If you take one of my favorite words, mensch, and set it next to IRS, and you need to pick a letter that combines the two into a different word or phrase, try “O.” The O connects them to form MEN’S CHOIRS. We had to do that eight times in today’s big Sunday puzzle, and the eight “connectors” spelled out THE DOORS. And the idea was that the connecting letters were tunnelling through to the second word. So part of the theme included two long down answers: BREAK ON THROUGH and TO THE OTHER SIDE. The Doors’ song, of course. Here’s a decent version of the song, performed posthumously, of course.
But the puzzle defeated me in the Southwest corner. I couldn’t get that “Jersey boys?” was CALVES. I guess the Jerseys are cows? And “Soft palate appendages” are UVULAE? “Hosting site with a gallery of memes” is IMGUR? And ‘”Lip Gloss’ rapper, 2007″ was LIL MAMA? (Like the “2007” is going to help.) All of those in the same corner riddled me with bullets like Sonny at the toll booth. No hope.
“Actor ________ Jackson, Jr.” was OSHEA, whom I never heard of either, but the crosses were fair. He’s Ice Cube’s son and portrayed his dad in “Straight Outta Compton.” I actually saw him in “Just Mercy” with Michael B. Jordan, where he portrayed a wrongfully convicted man on death row.
O’Shea has a daughter from his former girlfriend actress Jackie Garcia, whose dad is Jewish. Hi Jackie!
Our trip back from Northampton went well yesterday. We went via New Paltz so we could try a pizza place that looked great online. Apizza! And it was! When we arrived the hostess told us they couldn’t cook anything till 4 because they were firing up the wood stove. Not a problem — it was already 3:30, so we took a short walk and then relaxed with some ice water for Linda and one of their interesting local beers for me. This one’s from North Hudson, NY.
I noticed that not far from where we were seated they had a picnic-type table that could seat 3 on each of those side benches. But it seemed a little askew to me, and, sure enough, when some folks were seated there later the whole thing collapsed into a noisy avalanche of plates, silverware, etc. Crash! Linda overheard the gentleman at the table next to us call it “the leaning table of pizza.”
I’m so glad we signed up for the tour of the Yiddish Book Center’s main exhibit yesterday. There were just about ten of us and it was led by David Mazower a major figure in its creation. One entire wall of the center is made up of a “Yiddishland” mural, beautifully depicting 35 representative themes. I took a picture of a random example (#23) portraying the strike committee in Yanovsky’s cigarette factory. It’s from Bialystock, Poland, 1901. Yanovsky fired several Jewish women from the factory. The workers all went on strike to support them, and the local chapter of the Bund, the socialist party, boycotted Yanovsky’s cigarettes. Ultimately, Yanovsky caved.
This poem, from yesterday’s Writer’s Almanac is by Paul Hostovsky and is called “The Affair in the Office.”
It belonged to all of us in a way
because we all shared
in the surprise
that it existed at all,
and also, privately, in the thrill
of the two lovers
(none more surprised than they)
who’d worked together in the same sad office
with all of us for all
these years, and both of them married,
and both unhappily. It was
a sad office, like so many
sad offices, full of the inexorable sadness
of cubicles, and computers, and empty
of love. Or so we thought. For no one
saw it growing—it must have
gotten in through a high
bit of laughter in the lunchroom,
then a glancing away
and a looking back again, the way
it sometimes does. And when it got out
in whispers around the water cooler
we all drank from it,
we drank it in, and in this way
it refreshed us, and amazed us,
and belonged to us because
we all took it home, took it
with us in the car, or on the train, sat with it
in rush hour, shaking our heads as though
we were listening to music, and in a way
we were listening to music,
shaking our heads and smiling,
looking out the window, fingers drumming.
I knew the relationship would be difficult. She had multiple personalities, and I’m not good with names.
Here’s grand-niece Maeven Beatrice. Could you plotz?
Can’t top that shayna punim. See you tomorrow!
The Wellington Files 