Phil had a good time with this assignment and ended up chatting with poet Ross Gay longer than he thought. He said they had absolutely nothing in common — which, of course, is high praise and a relief for Gay.
Ross is turning 51 this Friday. He was born in Youngstown, OH, and raised in Levittown, PA. When friends of his were getting married, he wrote this poem for the occasion. We can’t imagine a nicer gift, except maybe a good toaster. It’s called “Wedding Poem” and says it’s “For Keith and Jen.” It was today’s Poem of the Day from the Poetry Foundation.
Friends I am here to modestly report
seeing in an orchard
in my town
a goldfinch kissing
a sunflower
again and again
dangling upside down
by its tiny claws
steadying itself by snapping open
like an old-timey fan
its wings
again and again,
until, swooning, it tumbled off
and swooped back to the very same perch,
where the sunflower curled its giant
swirling of seeds
around the bird and leaned back
to admire the soft wind
nudging the bird’s plumage,
and friends I could see
the points on the flower’s stately crown
soften and curl inward
as it almost indiscernibly lifted
the food of its body
to the bird’s nuzzling mouth
whose fervor
I could hear from
oh 20 or 30 feet away
and see from the tiny hulls
that sailed from their
good racket,
which good racket, I have to say
was making me blush,
and rock up on my tippy-toes,
and just barely purse my lips
with what I realize now
was being, simply, glad,
which such love,
if we let it,
makes us feel.
It’s been hot as hell lately. This piece from today’s Met Diary by Nechama Stein is called “Summer Soup.”
Dear Diary:
On the last day of a heat wave in June, I was killing time between appointments at the Whole Foods near Bryant Park.
I savored the air conditioning and gulped cold water as I gazed down at the park below.
Suddenly, a woman sitting next to me gasped, and I turned to look in her direction.
“Oh,” she said, explaining the reason for her exclamation. “I just spilled soup, but none made it onto my blouse!”
I said it was her lucky day.
“I’m impressed you’re eating soup in this weather,” I added.
“It’s part of my new philosophy,” she said. “That the weather is not so bad. Say, ‘How’s the weather?’”
“Could be better,” I said, thinking she wanted my take.
“No, no, ask me how the weather is,” she clarified.
“OK,” I said, gamely playing along. “How’s the weather?”
“Not that bad!” she replied before returning to sipping her soup and putting her new philosophy into action.
Today’s puzzle by veteran constructor John Kugelman relied heavily on our old friend Anna Graham. There were four grid-spanning (22-letter) anagrams, one of which was a bit controversial.
At 99 across, the clue was “Real chess playa?” And the answer was CHECK MATING CHICK MAGNET. Each pair of words is an anagram of the other.
At 47A, “Attire for Larry Page and Sergey Brin when visiting Google incognito?” was TECHNOCRATS TRENCHCOATS. (Larry and Sergey are the founders of Google.)
The controversial one was my favorite. It came near the bottom at 126A with the clue “Greeting from a famous Italian character to a famous Italian American actress?” The answer is MARISA TOMEI, IT’SA ME MARIO.
Anony Mouse noted: As an American of Italian descent, I found the “It’s a me…” insulting. That’s a hundred-year-old stereotype of how Italian Americans speak. Can you imagine if there were some similarly grotesque clue using Spanglish or Ebonics?
And commenter Beezer replied: I understand your feelings, but that insult derives from Nintendo because when Mario would appear he would always say “It’sa me, Mario!”
It was also controversial because the exact anagram of “Marisa Tomei” appeared in a NYTXW before!! Should it have not been replayed? Or perhaps credit should have somehow been given?
Commenter Lewis added a favorite anagram of his: DECIMAL POINT: I’M A DOT IN PLACE.
Way down at the bottom, the puzzle threw us a curve ball. The clue was “magical symbol,” 5 letters. Answer: SIGIL. You ever hear of it? I didn’t. The dictionary calls it: an inscribed or painted symbol considered to have magical power.
Here’s the Archangel Michael’s sigil. Be careful with it — my nose just turned into a carrot for a few minutes. Scared the sh*t out of me.
Cancel the herring! The Yankees no longer have Herring in their system. That’s Griffin Herring, the minor leaguer they traded to Colorado for third baseman Ryan McMahon. May you swim in peaceful waters, Griff — we’ll keep an eye on you here at Owl Chatter.
And, speaking of herring, the NYT had a large feature on a recent “herring pairing party” at Russ and Daughters. Forks were available, but the purists held their catch by the tail, tipped their heads back, and lowered the fish right into their mouths.
There was Scandinavian-style mustard and dill herring on crisp bread, paired with everything-bagel-flavored aquavit; curried herring with Medjool dates and roasted cashews, served with a blond ale; towers of pickled herring with pickled onions and cream sauce, served daintily on slices of Baltic rye; and herring ceviche, which goes with a tequila/mezcal cocktail.
But the purists were there for the New Catch Holland herring, or Hollandse Nieuwe, imported directly from the Netherlands during the fleeting stretch of summer when they’re caught in the North Sea. In Holland, the fish — traditionally served raw and garnished with chopped onion and cornichon — has its own national holiday. Vlaggetjesdag (“Flag Day”) heralds the arrival of the first New Catch of the season, which typically runs from mid-May to July, when the herring are at their peak omega-3 fat content and “are most delicious.” (As OC readers may recall, Linda and I sampled some wonderful herring on our recent trip to Holland.)
If you’ve got a spare $125 lying around, you can go to the repeat event this Tuesday (July 29), at Russ & Daughters Cafe on Orchard Street. (Herring plus drinks included.)
See you tomorrow, Chatterheads!
The Wellington Files 