Broadcasting may be spotty this week. We’re heading down to Frederick MD for an exciting baseball trip! First up, in York PA, the Revolution is (are?) playing the Lancaster Stormers in an Atlantic League game. It’s Opening Night! Tomorrow, the Frederick Keys play the Wilmington Blue Rocks. That’s the “Sally” League (South Atlantic). It’s “guaranteed win” night, so if the Keys lose we get free tix to a future game. Go Rocks!! Then we hit the majors with a day game on Thurs: Gnats vs Los Bravos (Atlanta), and we finish up Friday night with the Bosox at Camden Yards to face the Orioles. We’ll be based in the Best Western in Frederick, which is in reasonable reach of all of the stadia. I tried to get a room at the Third-Best Western, but Linda insisted we aim higher. Women.
The weatherman says it will be a bit cool tonight but should be good the rest of the way. Play ball!
We’re keeping it short today so we can hit the road, but here’s a very pretty song by HEM, which was an answer in the puzzle yesterday, boringly clued with “Skirt feature.” The sweet voice is Sally Ellyson’s.
I shared some wordplay with Rex’s gang today and a joke about SEX, since that was a puzzle answer, given a very classy clue by constructor Victoria Fernandez Grande: “‘On the Basis of ___‘ (Ruth Bader Ginsburg biopic).”
The wordplay involved ABSORB (“Soak up”), and ALIBIS (“They may crumble under cross-examination”).
My personal trainer suggested I get an exercise ball to work on my core. So I picked up an ABSORB.
Don’t ask Trump what ALIBIS unless you want an earful of F-bombs.
Here’s a “three couples” joke about SEX.
A church holds an open house night to get new members to join the congregation, and three couples show up and say they want to join. The first are in their fifties, married close to thirty years. The second in their thirties, married seven or eight. And the third was a pair of shiny bright newlyweds. The minister is delighted but explains that they need to pass a test in order to join. To prove the strength of their commitment, they have to agree to refrain from sex for 30 days. All three couples agree.
A month goes by and they meet at the church. The minister asks the older couple how it went. The husband says, “To be honest, it wasn’t that difficult for us. There were a few nights we had to fight back desire, and my wife made sure to wear her least sexy pajamas, but overall, we passed the test without too much difficulty.” The minister says, “Don’t sell yourself short — you made an important commitment and you honored it. We’re delighted to have you join our congregation.”
He turns to the couple in their thirties. The husband says: “It was pretty tough, especially the last few weeks. I slept on the couch a few nights to be safe. But I’m happy to report we made it!” The minister was thrilled. “Excellent! Welcome to our church!”
Finally, he asks the newlyweds how they did. The husband says: “We so much wanted to join this church. We did everything we could to pass the test: I slept on the couch. I stayed at my brother’s place a few nights. My wife did everything she could to not be sexy. But with just three days to go, she reached up to get a can of paint off a shelf, and it was just so alluring I couldn’t stand it. So I grabbed her, and, well, we didn’t last for 30 days.” The minister says, “Well, I’m very sorry to hear that, but you know what the deal was. I’m afraid I can’t let you into our congregation.” And the husband says, “Yeah, they’re not letting us into Home Depot anymore either.”
Let’s close with this poem by Thomas Centolella from poets.org.
Cynthia Wanders My Neighborhood
with the shock of hospice behind her
and her ashes scattered on her cherished Pacific.
She’s flipped the hourglass and stopped it at 29,
when her hair was still chestnut and waving
to her waist. And because it’s November and nighttime
she’s wearing one of those vintage wool coats,
wide lapels, no buttons or belt, a blue nearly gray
in the foggy noir light of the streetlamps.
It’s cold enough she has to hold it tight
against her body. Too cold for the emerald
silk teddy, or her long tanned legs in b-ball shorts,
ready for some serious one-on-one. I’m dying
to stop my steep climb home, turn around and ask her
if she’s really here, but Orpheus is in my ear,
warning me not to make that old mistake.
It’s about trust, I think. Keep moving
through the gloom of a spinned myth:
let those you’ve loved come back
when they’re ready, when you’re ready,
as if no one were lost to begin with.
See you next time! Thanks for popping by.
The Wellington Files 