to share the original with us:
If you search “steamed hams” on Youtube you will find, literally, dozens of variations, including one with Nazis, and one that uses only consonants. [Where else but in Owl Chatter will you find out vital information like this?]
Last weekend, the Pirates were in Cincy to play the Reds for whom the game was crucial because Cincy is in a very tight race for the last NL playoff spot. It was a meaningless game for the Pirates; they had long ago abandoned their playoff hopes.
Things were looking good for the home team, as the Reds jumped off to a 9-0 lead by the third inning. In their 137-year history, Pittsburgh had never come back from such a deficit. You want details? Their record was 0-819 when trailing by nine or more runs. You can probably see where this is heading: Final score: Pitt 13, Cincy 12. Ouch.
Brooks Robinson, the brilliant Hall of Fame third-baseman whose defensive prowess earned him the nickname “The Human Vacuum Cleaner,” died yesterday at the age of 86. He played his entire career with the Orioles, The cause of death was choking on a big clump of hair and dirt. [No it wasn’t.]
He was an All-Star 18 times and he won 16 Gold Glove awards. His 2,870 games played at third base exceeded the closest player by nearly 700 games when he retired, and remain the most games by any player in major league history at a single position. His 23 seasons spent with a single team set a major league record since matched only by Carl Yastrzemski. He won the World Series twice and was the WS MVP in 1970. In 1964 he was the AL MVP.
Harold ‘Pie’ Traynor, the Pittsburgh Pirates’ Hall-of-Fame third baseman said, “I once thought of giving him some tips, but dropped the idea. He’s just the best there is.” At a lunch meeting during the ’70 World Series, Sparky Anderson, the (losing) Reds’ manager said, “I’m beginning to see Brooks in my sleep. If I dropped this plate, he’d pick it up on one hop and throw me out at first.”
Robinson was very particular about his glove. He would try the gloves of different players and trade two of his own for theirs if he really wanted it. Once he found one he liked, he would take a year to prepare it. When he felt it was ready for game action, he would use it exclusively during games, using others for batting practice and infield workouts.
He met his wife Connie on an Orioles team flight where she was working as a flight attendant for United Airlines. He was so smitten with her that he kept ordering iced teas. After drinking his third glass, he returned it to her in the galley and said: “I want to tell you something. If any of these guys, the Baltimore Orioles, ask you for a date, tell ’em you don’t date married men. Understand? I’m the only single guy on the team.” Actually, nearly half of the Orioles were single. Before the plane landed in Boston the two had made a date to go out. They got married a little over a year later in Windsor, Ontario, Connie’s hometown.
Robinson is survived by Connie, their three sons and one daughter, none of whom had to help with the vacuuming.
Rest in peace Brooks.
Thanks for dropping in! See you tomorrow.
The Wellington Files 