In Paul Krugman’s NYT article on Ukraine yesterday he used a word that was new to me: innumerate. It’s the arithmetical equivalent of illiterate. How had I missed it all these years? It does double duty as both an adjective (He is an innumerate moron (lacking a basic knowledge of math and arithmetic)), and a noun (He’s an innumerate). It’s completely different from “to enumerate,” of course.
The NFL draft took place this week in Detroit. 700,000 fans showed up (over three days) to watch. My heart goes out to the poor folks drafted by the Jets. So young. Actually, we are happy with their first pick — an offensive lineman from Penn State whose name sounds like Hebrew: Olu Fashanu. Their second pick was Yisgadal Ve’Yiskadash. Olu is 6’6″ and weighs 312 pounds. Born in Maryland. Looks like a nice guy.
The memorable quote of the day was by Javon Baker, 4th round pick of the Patriots, a wide receiver from Central Florida. “Bring your popcorn,” he told New England fans. “I make people in wheelchairs stand up.”
OK. That’s good. I guess. Maybe just a tad awkward. He does look exciting.
This poem from today’s Writer’s Almanac is called “One Place to Begin” and it’s by John Daniel.
You need a reason, any reason—skiing, a job in movies,
the Golden Gate Bridge.
Take your reason and drive west, past the Rockies.
When you’re bored with bare hills, dry flats, and distance,
stop anywhere.
Forget where you thought you were going.
Rattle through the beer cans in the ditch.
If there’s a fence, try your luck—they don’t stop cows.
Follow the first hawk you see, and when the sagebrush
trips you, take a good look before you get up.
The desert gets by without government.
Crush juniper berries, breathe the smell, smear your face.
When you wonder why you’re here, yell as loud
as you can and don’t look behind.
Walk. Your feet are learning.
Admit you’re afraid of the dark.
Soak the warmth from scabrock, cheek to lichen.
The wind isn’t talking to you. Listen anyway.
Let the cries of coyotes light a fire in your heart.
Remember the terrible song of stars—you knew it once,
before you were born.
Tell a story about why the sun comes back.
Sit still until the itches give up, lizards ignore you,
a mule deer holds you in her eyes.
Explain yourself over and over. Forget it all
when a scrub jay shrieks.
Imagine sun, sky, and wind the same, over your
scattered white bones.
My beautiful and amazing daughter Caity alerted me to a club that I joined immediately. It’s called the Dull Men’s Club. Here’s an example of the items members post. I signed up for the newsletter but haven’t gotten one yet.
Here is a coffee cup that reminds you why you should not have a donut with your coffee. Ouch. Note the belly-button.
I can’t imagine any NFL fan not knowing who Jerry Rice is: Hall of Fame receiver for the Niners, perhaps the greatest football player of all time. But I had forgotten or never knew where he played college ball. It was at Mississippi Valley State U in Itta Bena, MS, a Choctaw term meaning “forest camp.” Actually, MVSU is a mile northwest of Itta Bena. (Owl Chatter is a stickler for accuracy.)
Rice was mentioned in the NYT today because his college coach, Archie Cooley, passed away on April 18th at the age of 85. He was described as “the exuberant architect of a passing-crazy offense,” perfect for showing off Rice’s skills. The team was the Delta Devils. Cooley lined up his receivers in all sorts of configurations and dared the defense to catch up with them.
Willie Totten was the QB. In 1984, Totten and Rice teamed up for 27 TDs. Rice caught over 100 passes in both 1983 and 1984 and was drafted by the Niners in 1985. Rice called Cooley “a great friend, coach, mentor, and father figure.”
One of Cooley’s proudest moments was Mississippi Valley’s 49-32 victory over his alma mater, Jackson State, in 1984 — its first over its rival in 30 years. As the game ended, he paraded along the sideline joyfully, waving a school banner. “Jackson State said they had to score 30 points to win,” he said. “They had to score 50, because we scored 49. I’m going to talk now ’cause they’ve got to live with it for a year.”
Cooley was survived by his wife, Georgia; his son and two daughters; six grandchildren; many great-grandchildren; and two sisters and two brothers, every one of whom goes deep on every snap.
Sometimes it’s hard to tell a great joke with a straight face. You anticipate the reaction and start laughing too hard mid-joke to continue. The best example of this took place about 50 years ago when I was visiting friends Susie and Marc in Princeton. Susie has since passed away, may she rest in peace. They had a heard a joke they loved and knew I would love. (They were right.) They decided Susie would tell it. She started, but about halfway through she convulsed in laughter and could no longer talk. She could barely manage to gasp out to Marc — “you finish.” And he did. And I loved it. It was the only time I witnessed a joke being “lateraled off,” like a pass in football. [I can’t tell the joke here because it would not “work” in writing. The next time I see you, remind me about the Marc and Susie joke, and I’ll try to do it justice.]
And, . . . speaking of justice, that’s what this OC note is about. I was very impressed with the right-wing Justices’ ability to express their views on Trump’s immunity claim last week with straight faces. What they were saying was hysterical, yet they were able to present it in all seriousness.
As I understand it, their “fear” is if a President is not immune from prosecution for criminal acts committed while in office, then when he leaves office the opposition could falsely charge him with criminal acts. So to avoid that, he might mount an insurrection to prevent the next lawful president from succeeding him. If he were given immunity, there would be no need for him to stand in the way of succession.
The attorney representing sanity pointed out that their fear had in fact been realized in the very case that was before them — that in fact was what Trump was being charged with: interference with lawful succession via an insurrection. But they said they were not concerned with the case that was before them: they were concerned with the future.
If you have the feeling that you have hurtled off somewhere and have left Planet Earth — yup. Welcome aboard.
An amazing thing happened that I simply cannot explain. As usual, I completed today’s NYTXW and tuned in to see what Rex Parker’s blog had to say about it. As you know, Rex often shares songs that relate to the puzzle in some way. Today, he shared a song called “I’d Go Anywhere With Hugh” by The Magnetic Fields. The very tenuous (IMO) link to the puzzle was with 46D where the clue was “Dealer’s ‘Wanna play?,’” and the answer was YOU IN? But none of that was what floored me. Take a look at it, below. That is a photo of my owl Wellington — the inspiration for Owl Chatter. It’s Welly in his original incarnation — right off the shelf brand new. I have no idea what’s going on, but isn’t he beautiful? I read the Wikipedia entries on the band and the album, but nothing about the owl photo emerged.
Robert Gottlieb was born in NYC on this date in 1931. He died last June at the age of 92, also in NYC. He was the editor at Simon & Schuster who accepted, and worked with Joe Heller on, Catch-22, pounding it out sentence by sentence for years. It was going to be Catch-18 originally, but when Leon Uris’s Mila 18 came out, they decided to pick a different number. Heller wanted 14, but Gottlieb didn’t think it was funny enough. After many sleepless nights, 22 suddenly came to him and Heller agreed. Of course, he was also the editor for other authors and other books, but who cares.
In 1987, Gottlieb succeeded William Shawn as editor of The New Yorker and held that position until 1992. Get this — his middle name was Adams, in honor of his uncle Arthur Adams who is now known to have been a Soviet spy.
He was survived by his second wife, actress Maria Tucci, and 3 children, every one of whom would happily read him back his last line.
From the Whatever Can-Wrong-Will-Go-Wrong Dept., I just this minute received this email from CUNY:
Our new CISCO phone system allows you to make Emergency 911 calls without first pressing “9” to reach an outside line, in compliance with FCC regulations. Because of this, in the last few weeks there have been a number of reports of 911 calls from users on the main campus and at the Silberman School of Social Work attempting to make outgoing calls and accidentally reaching the 911 emergency service.
To avoid this, please exercise caution when making calls with the new system, and if you inadvertently dial 911, please don’t hang up. Stay on the call to inform the 911 responder that it was an accidental call. Please refer to the dialing instructions for clarifications on how to make calls with the CISCO phone system.
Thank you for attention to this matter.
It reminded of the scene in The Simpsons where Homer is panicking about something, and picks up the phone and screams: “Operator! What’s the number for 9-1-1?”
Thanks for popping by, and, if you made it this far, for sticking it out. See you tomorrow!
The Wellington Files 