I received this in my Hunter College email. I am reprinting it verbatim.
Hi,
I hope you’re doing well.
My husband and I are currently looking for a friendly and experienced Math tutor for our 14-year-old daughter, Moira, as she prepares to enter 10th grade. While her primary focus is on physics, we are particularly interested in helping her strengthen her understanding of the language used in the subject and build greater confidence in her studies.
We would like to arrange two sessions per week over the next seven weeks, with some flexibility in scheduling. If you are available, we would appreciate it if you could share your hourly rate, availability, and the total cost for this period.
Please feel free to contact us at rdxxxx@gmail. com
Thank you for your time. We look forward to hearing from you.
Best regards.
I replied:
My dear Madam. I do not satisfy your requirements. I am not friendly.
Prof. A. Liveson
In the puzzle yesterday, one clue/answer provoked a firestorm. It was at 26D and the clue was “Media misinformation.” Answer: FAKENEWS. The grid also included Sarah Palin and Rambo (Stallone). Here’s Rex:
“F*** that guy and his stupid f***ing catchphrases and the whole right-wing project to discredit journalists and destroy journalism as a resource in this country. F*** him and SARAH Palin and Sylvester f***ing Stallone and his RAMBO bullshit. There is no neutral way to clue FAKE NEWS. That is a phrase popularized by one dude—one singularly amoral and incompetent dude—and then amplified by the worst bunch of sycophants this country has ever seen. As for Palin: there are many many SARAHs out there, and so few of them are national embarrassments, why not use one of those? I was gonna let that clue slide, though, until I hit FAKE NEWS, which I will never let slide. And then at the end of the puzzle, to run across one of the most famous megafans of the current White House resident—and in his stupid fake-he-man RAMBO costume no less—too much. I normally wouldn’t have given RAMBO a second thought, but today? After the intentional rightwing boosterism? No. All too much. Hard no. I don’t solve the puzzle in a vacuum. I solve it as an American citizen alive and kicking in 2026, so yeah, smearing that guy and his lackeys all over the puzzle does in fact make a difference as to how I feel about the puzzle. Overreacting? Too sensitive? Great. I’m fine with those accusations. Someone should be sensitive.”
Aside from the obvious laudable Trump-bashing, his line “I don’t solve the puzzle in a vacuum” is what Rex is all about. It’s his genius. The puzzle is not just a series of clues/answers. It’s content like a novel has content in its different way. Puzzles resonate. The best are remarkable and glow with brilliance. The wordplay is acrobatics. And the worst. . . well, they can inspire the above rant. The Commentariat loved it, of course.
I always thought Sarah was cute tho.
The words I worked with were: MCRIB (“Intermittently offered fast-food pork sandwich”); LICE (“Pet pests”); RASH (“Sudden or impulsive, as a decision”); RAMBO (“Title role for Sylvester Stallone”); and ADHERE (“Obey, with ‘to’”).
Here’s what I got:
I’m going to need some guidance on where to place the commercial. ADHERE
Where a baby wolverine sleeps: MCRIB. (Go Blue!)
When it was discovered the team’s shortstop had LICE he was scratched from the lineup. He was ticked off and thought the manager made a RASH decision.
John Derek felt awful after losing control of the steering wheel. The last thing he wanted to do was RAMBO’s car.
[OC Note: Bo hooked up with her director John Derek who was 46 when she was 16. The pair moved to Germany to evade California’s statutory rape laws. They returned to the US soon after Bo’s 18th birthday and married in 1976. They remained married until Derek’s death from heart failure in 1998. Bo is 69 today and has remarried.]
When Trump started this ballroom nonsense he assured the public that the East Wing of the White House would not be touched. Within days it was demolished. He said the ballroom would be fully funded by private donations. He is now asking for $1 billion dollars in taxpayer money for it. If this surprises you even slightly, you need help.
Need a lift? Who doesn’t? Here’s a munchkin update: Grandniece Maeven Beatrice.
This is the first sentence of a poem that did not make it past the Owl Chatter guard puppies:
I sing this body ad libitum, Europe scraped raw between my teeth until, presto, “Ave Maria” floats to the surface from a Tituba tributary of “Swanee.”
This poem by Ted Kooser is the preface poem from Winter Morning Walks.
The quarry road tumbles toward me
out of the early morning darkness,
lustrous with frost, an unrolled bolt
of softly glowing fabric, interwoven
with tiny glass beads on silver thread,
the cloth spilled out and then lovingly
smoothed by my father’s hand
as he stands behind his wooden counter
(dark at these fields) at Tilden’s Store
so many years ago. “Here,” he says smiling,
“you can make something special with this.”
Today’s puzzle’s theme was revealed by the central crossing entry: CROSSPOLLINATED. In four spots two flowers cross each other. And as the kicker, the four letters at which the flowers intersect spell BEES.
There was a guest blogger for Rex today, a wonderful young woman constructor Malaika. Here’s a chunk of her write up.
“I finished this with a smile on my face because it’s warm today and I love flowers and I got to drink a margarita in the sun for Cinco de Mayo and this puzzle felt like spring spring spring spring spring and I have a tattoo of beautiful roses on my leg that I finally get to release from its Jeans Prison. What did you guys think? What’s your favorite flower? Any flower tattoos from any of you guys?”
I posted this comment:
“I don’t have a favorite flower, M, but my dad loved roses. He named his only daughter, my sister, Bonnie Rose, and a fond memory of mine is him watering the rose bushes he planted in our yard in Brooklyn. He passed away when I was only 14, over 60 years ago.
“And thanks for the great shot of your tattoo!!”
One of the flowers in the puzzle was a BLUEBELL. Son Volt shared this Alison Moyet song in that connection:
Here’s Alison:
A man is walking through the woods and comes across an open suitcase with three baby foxes in it. He uses his cellphone to call Animal Rescue and tells them about the baby foxes. They ask him “Are they moving?” And he says, “Well, that would explain the suitcase.”
You hear about James Taylor’s face off with Karoline Leavitt? I read about it on Facebook.
Leavitt had just finished a fiery rant about “folk-singing relics lecturing a modern America they don’t understand.” Hostess Mika Brzezinski said: “Mr. Taylor, Karoline says your activism is ‘outdated, irrelevant, and a remnant of a bygone era.’ She says you’re out of touch with today’s voters. Care to respond?”
He reached into the pocket of his corduroy blazer and pulled out a folded piece of stationery.
“Let’s review the arrangement here, dear,” Taylor said softly.
“Karoline Leavitt. Born 1997. Former White House assistant—lasted eight months. Lost two congressional races—both by double digits. Hosts a podcast that struggles to find an audience larger than the crew I hire for a small theater run in the Berkshires. Claims to fight for ‘freedom,’ yet seems quite unsettled by anyone with a different song to sing. And her latest achievement? Calling a man who has spent over 50 years advocating for the environment, for peace, and for the common man ‘irrelevant’ while she’s simply chasing a viral moment.”
“My dear, I was standing up for justice and singing for the soul of this country before your parents were out of grade school,” Taylor said, his eyes locked.
“I’ve seen fire and I’ve seen rain. I’ve been through the harshest critics and the loudest storms, and I’m still standing here with a guitar in my hand and a message in my heart. You’re playing a very loud game, but you’re missing the melody. You don’t rattle me. Sit down.”
Moral of the story: Be careful whom you diss. Some of us old-timers haven’t quite finished up yet, and we’ve been around.
See you tomorrow, Chatterheads. Thanks for dropping by.
The Wellington Files 