Two and half percent of Vermonters speak French at home as their primary language. Is that a lot or a little? Seems like a lot. Only fifty percent of Vermonters believe in God. That’s a little — for the country overall it’s seventy percent.
It was an independent nation, the Vermont Republic, for 14 years (1777-1791). It had its own money, sovereign government, and a constitution that explicitly forbade slavery — almost a century before the U.S. did. It also required government taxes to support public schools. Here’s the money.
Stella Quarta Decima, the language on the coin, means “the 14th star” reflecting Vermont’s desire to become a state: the 14th, after the original thirteen colonies. And on this date in 1791, March 4, Vermont became a state.
Hanna Teter is from Vermont, the Olympic gold medal winner in snowboarding. She’ll be representing the state for Owl Chatter today, Phil told us, droolingly.
So this family is sitting around the breakfast table: Mom, Dad, and two boys. Mom asks one of the boys what he’d like for breakfast and he says, “I’ll have the fucking pancakes.” Aghast, she slaps him, then she slaps him again, and the dad takes off his belt and starts beating him with it. The kid screams bloody murder as they both beat the crap out of him and send him to his room. Then the mom turns to the second boy and says, “What would you like for breakfast.” And he says, “Well I sure don’t want the fucking pancakes.”
Have you ever seen an albino gorilla? Me neither. This poem is by Billy Collins. It was in today’s Writer’s Almanac and is called “Searching.”
I recall someone once admitting
that all he remembered of Anna Karenina
was something about a picnic basket,
and now, after consuming a book
devoted to the subject of Barcelona—
its people, its history, its complex architecture—
all I remember is the mention
of an albino gorilla, the inhabitant of a park
where the Citadel of the Bourbons once stood.
The sheer paleness of her looms over
all the notable names and dates
as the evening strollers stop before her
and point to show their children.
These locals called her Snowflake,
and here she has been mentioned again in print
in the hope of keeping her pallid flame alive
and helping her, despite her name, to endure
in this poem where she has found another cage.
Oh, Snowflake,
I had no interest in the capital of Catalonia—
its people, its history, its complex architecture—
no, you were the reason
I kept my light on late into the night
turning all those pages, searching for you everywhere.
You talkin’ to me?
The surgeon comes out of the OR and walks slowly over to the wife. He tells her, “I have bad news. It didn’t go well. Your husband is paralyzed from the neck down. You’re going to have to care for him like a baby. Wash him, dress him, get him into a wheelchair to take him out. He has no control over his bladder or bowel functions, so you’ll have to wipe him and change his diapers frequently.”
The wife says, “Oh, no!” and the surgeon says: “I was just joking with you — he’s dead.”
The best clue/answer in the puzzle today was at 60A and is brilliant, IMO: “Make two dos, say?” At first I was thinking about exchanging vows: I DO, so the answer might be WED? But it’s a nine-letter answer — yikes! The answer was TRANSLATE. Get it? Two is dos in Spanish. So to make two dos you’d translate it.
At 45D, shades of my first car: “Beetles.” Answer VW BUGS.
But Anony Mouse had a different notion:
“Volkswagen Beetle?” you shrug.
Nope. Instead, here’s a plug
For the Velvet Water Bug.
‘Fore you can say “Ugh”…
Down its hatch, chugalug,
Goes a springtail. Glug, glug.
Manmade poisons not needed,
Carbamates superseded,
It ingests unimpeded.
A draw from the jug,
Then a raise of my mug
In toast to this thug
The Velvet Water Bug
The puzzle’s theme “revealer” today was way at the end at 65A: “This news has got me rattled!” The answer: I’M SHOOK! And the theme answers were all things that get shook — POMPOMS, TAMBOURINE, SPRAY PAINT, and POLAROID PICTURE. Remember that last one? After the photo emerges, it’s wet, so you shake it to hasten its drying. If you listen to this tune til the end, you’ll see what I mean. After that, I’m going to go with the Byrds instead of Dylan, if you don’t mind.
The 2019 Nats, the team that won the World Series and won me over as a fan, had some great personalities. Max Scherzer, with one blue eye and one brown eye, was (and still is) insanely intense. Juan Soto was just starting to turn heads. Strasburg threw heat. Howie Kendrick swung a devastating slashing bat, and Trea Turner combined speed and power and looked like Peter Pan would if he could hit.
Max and Trea were in the news this week, facing each other in a Spring Training game. Max is with Toronto now and Trea’s on the Phils. They are very good friends. As you may have heard, MLB is experimenting with an automated ball/strike system, supplementing the human umpires. It’s called ABS, the automated ball-strike challenge system. Under it, a batter, catcher, or pitcher can challenge the ump’s call on a pitch. He must do so immediately (without communication with the dugout), and a series of cameras located around the ballpark will analyze the pitch and make a determination. The system is set for a 17-inch-wide strike zone, the width of home plate (duh). And the height will depend on the height of each player, which is fed into the system earlier. Each team is allowed two challenges, but if a challenge is successful it does not count against the two allowances.
Anyway, no shrinking violet, Scherzer railed against the system: “Can we just play baseball?” Scherzer asked. “We’re humans. Can we just be judged by humans? Do we really need to disrupt the game? I think humans are defined by humans.” (His first two challenges went against him.)
Word of Max’s rant reached the Phillies and Trea knew what he had to do. He stepped into the batter’s box for the first pitch of the game. Max’s pitch was right down the center of the strike zone: a no-doubter. Trea backed out of the box and tapped his cap — he was challenging the call. Max almost never smiles on the mound, but he appreciated the gesture.
It’s a two-poem day (three, if you count the water bug). This one is by Susan Brown and is called “Becoming a Poet.” It’s the poem-a-day from poets.org.
I was five,
lying facedown on my bed
when someone stabbed me in the back,
all the way through to my heart.
I screamed & my parents came running,
my father carrying me into the living room.
We sat in the chair with the high sides
like wings. I kneeled on his lap,
my arms around his neck.
My mother sat across from us,
saying, honey, it was just a bad dream.
I looked over my father’s shoulder
at the dark ocean of air,
at the colorful, iridescent fish.
I tried to explain what I saw.
It’s your imagination, said my father.
The fish swam like brilliant magicians
toward the window. Then they were gone.
My parents didn’t know death like I did.
Or the fish, their strange beauty
my secret.
I stuffed Caity’s state tax return into a regular-sized envelope and put a “forever” stamp on it. I knew it weighed more than an oz so I took it to the post office where I was absolutely stunned by what occurred. First, you should know I’m a stickler for correct postage. I do not want to send something off with too little postage, and I most certainly do not want to put too much postage on.
I placed the envelope on the scale. The woman said I needed a second stamp. OK. “So do you want to buy one, it’s 73 cents?” I said, “But isn’t the second stamp less?” She misunderstood me and said, “It’s 1.7 ounce, you need another stamp.” She was expecting me to pay 73 cents for another forever stamp!! I said, “I understand that, but isn’t the second ounce less than the first? Don’t I just need an ‘additional ounce’ stamp? For around 28 cents?” (I wasn’t sure of the exact amount.) She said, “Yes, they are 28 cents, but we don’t have any — some man came in and bought 500.” I said “I have one at home,” and took the envelope back. I am still aghast – agog – that she wanted to charge me for a 73-cent stamp when I just needed one for 28 cents. Jesus Christ!! Is there no sane corner left?
Thanks for popping in. See you tomorrow.
The Wellington Files 