Took a while, but my amateur nouns finally became pronouns.
Who, me?
You know, Trump is such as ass, his pronouns should be hee/haw.
I knew a woman who was a snob. Hers were chi/chi.
Then there was the chocolate lover: her/she.
How to comfort the victim of a malicious pronoun joke: their/their.
The Hershey one was in the puzzle yesterday: a pronoun joke. There actually is a category of joke now called pronoun jokes. Sadly most are malicious and aimed at trans folks, like they don’t have enough tsuris.
I was trying to read a list of dates I hastily jotted down and couldn’t tell if after 2/2 the next was 3/31 or if that first 3 was a 2. Then I realized there is no 2/31. Duh.
After handing the A’s a good drubbing Friday night, 23-4, the Gnats took one on themselves, losing 15-1 on Saturday. The combined run differential of 33 (19+14) in consecutive games was the most in MLB history since 1900. The boys bounced back to take the series on Sunday with a more mundane 5-2 win. Record after 100 games: 50-50. They were 51-50 after Sunday and just 1 game out of a playoff spot. Yikes! Oddly, they are road warriors, sporting the second best road record in all of baseball, just 1/2 game behind the Dodgers. Can’t explain why they don’t do better at beloved Gnats Park, one of the few remaining stadia to resist corporate naming.
Here’s what I have to say about the stadium.
(a) Parking’s murder. Almost skipped a game once, in frustration. Lot W is the most reasonable: it’s about a 15-minute walk and can cost up to $30. We did a little better using Spot Hero. It’s a good app. But we try to take the Metro now — much much better. We park near Dupont Circ.
(b) You can get a cold can o’ beer up to the first pitch (“Happy Hour”) for just $5 at the Bud terrace, or whatever they call it. That applies every game. On Tues you can get one all night all over the park, along with $5 dogs and pretzels and soda. Tix and parking bargains are available Tuesdays too, if you purchase carefully via the Gnats webby site. Or bring your own sandwiches (and bottled water) to the park – it’s allowed. Just use a clear plastic bag so they can distinguish the corned beef subs from the hand grenades.
(c) Buy the cheapest ticket you can get: I always check Stubhub. The ushers don’t enforce seating rules in the 400 level. So just grab any open seat in Section 409 or 408. It’s a great view for the game. If it’s an unusually big crowd, you may have to settle for 407 or 406. Very important: For day games, the third base side is shadier. Even at night, the sun can be tough for a 6:45 start.
Okay, now you have no excuses. Throw on your Gnats cap and jump on the Metro! Go Gnats!
Remember MOSHE Dayan? Amazingly, he was in the puzzle today: “Israeli politician Dayan.”
Here’s a joke:
After the six-day war, Israeli PM Levi Eshkol was, of course, incredibly busy 24/7. Desperate for attention, his wife came up to him one evening wearing nothing from her waist up but a sexy black bra. She lowered one half and said, “Levi darling, does this remind you of anything?” And Eshkol slapped his forehead and said “I forgot to call Dayan!”
We had a visit from a young Japanese woman recently who was quite irate. She told us her name is Sumi. It means “clarity, purity, and beauty.” No argument here.
We invited her in and asked George to get her a cold Diet Dr. P.
“What is it, Sweetheart? If you need to vent, you’ve come to the right place.”
It turns out Sumi works in an office in Tokyo and, like many women over there, feels she was blindsided by a new Japanese dress code. Due to soaring energy costs and terrible heat waves, workers have been encouraged to wear casual shirts and shorts (!) in business offices. Even the men.
“But that seems sensible,” we offered.
“Sensible my sweet tuchas!” Sumi retorted. “I have to look at some slob’s hairy legs all day??!! It’s disgusting. I can’t eat lunch at my desk anymore: I’ll throw up. Plus, it’s not fair — I’m still expected to spend hours making sure my legs are gorgeous (see below) or wear long skirts or pantyhose, but the men can just saunter in however they like?? I’ve had it!”
Sumi has a point. In fact, there was a full-page story in the Times about it this week. Officials acknowledge that it will take time before shorts catch on. During a recent visit to a Tokyo office on a sultry afternoon, only 11 of 70 male workers were wearing them.
Toshio Suzuki, 57, is taking a cautious approach. Mr. Suzuki, a public relations employee, wore a pair of athletic stretch pants to work. He had shaved the parts of his ankles that were exposed, saying he wanted to show that he cared about hygiene and grooming, and he did not want to offend his female colleagues. His wife advised him to maintain proper skin care and dress appropriately for his age. “In Japan, people don’t have a positive, macho image of hairy legs,” he said. “I’m not so hairy. But I’m mindful. I don’t want to be seen as sloppy.”
You’re a good man, Suzuki. We hope our new friend Sumi meets someone like you.
“Until then, S, maybe have lunch in a cafe?”
This poem is by Tess Gallagher from The Poetry Foundation. It’s called “I Stop Writing the Poem.”
I Stop Writing the Poem
to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
or who dies, I’m still a woman.
I’ll always have plenty to do.
I bring the arms of his shirt
together. Nothing can stop
our tenderness. I’ll get back
to the poem. I’ll get back to being
a woman. But for now
there’s a shirt, a giant shirt
in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
standing next to her mother
watching to see how it’s done.
Here’s Tess.
Story from The Onion:
Man Angry He Got Hit By Sprinkler Acting Like He’s Never Going To Be Dry Again
EAU CLAIRE, WI—Staring down at his dampened shirt with a mixture of anger and stunned disbelief, local man Frank Buchwald was reportedly acting like he was never going to be dry again after he got hit by a sprinkler Tuesday. Buchwald, who was described by friends and colleagues as an otherwise sane and rational person, was heard crying out “Christ!” when he came into contact with the water, his tone suggesting he believed he lived in a world where towels had been outlawed across the globe and evaporation did not exist. According to sources, the man continued to sulk for the duration of the short journey down the block, as if he were struggling to come to terms with a life in which he would be dripping puddles while walking his daughter down the aisle at her wedding and would one day be buried alongside his wife in a watery grave. At press time, Buchwald was said to be in an even worse mood after onlookers suggested the spray of water must feel kind of good on such a hot day.
Here’s a very pretty song called Jennifer Save Me, performed by the Jayhawks. Original version by Golden Smog.
It’s time to face the music
But they never taught me how to dance
I’d give you everything I’ve got
If you’d only give me half the chance
Monday’s puzzle included the medical exam: EEGS, a good source of E’s. It reminded me about a doc I once knew:
My neurologist, Dr. Ricardo Benedict, was so quick to order electroencephalograms for his patients that he was known around the office as EEGs Benedict.
At 23D today, the clue was “Risqué game that teenagers might give a whirl?” and the answer was SPIN THE BOTTLE. It rankled commenter Gary, to wit:
“When did spin the bottle fall into the domain of teenagers? So weird. Me and the grandmas down at the senior center play it all the time. Those ladies don’t care about truth, they’re all dare all the time. I always wear my Superman underwear.”
See you tomorrow!
The Wellington Files 