Forgive me for repeating this joke, but I love it. I was shopping for perfume for Linda for her birthday. One sample seemed nice, so I asked the woman what an ounce would cost. She said $265. I said “$265!! What the hell’s in it — gasoline??”
Oh, never mind — here’s Ana with some. Thanks, Babe! Nice to see you in the grid again today too, at 46D. Like everyone else, those constructors just can’t get enough of you, Armas.
Here’s the wordplay I shared with the Commentariat from a recent puzzle. (As always, the words in all caps were answers in the puzzle.)
The rabbi’s moment of joy is dissipated all too quickly as he is reminded of his troubles: AHOY.
Parseghian: Knock knock.
Mrs. Parseghian: Who’s there?
Parseghian: It’s MEARA. Open up.
Julius Caesar reporting on his visit with Marie Curie’s daughter: I came. I saw IRENE.
Thankfully, a few typos were able to calm the frightened horses: STAMPPAD.
Mrs. Dumpty: Any ideas on what we should get Dad for his birthday?
Humpty, Jr.: Duct tape? Gorilla Glue? SEATBELT?
Trump’s concession in a rare moment of candor: AMASS
OMG, Phil came up with this amazing photo of a young Anne Meara and Jerry Stiller.
Headline from The Onion:
EPA Approves Use Of Napalm As Pesticide
Allan Yashin wrote the following for Met Diary this week:
Dear Diary:
In 1965, as a promotion for the film “Fantastic Voyage,” Raquel Welch appeared in a Midtown store window to have her portrait painted by Salvador Dali. I was working in Manhattan and able to scoot over for the event.
A small group had gathered by the time I arrived, and I was able to stand directly in front of the window, which was empty except for a canvas on an easel.
Soon, Ms. Welch entered the window in a bathrobe, then threw it off to reveal a skimpy bikini. Dali appeared and glanced at her. He dabbed a brush in yellow paint to match her bikini. Did he carefully draw her face and body?
No. He hurled the yellow paint at the canvas to create what appeared to be random splotches. There was no discernable resemblance to Ms. Welch or anything else, animate or inanimate.
When he was finished, he walked off. Ms. Welch appeared to be shocked when she saw her “portrait.” She stood there until her “Fantastic Voyage” co-star, Stephen Boyd, walked into the window, helped her on with her robe and led her away.
I can see it.
Wordplay from yesterday’s puzzle:
How to keep the sesame seeds from falling off your bagel: SESAME PASTE
Brutus: Love the new toga, Julie! What would you call that color?
Caesar: ECRU, Brutè.
Brutus: Well, it’s gorgeous. I hope it doesn’t get all bloody tomorrow. Oops! Forget I said that!!
Musical Brian’s former spouse: XENO
The singular opera star Beverly: SILL
Best thing to do after cerning poorly: DISCERN
Adam and Eve: GENA
Of the major sports outside of baseball and football, we have grown more passionate lately of ice hockey, in particular women’s ice hockey via the Sirens of the PWHL (Hi Sarah F.!), and the Princeton babes. In fact, we are on the verge of getting season tix for the Sirens! How exciting is that? (15 games, not prohibitively expensive for seats up close behind a goal.)
Anyway, I hadn’t realized how far off the map the NBA had fallen for me until I woke up in the middle of the night and learned from my phone that the Knicks won the championship. We were watching soccer and the Gnats and forgot all about them! Happy they won, though. Historic. Bravo, gentlemen.
And TIL that MVP Jalen Brunson married a “sistah!” No s*it! His wife Ali, a dark-eyed beauty, is Jewish. A doctor even! (Vu den?) They had a big Jewish wedding in Chicago and have a beautiful little girl named Jordyn James Brunson, whose middle name honors the memory of Ali’s late dad. They met in high school and stayed together while he was at ‘Nova, and she in college in Illinois. Got a few minutes? Grab a few tissues and check it out.
Speaking of hockey, Frank Bruni’s “For the Love of Sentences” includes the following: In The Financial Post, William Watson wondered how Canada, “a country so proud of its woke devotion to peacekeeping, harmony, cooperation and nonaggression,” embraced “brutal and violent” hockey as its national sport. The National Hockey League rulebook “has eight mentions of ‘blood,’ including the stipulation that ‘high-sticking’ merits a four-minute penalty, not two, if injury results, ‘in the manner of drawing blood or otherwise.’ A glossary specifies that ‘blood does not have to be visible to consider it an injury’ and that ‘severe bruising, abrasions, a welt, cutting of the skin or damage to teeth’ also qualify. How many other sports have rule books written partly by pathologists?”
Diane Marie Hunter shared this “tiny love story” in Sunday’s NYT.
“I didn’t sleep a wink,” my sister commented over morning coffee after we had shared a hotel bed while traveling. “You toss and turn a lot.” “Really?” I wondered. Her comment provoked me to ask my husband, Bill, what it’s like to sleep beside me. “Well, you move a lot and can be dangerous,” he admitted. “When I sleep facing you, I’m careful to keep my arm in a position to guard my head and my leg in a position to protect my groin.” We’ve shared a bed for 30 uncomplaining years. I marveled at Bill’s silent (and long-suffering) love.
It reminded me of the special overnight protections Linda and I worked out when her belly was full of Caity or Sam. It fell to our owl Welly “to protect and serve.” He positioned himself between us to catch any stray kicks or flailings that might arise as I slept. When I awoke and found him “in position,” I’d say “Thanks, Welly.” “Just part of the job,” he’d reply. He still feels very protective of them, long after Linda and I have stopped caring in the least. [That was a joke.]
Taylor became the youngest woman ever to be inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame this week, which is a pretty big deal even if we never heard of it before. (Stevie Wonder went in at an earlier age, if you must know.) Trav broke his ass to get to NYC for it from mandatory training camp in KC and was seen dabbing his eyes with a napkin as Tay grew emotional discussing the sacrifices her family made for her career. But he long ago passed the Teddy Bear test. She was clad for the occasion in a strapless black Givenchy gown embroidered with flowers.
Phil — what do you have for us?
The artist Sombr performed a couple of Tay’s songs at the ceremony, including “Dear John.” Here’s how she does it.
Not gonna try to top that. Heading down to DC tomorrow for one quick overnight at a dump in Catonsville, MD. Gnats taking on KC. Couldn’t resist the promo: $5 beer and dogs, free merch, cheap tix . . . please, I’m only human.
Thanks for dropping in!
The Wellington Files 