In connection with a Shakespeare quote in the puzzle today, Commenter Kitshef remarked about a party she attended once where a requirement for entry was that you recite a poem from memory. I posted the following note by way of reply:
@kitshef. What a nice idea for a party — the poem. The ones I used to go to just required we bring beer or, worse, a casserole. The closest I came was when my sister Bonnie threw a 70th-birthday party for my brother-in-law and asked us each to write a poem for the occasion. I still remember my limerick. (Mitch was a physicist.)
A young man in science well-versed
Won our Bonnie’s heart from the first.
She married the guy
Then two children came by.
All in all, she could have done worse.
I didn’t include the haiku I also wrote. The party was up at Mohonk, a gorgeous resort north of NYC. Here it is:
Driving to Mohonk
Mitch is turning seventy
Hope there’s no traffic
May they both rest in peace. I miss them.
The quote in the puzzle was at 16A: “It is ‘an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken,’ per Shakespeare.” The answer, you may know, is LOVE. Awwww.
It’s from Sonnet 116, which was the poem Kitshef memorized and recited for the party.
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments; love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove.
O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand’ring bark
Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
Love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle’s compass come.
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
SPA is one of those words that’s often just filler in a puzzle. But I was stopped short by its clue today: “Belgian resort renowned for its mineral springs.” It turns out that Spa is a municipality and city in Wallonia in the province of Liège, Belgium. Its name became an eponym for mineral baths with supposed curative powers. (Wikipedia) That’s where the word “spa” comes from.
At 34A, the clue was “Mysterious way to vanish,” and the answer was INTO THIN AIR. It reminded me of Richard M., who came to work at The Journal of Taxation back when I was on the editorial staff (1978-82?) He was obese. He made me look not heavy. No one made fun of him, certainly not I. But he didn’t like it there, and the day after he received his first paycheck he was out, and never came back. About a week later, someone from the printer stopped by and asked after him. He just left without saying goodbye, someone noted. And I added: “He disappeared into fat air.”
The owls have requested more birds in our posts. Can’t say no to those two.
At 54D, for the clue “Material for some gloves and balloons,” the answer was LATEX. Per egs: In honor of my first wife who is now deceased, I’m painting my house in LATEX.
There was some muttering about 29A: Clue: “Diaphanous.” Answer: LIGHT. Rex started it: “The most confused I got today was at 29A: Diaphanous (LIGHT). I thought something ‘diaphanous’ was characterized by the interplay of light on its surface, or the way light shined through its delicate substance … yeah, it’s basically ‘translucent.’ Of fine composition. Airy. I would not have thought of it as LIGHT (adj.) meaning ‘not weighing much.’ I guess by implication diaphanous things wouldn’t weigh much, but I dunno. Weird to use LIGHT as an adjective here and change the meaning of the ‘light’ normally associated with ‘diaphanous’ (which is the noun kind of light, the kind that shines through a diaphanous … thing).”
Southside J. noted: “I did a search for ‘diaphanous’ and one of the first definitions that popped up was LIGHT, so I’m guessing that it just caught Rex off guard, as it definitely seems legit.”
But Anony Mouse countered: “No, Rex is right. Yes, diaphanous fabric is light, but its characteristic quality is translucency. You would never simply swap out LIGHT for ‘diaphanous.’ Without the fabric context, the clue is clumsy.”
Finally, gregmark really let it all out, to wit:
“Rex does this, as do many xword solvers, as I do in my not-best moments, waxing all doctrinaire about the fixed, impenetrable borders of definition when it’s convenient, forgetting that modern crosswords are all about idiomatic misdirection and the infinite polysemic elasticity of English.
“Okay, that last point is precise but likely not easily understood—I mean that English wordplay is as expansive as we allow it to be; words would never evolve otherwise. If Rex was able to consider ‘airy,’ he should have been able to land on LIGHT faster than he did. But that’s very hard to impossible if, like Rex, you apply a super-hard mode approach to solving puzzles on easy days.
“So the fabric context is optional and you absolutely would swap in DIAPHANOUS for ‘light’ if so you chose to do—one need only click their slippers three times and dream it.”
[Owl Chatter note: Me? Forget that “modern crosswords are all about idiomatic misdirection and the infinite polysemic elasticity of English?” Not in a million f*cking years, Mojambo! How dare you!!]
I’m too upset to go on. Taylor — we’ll chat about the new album tomorrow. Say Hi to Trav for us.
See you next time Chatterheads!
The Wellington Files 