Penultimate, of course, means next to last. A lot of people think it means last, because of that ultimate in there. Maybe they think the pen is a way of emphasizing the last — it’s really last! But, no, it means next to last: ninth in a list of ten. If it’s supposed to be a shortcut, it may not really be a shortcut. Next to last is three syllables and penultimate is four. Next to last is ten letters and penultimate eleven. The Car Talk guys used to be amused that the shortcut for World Wide Web: WWW, when spoken, is nine syllables compared to three. Whatever. I like that there is a special word for “next to last.”
And I was today years old when I learned that there’s a word for “next to next to last,” or third from the end. It’s antepenultimate. Eighth in a list of ten. I learned it from the puzzle today, but I won’t bore you with the details. Instead, I’ll bore you with the eclectic list of the folks who popped into the puzzle today: Kenneth BRANAGH, for his role in Oppenheimer. It held me up a bit because I tried to stick a U in it. TINA Turner, clued as “backed by the Ikettes.” The painter EL GRECO, young disciple of an old Titian. Jacques CHIRAC, former prez of France. PHIL: groundhog of renown. KOWALSKI, Brando’s role in Streetcar. COLMAN Domingo, Best Actor nominee for 2023’s Rustin. LUANN de Lesseps of the “Real Housewives” franchise. EDGAR LEE Masters. The clue for him was good: “Masters of the written word?” Here’s Luann.
At 35D, the clue was “‘Save the ___’ (modern conservation slogan),” and the answer was BEES. I think I’ve played this Laura Cantrell song before for us, but it’s so beautiful, it’s worth a reprise, IMO. I don’t know how you’re doing with your cholesterol levels, but this song is definitely good for your heart. It’s the penultimate song on her album Humming by the Flowered Vine.
My time is short now, I feel it coming
I’ll see you darling in the morning light
Whoa, hey — did someone mention Stanley Kowalski? In this scene, Elaine has taken some painkillers for her back.
This poem by Jack Ridl is from today’s Writer’s Almanac and is called “The Heron.”
Whenever we noticed her
standing in the stream, still
as a branch in dead air, we
would grab our binoculars,
watch her watching,
her eye fixed on the water
slowly making its own way
around stumps, over a boulder,
under some leaves matted against
a fallen log. She seemed
to appear, stand, peer, then
lift one leg, stretch it, let
a foot quietly settle into the mud
then pull up her other foot, settle
it, and stare again, each step
tendered, an ideogram at the end
of a calligrapher’s brush.
Every time she arrived, we watched
until, as if she had suddenly heard
a call in the sky, she would bend
her knees, raise her wide wings,
and lift into the welcome grace
of the air, her legs extending
back behind her, wings rising
and falling elegant under the clouds:
For more than a week now
we have not seen her. We watch
the sky, hoping to catch her great
feathered cross moving above the trees.
A comment posted late yesterday weighed in on whether the third plague in Egypt was GNATS, as the puzzle posited, or lice. The Hebrew word is kinnim, which yesterday’s comment strongly maintained translates to lice. Here’s what commenter Sailor says:
“Old translations of ancient texts were often made on thin evidence, and current scholarly consensus has trended away from translating kinnim as lice. The English translation gnats is now much more common. Along the way, various translators and faith traditions have also used flies, sand flies, and mosquitos.
“But if this were a Jeopardy clue, the correct answer would definitely be lice because that’s the translation used in the King James Version, which they specify as their standard reference.”
Whatever it is, let’s move on — I’m starting to itch.
You history buffs may have known that the “length of William Henry Harrison’s presidency” was ONE MONTH, but it was news to me. Wha’ hoppin? He got sick and died is wha’ hoppin. He was 68 years old. At least it was a long month: March 4 to April 4 in 1841. Remember “Tippecanoe and Tyler too?” Well, Harrison was Old Tippecanoe (his nickname after his exploits in the Battle of Tippecanoe), and Tyler was his running mate who took office after Harrison died. Harrison was the 9th U.S. President.
Harrison met his wife Anna when he was 22, but when he asked her dad for permission to marry her, he said no. Don’t you hate when that happens? So they eloped when Dad was away on business. They had ten children, and one of their grandchildren was Benjamin Harrison, the 23rd President of the U.S.
Here’s a photo of Harrison’s wife, Anna.
David Dibb asked his fellow members of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) for help. Here’s his post:
My father in law is trying to decipher this note left to him. His night heater in his lorry was not working and the engineer left him this note after working on it. We can’t fully decipher it to make any sense. Can anyone help?
Tony Clark: I read the ending as “no summer fruit.”
Tim Fardell: Davie used to unlock night heater elue to too many iogs OR never twit – covered for luncheon – NO flume & twit.
Sam Bessie Morgan: He fixed it. That’s all you need to know.
Paul Wain: It says “Take two paracetamol twice a day for two weeks. If you don’t feel any better come back and see me”
Larry Greenfield: Davie used to unlucky night neater else 10 too many ivy’s or heavier. Quit checkered der luncheon
Dave Wilmott: The night heater unit failed to start too many times, so the electronic control unit blocked it from working. The engineer used his diagnostic computer to clear the trouble codes and restore heater function. The engineer then tried the heater, which starts and runs correctly and has signed it off as No Fault Found. Heater will almost certainly fail to start after tomorrow’s shift when it’s needed.
The Jets were favored to beat ‘Zona today by 1.5 points. As it happens, they lost a real nail-biter 31-6. Ouch! D’oh!
Here’s the only shot Phil sent us before blacking out.
See you tomorrow!
The Wellington Files 