Since I do a lot of puzzles, I notice when a common throw-in word gets a spiffy out-of-the-ordinary clue. So, today, for the answer DIP at 47A, Constructor Hanh Huynh stayed away from the guac or the salsa and clued it with: “‘”When I ___, you ___, we ___’ (lyric from a Freak Nasty hit).” The song (“Da’ Dip”) was released in 1996 and was Mr. Nasty’s only Top 40 hit. It’s a fun tune, if you like that sort of stuff.
Hard to imagine, but if you know anyone who is still not clear on the sheer monsterism of Trump and his lackies, have them read the lead story in today’s NYT, not that it would make a difference. It’s on children being torn away from their parents. (If you thought that was taken care by the courts during the first go-round, think again.)
Here’s how they do it (an actual case): A mom and dad with their 8-year-old son, seek political asylum. ICE gives them the choice of getting the hell out, or staying in detention, with their son taken away to a separate detention center for unaccompanied children. The parents elect to seek political asylum — the whole point of their coming. So, bye bye son.
The son was terrified and has not seen his parents since May. And ICE says the family “chose” separation. As with everything else the government does now, it’s overlaid with a patina of dishonesty.
Meanwhile, all this talk about his poll numbers dropping to historic levels? He still has a 44% approval rating according to the NYT today. That’s not a typo readers.
Here is the family.
God Bless America.
Steven Wright, who claims he has a rare photo of Houdini accidentally locking his keys in his car, says “No matter what temperature the room is, it’s always room temperature.” Hmmmm.
I know enough (mostly from puzzles) to know at 2D that “Six-stringed instrument similar to a cello,” (4 letters) is a VIOL, having ruled out tuba, drum, harp and oboe, as stringless. But I only really learned what a VIOL is from commenter Andy today, who shared the following short video on it.
From Poets.org today, by Leonel Sanchez Lopez.
What the Birds Do
Over the screech of the morning
traffic of Eagle Rock Boulevard
I thought I heard the rooster
from my parents’ backyard,
calling. They lived close enough,
it could have been. I’d been
awake for hours but was still
in bed looking out the window
where a flock of red-crowned parrots
skated through the blue.
The Echo Park Parrots.
The Pasadena Parrots. The Silver-
lake Parrots. Everyone wants
to own the birds, yet
here they were this morning,
serenading me.
They come and go, they came
and went. In my dreams, I’m sometimes
a chicken. I fly from one man
to the next, hoping their arms
are strong like guava branches,
strong enough to roost
in for the night, ripe with seeds.
I’m malnourished in my dreams
because there are no trees, just birds
in nonstop flight and song.
Say you are young and single and have fallen for this young woman (who wouldn’t?):
She’s Sophie Cunningham of the Indiana Fever of the WNBA, aka Caitlin Clark’s team. Here’s how not to meet her: throw a bright green bouncy sex toy at her (rubbery male genitalia (the worst kind)). Some nut did, and, let’s just say, she’s not trying to get his number. Opponent Kelsey Plum kicked it back into the stands. Ouch.
You hear about this? It started at a WNBA game in Atlanta a few weeks ago and has become very unappreciated. It’s aimed at the league, and not Sophie in particular. It’s always the same bright green item. The moron who threw it in Atlanta was arrested, but no other details are known.
Sophie, btw, played college ball at U. Missouri and turns 29 next week. Happy Birthday, Soph! (We know what not to get her.) She’s single and straight. Hard not to fall for a girl in a uniform, amirite?
Let’s close tonight with this recent headline from The Onion:
Watchdog Group Downgrades U.S. From Democracy To Whatever Political System Lobsters Have
See you next time, Chatterheads. Thanks for dropping in,
The Wellington Files 