We’re back at our Jersey headquarters after an excellent road trip to Baltimore. The O’s couldn’t pull off a sweep of the Rays for us on Sunday, but it was a good tight game. Actually, the home squad was moribund through eight: Ray ace Nick Martinez was brilliant through six followed by two fresh arms. Wait, the O’s only had one hit? Yikes. But we were only down by three, so the way I like to look at it is: if we can get just one man on base, we’re just a single or walk away from bringing the tying run to the plate.

I said to Linda: “If we can get the leadoff man on, the whole complexion of the game changes.” Then, holy shit, Cowser drove the first pitch out of the park! The crowd woke up – MOOOOOOOO!! Then Taveras reached when his bunt was misplayed! Sluggers Alonso and Henderson would get up with the chance to tie it, just as we drew it up in our dreams.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Good game though. Great weather. Great seats. Great scene. We enjoyed our Potbelly lunch in the stands as the grounds crew toiled, and I had a cold $5 High Life. Can’t beat a $5 beer at the ballpark.

Linda snapped this nice shot of me at the game.

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Although the game was the centipede of the trip, we very much enjoyed the side activities too. The movie “Tony” at the historic Charles St. Theater was very good, followed by an excellent Spaghetti AI Frutti de Mare with stuffed zucchini at the Grano Pasta Bar in our favorite neighborhood (Hampden). And the post-game pie at Angeli’s was, as always, out of this world. Thank you Charm City!

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My “partner” egs and I came up with some good stuff on today’s puzzle. In the low-hanging fruit category, we both went for “the TRILL is gone.” Egs was brilliant on PERSEIDS, below, clued with “Summer meteor shower named for a mythological hero.”

Bouncer: Can I see your IDs?
Teen: Well, what we have aren’t IDs per se.
Bouncer: Well I need PERSEIDS or you’re not coming in.

And I worked on NOSEEUM (“Tiny biting insect”), and SHIVERY (“Like someone emerging from freezing cold water, typically”).

The Institute of Olfactory Systems has an excellent NOSEEUM open to the public. The sneeze exhibit is a blast. Best to avoid the peak hours though, as the more popular passages can be clogged.

It was freezing this morning. Who says SHIVERY is dead?

OK, Phil. Now let her back in!! What the hell is wrong with you?

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You just never know what will set someone off in a puzzle. At 45D today, for the clue “The paths of planets” the answer was ORBITAL. I didn’t give it a moment’s thought. And yet Anony Mouse wrote:

Yo! This is an ignorant crime against science! Orbital is a noun referring to the probability distribution of an electron in one of the shells of an atom. An orbital is a spherical or dumbbell shaped cloud. It DOES NOT refer to the path, or orbits, of the planets. More science ignorance from the NYT crossword. It’s a bummer.

Several replies noted that our friend Miriam Webster says it’s “of, relating to, or forming an orbit (such as the orbit of a moon, planet, or spacecraft).” Another Anony Mouse wrote: “Slow your roll, pal. ‘Orbital’ here is being used as an adjective, not a noun. The paths of the planets are ORBITAL paths.”

Commenter Gary had the last word: “‘Crime against science!’ Is the Department of Pompous School Boys where these crimes are reported? Who enforces these? What court adjudication exists? What are the sentencing guidelines? We’re lucky to have crossword police ready willing and able to call out such violations against wisdom.”

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This entry is by Karen Barnett in Sunday’s Met Diary. It’s called “Moths.”

Dear Diary:

In 2024, I arrived back in New York City after six years away. My 19-year-old car was filled with boxes of rugs and textiles and other things I had kept from my old apartment.

I met a friend of a friend who had an entire basement where I could store the rugs while I tried to sell them on Facebook Marketplace.

After a few months, I was relieved to finally sell the biggest rug I had. The relief faded quickly when I got a text from the buyer: “We found a moth.”

I took back the rug and looked through everything in my friend’s basement. It was all infested with moths.

My husband and I drove toward our Bed-Stuy apartment as he spun plans that required garbage bags and mothballs.

After getting the supplies, we were ready to forge ahead, but my foul mood had officially set in.

My husband tried to cheer me up.

“Give me a kiss,” he said.

Grumpily, I obliged.

“And another.”

With a huff, I gave him another kiss.

“One more for good measure.”

Now, with my smile starting to peek through, he got his third kiss.

I started to pull out of our spot when a man who was nearby started to gesture wildly and shout at us.

I looked around confused. Was I about to hit something? What was he saying? We rolled down the window.

“Give us another!” he said with a smile. “One more time for Bed-Stuy!”

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Our focus on Nat Harp recently (see Owl Chatter’s post “Replacement Blonde”), was the same as that of Maureen Dowd’s on Sunday. Here’s her opening para:

“I’ve spent my career watching officials maneuver and scheme, often in absurd ways, to get closer to presidents. But I’d never seen anything like the photo of Natalie Harp dashing after President Trump’s golf cart in Scotland three years ago. I’d also never heard of a staffer jumping into the trunk of an S.U.V., as Harp did, when she was denied a seat in the motorcade.”

It goes beyond the sort of stuff you might see in a photo of an 8-year-old girl staring adoringly at JFK. It’s clearly psychotic. Or, as Dowd puts it: “something really dark and deranged at the innermost circle of Trump’s White House.”

In adoring letters released recently, Nat talks about her fragile emotional state — forgetting to eat or sleep and getting hurt by others’ critical remarks (not Owl Chatter’s, we hope: We love you Nat!).

“I want things to always be right between us,” she writes. “I’m sorry I lost my focus. You are all that matters to me. I don’t want to ever let you down. Thank you for being my Guardian and Protector in this Life.”

She pleads, “We shouldn’t have to talk about work all the time!!” and pines to “hear every conversation” he has.

She says that it would have been hard to lose her father if she had not had someone so “worthy” to turn to in Trump. “And, I will add,” she signs off, “it is I who is unworthy.”

That’s not correct. Should be “am.”

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Two more deaths can be laid to Trump and Kennedy, according to a report in the NYT: the first two measles deaths in the U.S. this year, both in PA, of unvaxed folks. Vu den?

More cases have been reported in 2026 than in any other year since the virus was declared eliminated in 2000. Outbreaks have popped up all over the country. Roughly 1 in 5 unvaccinated people who contract the virus lands in the hospital. The virus is especially dangerous for children. Up to 3 out of 1,000 children with measles die from respiratory and neurological complications. As many as 1 in 20 children with measles goes on to develop pneumonia, which is the leading cause of death from measles among children. Children can also experience brain swelling, which can leave them with lifelong hearing damage or intellectual disabilities. There are no treatments for measles.

Good job, Mom and Dad!

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This poem by Albert Garcia is called “August Morning.” It was The Poetry Foundation’s Poem of the Day last Monday.

It’s ripe, the melon
by our sink. Yellow,
bee-bitten, soft, it perfumes
the house too sweetly.
At five I wake, the air
mournful in its quiet.
My wife’s eyes swim calmly
under their lids, her mouth and jaw
relaxed, different.
What is happening in the silence
of this house? Curtains
hang heavily from their rods.
Ficus leaves tremble
at my footsteps. Yet
the colors outside are perfect–
orange geranium, blue lobelia.
I wander from room to room
like a man in a museum:
wife, children, books, flowers,
melon. Such still air. Soon
the mid-morning breeze will float in
like tepid water, then hot.
How do I start this day,
I who am unsure
of how my life has happened
or how to proceed
amid this warm and steady sweetness?

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See you next time, Chatterheads!