An enormous amount of ingenuity and craft goes into the construction of a good puzzle. Yet for most of my puzzling life, I just pounded my way through puzzles, struggling to solve them, and if I succeeded I felt good and moved on. I credit Rex’s blog with making me not move on so fast. To appreciate the craft: the wordplay, the humor, the subtleties. When my kids were little I tried to make them see that words could be like toys — you can play with them: “wordplay.” Puzzles are the playgrounds.
How about this for a great clue/answer yesterday: “Server’s question after a drink order.” Answer: IS PEPSI OKAY?
Here’s Rex on it:
I love that the boldest answer of the day is sitting dead center. “IS PEPSI OK?” feels risky, somehow. It’s so situation-specific, so on the edge of “is this a thing?” I’m glad she pulled the trigger on it, though, ’cause I think it’s great. Like, when I imagine the situation (someone ordering a Coke at a non-Coke-having restaurant), that response from the waitress (or waiter, server, whatever … in my head it’s a waitress) is dead-on. Perfect. Exactly what she would say. And then the customer either says “sure,” or sighs sadly and says “sure,” or else makes a disgusted face and says “god no” and orders a Sprite. Some people are Very particular about Coca-Cola, what can I say? I don’t get it, but I respect it.
Commenter Wanderlust noted the poor fellow, above, is going to be disappointed again, because Sprite is owned by Coke, so they won’t have that either. D’oh!
This dreadful thing was a Super Bowl ad. Shame on you Steve Carell.
This poem by James Baldwin, Untitled, is from The Poetry Foundation.
Lord,
when you send the rain
think about it, please,
a little?
Do
not get carried away
by the sound of falling water,
the marvelous light
on the falling water.
I
am beneath that water.
It falls with great force
and the light
Blinds
me to the light.
Baldwin was born 100 years ago yesterday in Harlem, the oldest of nine children. Back then, you weren’t allowed to have more than nine children.
Busted flat in Baton Rouge. Who among us doesn’t know that great first line from “Me and Bobby McGee?” If it’s you, you can catch up with this performance by Sheryl Crow and Kris Kristofferson. But it’s not Baton Rouge we’re looking for — it’s SALINAS, from the second verse. The puzzle asked for “John Steinbeck’s hometown.” Amazingly, some little voice in the back of my head said, “I think it’s Salinas.” How the hell I knew that is a complete mystery, but I did.
Kristofferson turned 88 recently and lives in Los Flores Canyon in Malibu CA with his wife of 41 years, Lisa. He has 8 children: 5 with Lisa, 1 from his previous wife, singer Rita Coolidge, and two from his first marriage. He would be allowed one more.
He asked that, when the time comes, his tombstone contain the following lyrics from Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on the Wire.”
Like a bird on the wire
Like a drunk in a midnight choir
I have tried in my way to be free
Another good clue/answer was: “Testament to human nature?” Ans: I AM NOT A ROBOT.
I was walking somewhere with Owl Chatter friend Norrie many years ago when she bent over to pick up a penny. Now, no one loves finding money on the street more than I do, believe me, but I said to her: “Nor, if it’s just a penny, I let it go. It’s just a penny. Not worth bending over for.” But she said: “No, it’s not the value — pennies are good luck.” Of course, she was right. So my approach to money on the street now is I pick up pennies if they are heads up. Tails up, some say, is bad luck. Don’t need that. I let those go. Nickels and up I pick up either way: that’s real money.
I saved all the good luck pennies I found and brought them to the last class of my no-longer-existent CPA Review program, Park Avenue CPA Review. I explained to the students that I would be passing around a collection of pennies, all of which I personally found “heads up,” and so represented good luck. And I told them each to take one and bring it to the CPA exam with them. They each did so.
One of the young women in the class wrote me an email about a month later to ask me a tax question. I answered it, wished her good luck, and asked when she was taking the exam. She wrote me back a short note with the date and saying that she hoped she was ready. Then, at the end, she wrote: “I have my penny.”
Here’s a story by Matthew Angulo from tomorrow’s Met Diary:
It was summer 2020, and my girlfriend and I had taken to meandering through Park Slope after work as a break from a feeling of claustrophobia from being stuck in our small apartment.
As we strolled down President Street one evening, we passed an older man sitting on a stoop. He stopped us with an inviting “psst.”
I turned back, thinking he might need help with something. But he simply motioned with his cane toward five quarters on the sidewalk. I scooped them up and started to walk over to the man, whom I took to be their owner.
He shook his head and waved his arms gently.
“For laundry,” he said.
I smiled, pocketed the coins and continued along with my girlfriend.
I loved today’s puzzle. It was very hard, but just gettable enough for me that I could get it, after a struggle. My favorite answer spanned the grid. The clue was “Virtually silently, in a classic poem,” and the answer was ON LITTLE CAT FEET. Rex had a guest blogger today, Eli, who included this photo for us:
Even better, for ST TROPEZ, he explained: “I got a little bit of traction on ST. TROPEZ (31A: French resort town) entirely because of personal history. St. Tropez is the setting for the musical La Cage Aux Folles (which is also the basis of the movie The Birdcage), which I acted in after college. Drag performing was a unique experience for a cisgender straight man, but I had a blast. Drag is not a crime.” He then shared this picture of himself, with the caption, “Ever lift a grown man on to your shoulders in 3-inch heels? I have.”
The puzzle today is by Rich Norris, who, commenter Lewis tells us, has constructed 120 Saturday NYT puzzles! No one comes close (second place is 69). Norris is the former editor of the LA Times XWs. Lewis goes on to describe his experience solving the puzzle, which is a good description of why and how many of us enjoy crosswords:
“He [Norris] is as skilled and tricky as ever. This puzzle had a bounty of clues that could beget several or many answers, thus delaying fill-ins without crosses. I love puzzles like this, because when you do get one of those answers correctly, it comes with an ‘Ah!’ and sometimes even an ‘Aha!’
“But it’s a delicate dance, making a puzzle like this, because you need just the right amount of toeholds. Too many, and the puzzle loses its Saturday toughness. Too few, and the puzzle becomes no-fun-frustrating.
“For me, Rich and the editors nailed it. So many times, I went from being stalled, to having an answer ping out in my brain, which led to a mini-splat-fill, followed by another stall. As more filled in, the answering pace quickened, leading to a marvelous crescendo to the finish.
“Just what I want on Saturday.
“This puzzle was never boring. It brought me into the zone where the world disappears except for the box and I’m in that place I love, chipping away and uncovering – ECSTACY.” [Ecstacy, was an answer in the puzzle.]
There was a second great clue/answer that spanned the grid and was very helpful to me when I cracked it. The clue was “Request for details” and the answer was CARE TO ELABORATE? Another winner was “Professional pitcher?” for PIANO TUNER. My favorite might have been “Sticks figure” for YOKEL. Also clever was “Drew using many lines?” for CAREY. (Get it?)
I am going to leave today’s close to Leanne O’Sullivan, whose poem, “Waiting for My Clothes,” is from today’s Writer’s Almanac.
The day the doctors and nurses are having
their weekly patient interviews, I sit waiting
my turn outside the office, my back to the wall,
legs curled up under my chin, playing
with the hem of my white hospital gown.
They have taken everything they thought
should be taken — my clothes, my books
my music, as if being stripped of these
were part of the cure, like removing the sheath
from a blade that has slaughtered.
They said, Wait a few days, and if you’re good
you can have your things back. They’d taken
my journal, my word made flesh, and I think
of those doctors knowing me naked
holding me by my spine, two fingers
under my neck, the way you would hold a baby,
taking my soul from between my ribs
and leafing through the pages of my thoughts,
as if they were reading my palms,
and my name beneath them like a confession,
owning this girl, claiming this world
of blackness and lightness and death
and birth. It lies in their hands like a life-line,
and I feel myself fall open or apart.
They hear my voice as they read
and think, Who is this girl that is speaking?
I know the end, she tells them.
It is the last line, both source and closing.
It is what oceans sing to, how the sun moves,
a place for the map-maker to begin.
Behind the door, nothing is said.
Like dreams, my clothes come out of their boxes.
See you tomorrow!
The Wellington Files 