While you wait.
There’s a sadness over a little corner of Crossworld today. One of the regular posters to Rex’s blog — Joe Dipinto — passed away last Friday. I hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t posted in a while; some others in the community discovered his passing. About two years ago I started reading the blog: Rex Parker does the NYT Crossword Puzzle, and it was part of what inspired me to start Owl Chatter. I’ve been to two tournaments and saw how neat the puzzle community is. Some of the posters to Rex’s blog just blew me away — you may recall Loren Muse Smith, aka LMS, who teaches disadvantaged kids down in NC. I miss her terribly. I stole Jeez Louise from her. And egsforbreakfast is one of my favorites now.
Joe was a regular and his posts almost always added something worthwhile to the discussion. The outpouring of good feelings in the blog yesterday saying goodbye was beautiful. His passing was announced by long-time Rex poster Nancy who ended her note by saying: “I’ll miss him a lot. Strangely, I feel as though I’ve lost a real-life friend. I really do. I imagine that a great many of you will feel the same way.”
Rest in peace, Joe.
The poem in today’s Writer’s Almanac is by Ruth L. Scwartz and it’s title is also its first line:
Poem 120: The Swan at Edgewater Park
Isn’t one of your prissy richpeoples’ swans
Wouldn’t be at home on some pristine pond
Chooses the whole stinking shoreline, candy wrappers, condoms
in its tidal fringe
Prefers to curve its muscular, slightly grubby neck
into the body of a Great Lake,
Swilling whatever it is swans swill,
Chardonnay of algae with bouquet of crud,
While Clevelanders walk by saying Look
at that big duck!
Beauty isn’t the point here; of course
the swan is beautiful,
But not like Lorie at 16, when
Everything was possible—no
More like Lorie at 27
Smoking away her days off in her dirty kitchen,
Her kid with asthma watching TV,
The boyfriend who doesn’t know yet she’s gonna
Leave him, washing his car out back—and
He’s a runty little guy, and drinks too much, and
It’s not his kid anyway, but he loves her, he
Really does, he loves them both—
That’s the kind of swan this is.
The NYT asked us today to name the two states that end in double letters. I got it, but it didn’t come so fast. The first one, yeah. But for the second, I ran the alphabet to get it. I’ll reveal them below.
Terrell Davis, the great Hall of Fame running back for the two-time Super Bowl champion Broncos of the John Elway era, was on a United Airlines flight recently with his wife and kids. His son asked the flight attendant for some ice for his soda, but the attendant either did not hear or did not want to hear. Davis lightly tapped the attendant on the arm and politely asked for some ice for his son.
The attendant — a guy, for chrissake — not even a woman — went ballistic, told Davis not to hit him, and fled to the cockpit. Davis was handcuffed in front of his family when the plane landed and the FBI investigated. In very short order, Davis’s version of the events was accepted, the attendant was suspended, and United apologized. “Not so fast, Mojambo,” says Davis and his lawyer. There’s going to be a little hell to pay.
Davis only played for seven seasons (four full ones), but was so dominant during his time that he was voted into the Hall of Fame and is considered among the best running backs of all time. He is the Broncos all-time leading rusher and still holds the record for most postseason single-season TDs (eight), in 1997. He was the Super Bowl MVP and the league MVP in 1998.
He’s married and has three kids.
Oh, and yeah, when his kid asks for ice, give him some fucking ice.
In case you didn’t get one, here’s the card they sent us last Christmas. Man, that’s a good-looking family.
Tennessee and Hawaii. See you tomorrow!
The Wellington Files 