The Wellington Files

  • Goodbye Dolly

    This letter to the editor was in the NYT yesterday. It’s by Kathy Perkins of Lawrence, Kansas.

    To the Editor:

    The Kansas that invalidated driver’s licenses when the gender didn’t match the holder’s sex assigned at birth is a far cry from the rural Kansas where I grew up in the 1960s. It was not the fantasy of old-fashioned rural America, but community-minded folks with flaws and secrets who lived by the adage “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”

    I moved back to Kansas in 1996 and obtained a Kansas license. Four years later, I went in to renew it, wearing a skirt and on my way to work. I moved through the line and passed the eye test, and the woman at the final station handed me a document and said slowly, “I want you to review this very carefully.”

    I reviewed it and said, “It shows that my gender is male. Can I change it to female?” (By now everyone was paying attention.) She said, “Honey, you can be whatever you want — we aren’t allowed to ask.” The people in line chuckled. I wondered how neither I nor anyone else had ever noticed the “M” on my license.

    I believe my grandfather who served as a Republican in the Kansas House of Representatives and Senate has rolled over in his grave at the mean-spirited actions of present-day legislators.

    Can’t we just go back to treating others as we wish to be treated? Or put another way: “You can be whatever you want — we aren’t allowed to ask.”

    Not enough news of the good that she did in the world reached me under my rock. But it’s pouring out now, in the wake of Dolly Parton’s death. She was, of course, a long-time favorite of our Phil, who is devastated.

    She’s getting wonderful coverage out there in the world, so we don’t need Owl Chatter to pile on. Just wish her fans who are Trump supporters would heed her message of love and inclusion for gays and trans. She wasn’t subtle about it, having written and performed the song “Travelin’ Thru” for the film Transamerica. It was nominated for the Academy Award, Golden Globe, and Grammy Award for Best Song from a Movie. She performed it at the Oscars in 2006.

    Rest in peace, Dolly.

    Yesterday’s puzzle theme was neat, IMO. It was ZZTOP, you know, the rock band. But how it worked was there were four theme down answers with ZZ in them, but you had to relocate the ZZ to the top. So, e.g., with the answer BUZZ ALDRIN, you had to fill in ZZBUALDRIN. See? The ZZ was moved to the front. JAZZHANDS became ZZJAHANDS. The best was a double: FUZZY WUZZY. You had to move all the Zs to get ZZZZFUYWUY.

    At 15A, the clue was “November birthstone,” for TOPAZ. This was my comment on it:

    “Octavio Paz was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1990. It came as a surprise TOPAZ, but not to his devoted fans. They began distributing his poems on the streets in Mexico and became known as Paz dispensers.”

    I was pretty proud of Paz dispensers.

    At 14A, for the clue “Pre-Inca civilization known for its underground aqueducts and geoglyphs” the answer was NAZCA,

    Here’s me again:

    NAZCA: Pre-Inca civilization known for its devotion to auto racing.

    Oh no! Is that Dolly? Can’t be: no lipstick.

    In today’s puzzle, I learned there is such a thing as YAK polo, in Pakistan. I would guess nothing feels better after a tough yak polo match than a session of goat yoga.

    The O’s blew a 7-0 lead against the Cards on Tuesday, but won it 8-7 in the ninth. Some say games like that mark a team with destiny. If they win Thursday, kinehora, they’re two games out of the last playoff spot. [They didn’t.] They’ve caught our attention now that the Gnats have drifted. Still a long shot. This girl has faith. A redhead!

    From The Onion:

    Old Man’s Son Also Old Man

    One thing we’ve learned early from Phil is whatever you do, don’t mess with the redheads. They are a breed apart. And so we read with interest a story in the NYT yesterday that took up almost half a page about Sadie Sink — one of the more gorgeous redheads on the scene today. (Not sure what Phil did to earn the scowl. Not asking.)

    Anyway, could you possibly improve on that hair? Seems like a no to us. But in her role as Jean Grey in the new Spider-Man movie, they have her wearing a red wig. WTF? And it’s been a bit controversial.

    From the article:

    “Alessandro Bertolazzi, the hair and makeup designer for the film said that using a wig sped up and simplified the styling process. He added that the volume and hair quality offered by a wig makes a huge difference.

    “When designing the wig, Bertolazzi said that he had been inspired by Billie Eilish and that he wanted something ‘cool, contemporary, fashionable, in the same time messy, even dangerous.’ Bertolazzi recalled his team working on the wig for around four weeks. They played with length, texture and color.”

    Here she is in the wig. The Owl Chatter drool-meter has the wig/nonwig scores about even.

    And here’s Eilish.

    It took me a while to equate Trumpism with Nazism, but that line (for me) has been passed long ago. This is Paul Krugman, from his newsletter earlier this week:

    “We’re long past the point where it’s considered unthinkable and incredibly rude to make Nazi parallels. There’s a lot of people in this administration or close to this administration who are effectively Nazis, in some cases explicitly Nazis. America is not yet Germany under Hitler. But the reason we don’t have a functioning Gestapo in this country is not for lack of desire to have one. It’s because these people, at least so far, don’t have the juice. So all of the stuff, all of the parallels seem appropriate.”

    PK noted Hitler’s obsession with building a “gigantic, gaudy” ballroom, btw.

    But his points of comparison took a scary turn. In Hitler’s last days, he blamed his losses on the German people’s failing him. He came up with a Nero Decree the gist of which was to destroy as much of Germany as possible, ostensibly to deny it to the Allies, but insidiously, to take his anger out on the German people: the losers who failed him.

    Trump, of course, will never blame himself for any of his wide range of failures. He sees the polls, though he denies it, and knows the people have turned on him. He will exact revenge, because that is all he knows. His construction projects are essentially destruction projects. His idiocy has already wreaked havoc on the military and the economy and the rule of law. How much damage will be done when he starts trying?

    Here’s how PK ends his column:

    “Increasingly it looks as if he just plain hates this country because it doesn’t love him. How much damage will he do? How much damage can he do? I don’t want to make a specific prediction, but I’m worried.

    “And don’t say that he won’t do that or he can’t do that. Those have been famous last words again and again over the past decade. So this is going to be even worse, even uglier, I think than most people imagine.”

    See you next time!

  • Crimes Against Science

    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.

    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!

    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?

    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.”

    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!”

    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.”

    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!

    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?

    See you next time, Chatterheads!

  • Replacement Blonde

    Well, Natalie Harp has certainly popped into the news at just the right time, what with Pam and Karoline exiting stage right. As pretty as she is sycophantic, Nat has been a president groupie since the days of W, writing them fawning letters, according to her estranged brother in a CNN interview. No surprise she hit the jackpot with DJT. That pretty much sums up her job now, in fact. She just feeds him ego-boosts all day.

    You may have heard about the time she was desperate to accompany Trump somewhere but his aides took all the seats in his car, excluding Nat, despite her hysterical protestations. So she hopped into the SUV’s trunk for the ride. (Girls only did that for me at gunpoint.)

    [Linda! — I’d jump into the trunk to be with you — no hesitation. (That’s the new test for devotion. Ride or die.)]

    Here’s whom the press is harping on. Hubba, hubba.

    Here’s Nat with You-Know-Whom, both pretending to be thinking about serious matters of state.

    I signed up for this year’s Lollapuzzoola XW tourney in the city but skipped it to spend the day with Robin. So they sent me the puzzles to do at home. I got through the first three pretty well, but the fourth threw me off the roof. It was insidious. There was a dotted line that represented the int’l date line. Seven answers crossed it. And we were supposed to intuit, with only the slightest of hints, that the clues for those answers had a “date” in them that you had to bring back one day (since they crossed the line). So, e.g., at 42A, the clue was “Third out” and the answer turned out to be UNSETTLE. Makes no sense, right? Well, since that answer crossed the date line, you had to change the “th” in third to “we,” (thurs to weds). So “Third out” becomes “Weird out,” which is UNSETTLE. Fuhgedaboutit. Not a chance.

    There was a great clue/answer in Puzzle #3. The clue was “Carry-on item?” Answer: TEMPER TANTRUM. Get it? If you are having a tantrum, you are carrying on.

    I really enjoyed the tourney the last two years. Hope I can make it next year, kinehora.

    In the puzzle today, at 2D we were tasked with knowing that the “Language spoken by Jesus” was ARAMAIC. Okay, but, when appropriate, he delivered punchlines in Yiddish. It really was for all the bad jokes that he got, you know, hung up.

    We’re heading down to Baltimore tomorrow for a short getaway and to catch the O’s taking on the Rays on Sunday. Planning a blow-out dinner at Grano’s Pasta Bar on West 36th Street Saturday, and an incredible pie at Angeli’s Pizza after the game on Sunday. Topped off by perfect burgers at the Holy Hound Taproom in York PA on the way home Monday. I studied the beer menu and am leaning towards the Two Roads Summer Heaven Tropical IPA, from Stratford CT. (Burp!)

    Keeping it short today. Enjoy the weekend! Thanks for stopping by.

  • A Bashful Lady

    Let’s open today with an Owl Chatter thank you to special friend Judy S for supplying much needed owls to us from up in Canada! An entire parliament! Five of them seem to be singing, or hooting, or trying to say something. What a wonderful surprise!

    Would you take advice from this woman?

    I would. It’s Angela Narciso Torres, from Brooklyn. Here’s the guidance she offered in her poem “If You Go To Bed Hungry.” It was the Poem of the Day yesterday from The Poetry Foundation.

    If you go to bed hungry, your soul will get up and steal cold rice from the pot.
    Stop playing with fire before the moon rises or you’ll pee in your sleep.

    Sweeping the floor after dark sweeps wealth and good fortune out the door.
    Fork dropped: a gentleman will visit. Spoon: a bashful lady.

    Bathing after you’ve cooked over a hot stove makes the veins swell.
    For safe passage to the guest who leaves mid-meal: turn your plate.

    The adage goes: coffee stunts growth. Twelve grapes on New Year’s: the opposite.
    Advice from the learned: hide a book under your pillow. Never step on. Never drop.

    Every rice grain that remains on your plate you’ll meet again on the footpath
    to heaven. You’ll have to stoop to pick each one of them up.

    Our new friend Wendy sent more videos of her Scandinavian folk band from Vancouver. Here’s my favorite. Wendy is on the uke, seated in front in the blue skirt. And that’s Bernie Sanders next to her on the accordion.

    Are you down on life? Trump have you bummed out? I can’t argue with that, and don’t blame you. But then something wonderful like this falls into your lap out of the blue. Or Rex commenter Gary writes about “exploding pedantic brains” and has you roaring. So don’t give up quite yet.

    The cruelty and viciousness the administration has shown across the board has been so mind-numbing that I blanched for a moment when I saw that Krugman’s newsletter yesterday was titled: “A New Level of Trumpian Evil.” What new level even exists beyond the attacks on the trans community, foreign aid, women, health care, minorities, and on and on and on. So I was relieved when I summoned up the courage to read it and saw it was “only” about Trump’s paean to North Korea and dissing of South K. Phew.

    Per PK, “North Korea isn’t simply a bad government, just another murderous authoritarian regime. It is something that has become rare, even among dictatorships: a full-blown totalitarian state, in which the government controls every aspect of life and even thinking dissident thoughts is a crime.

    “[Russia and China are] mild and open compared with North Korea, where indoctrination is constant, where everyone must, if they value their lives, constantly praise the leader, whose name and portrait are everywhere.

    “South Korea is, by contrast, one of the happiest stories in history: a functioning democracy, and an incredible economic success story.”

    I’m going to steal his “musical coda,” which he introduces by saying: “Not usually a big fan of K-Pop, but the joy and national pride of this performance are infectious.”

    The following is from a poem we are not going to share. Thank you Owl Chatter guard puppies! Woof, woof.

    Drinking each day from the same mason jar,
    our lips colonize the rim with slime.
    This organism we cultivate is more, less capable: an injured
    octopod, a four-armed couplet, injury-driven.

    Oy.

    The puzzle today was berry berry good! The “revealer” was “Hides one’s central point,” — BURIES THE LEDE. And the theme answers all started with a different type of berry. GOOSEFEATHERS; ELDERCARE; STRAWPOLL, and BLACKBART. At 63D the clue was “A drop of golden sun,” and the answer was RAY. I noted the following for the gang:

    Does anyone think RAY (at 63D) might be a subtle nod to Raymond “Berry,” the Hall of Fame receiver for the Colts who was the favorite receiver of Johnny Unitas? If ever he deserved a spot in the puzzle, it’s today. Berry died at the age of 93 just last May. At the time of his retirement in 1967, he was the leading receiver in pro football history. He squeezed Silly Putty to gain hand strength. He didn’t start on his HS team until he was a senior even though his dad was the coach. He had an unremarkable college career and was the 232nd pick in the draft. His Hall of Fame biography includes this statement: “Why the Baltimore Colts selected him, even as a ‘future choice’ on the 20th round of the 1954 draft, is a mystery.”

    Roger Allen, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK), posts:

    Over the years, and through ‘natural selection’ each mug has gained a mate in the cupboard, not through colour or design, but fit and stackabillity….

    (Middle shelf is high usage).

    The system works and maintains harmony between dishwasher and cupboard….

    Now these two have turned up!!

    Sandra Davies: Just the one mug cupboard? Amateurs!

    Greg Smith: Very lucky to find a left- and right-handed with the red handles.

    Mark Allender: Stackability…. Stop it!

    Phil Goodchild: I am flummoxed as to what those ‘bowl’ shaped items might be used for that are affixed to the cupboard door, I cannot fathom a correlation between those and a cupboard full of mugs and other paraphernalia.

    Roger: Coffee pods.

    Ian Thomas: My gosh man, where have you been since 2009?

    Phil: I use my perculator and a kettle, it’s all I need to make a cracking brew of coffee. If there is a power cut there is no issue as I have an LPG oven and hob which means I can still boil water, make my coffee and cook.

    Roger: Are you a survivalist..??

    That vague feeling of unease that’s stirring is the approaching start to the football season, a terrifying prospect for Jets fans for whom the off-season is never long enough. Laughably, the Jets have placed their fate in the hands of Geno Smith at QB, with Aaron Glenn still head coach. Oy and oy. Can we just pivot to Taylor now? It will be interesting to see how Travis holds up in KC. The Chiefs have some coming back to do.

    Oh, here she is now. Love the new cut, Swift!

    We’ll see you tomorrow, Chatterheads. Thanks for stopping by.

  • Mets Swat Gnats

    Sorry for the too-long delay in posting, Chatterheads. Let’s see if I can come up with some lame excuses. First, we had wonderful Grandaughter #1 stay with us for the week, Robin, the artist formerly known as Lianna. Her folks and sibs were at the shore for a week and she hates it there. So we were happy to let her crash here, to put it mildly. Remember what it’s like having a teen in the house? I asked OC-friend Chris B and he said “Extensive therapy has helped me remove most of those memories.” (I wonder if he meant “expensive.” They both work.) It was actually a total pleasure having her stay, but between cooking her favorites and driving her, boyfriend Diegan, and their friends around, it was more activities than we’re used to. (Our regular average activity-level hovers close to zero.) Then I got sick towards the end of the week. Nothing serious, just a bad cold. Although I still have no feeling on my left side and am coughing up a lot of blood. That’s normal, right? Last, I’ve been pouring more creative energy into my comments for Rex’s blog, and that can be draining some days. But enough of all that! Back to work!

    One of our favorite Kooser poems was featured in The Writer’s Almanac a few days ago! It’s not from Winter Morning Walks. And I must confess that, as many times as I’ve read it, the last time left me close to tears. It’s called “Splitting an Order.” It’s from a collection of his with the same title.

    I like to watch an old man cutting a sandwich in half,
    maybe an ordinary cold roast beef on whole wheat bread,
    no pickles or onion, keeping his shaky hands steady
    by placing his forearms firm on the edge of the table
    and using both hands, the left to hold the sandwich in place,
    and the right to cut it surely, corner to corner,
    observing his progress through glasses that moments before
    he wiped with his napkin, and then to see him lift half
    onto the extra plate that he had asked the server to bring,
    and then to wait, offering the plate to his wife
    while she slowly unrolls her napkin and places her spoon,
    her knife and her fork in their proper places,
    then smoothes the starched white napkin over her knees
    and meets his eyes and holds out both old hands to him.

    Two answers in today’s puzzle were SO THERE (“And that’s that!”) and MIMOSA (“Boozy brunch drink”). Here’s what I came up with:

    Drunk, announcing his arrival: SOTHERE

    Speaking of drunks, at the Cooperstown (NY) Tavern you can order a Minnie MIMOSA, honoring the great Cuban ballplayer, Minnie Minoso, inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2022.

    But you know who is not in the HOF? Tommy John, who passed away this week in surgery that was, ironically, not Tommy John surgery. (That was a cheap joke: he did pass away, but from bladder cancer, not in surgery.) TJ won 288 games and had an impressive lifetime ERA of 3.34, but was dissed as a “compiler,” and not a dominant pitcher of any era. Yet from 1977-80 he averaged 20 wins and under 9 losses a season. In ten seasons he had an ERA less than 3.00, and in 1968 it was 1.98 (in 177 innings). I’d put him in the Hall, but what do I know? His obit in the NYT ends by noting that Tommy John surgery might have added years to Sandy Koufax’s career had it been developed earlier. Koufax teased the surgeon, Dr. Jobe, about that, noting it could have been called Sandy Koufax surgery.

    John was the valedictorian of his HS graduating class (1961), but was not allowed to make a speech because he was a stutterer. I had stutterers in my classes at Hunter from time to time. I was always very patient with them, as were their classmates, and I was impressed with the courage it must have taken for them to raise their hands to speak. I had more than a few memorable moments in my classrooms, over the years, and those were among them. TJ, of course, went on to overcome his stuttering and became a baseball announcer and motivational speaker after his playing career ended. And, get this, the high school invited him back fifty years after his graduation to make the speech! The then-officials in charge of the school learned about the earlier snub and wanted to make things right. John was moved to tears by the gesture.

    Rest in peace, Tommy.

    If Tommy John were in the Hall, he’d be only the second player whose last name was also the first name of another member. (There are a bunch of John Somethings in the Hall.) So who is the only player currently in the Hall, whose last name is another member’s first name? (Answer below.)

    If you follow historian Heather Cox Richardson’s newsletters, you know there’s a never-ending gush of horrifying stuff going on. A deluge doing terrible damage to America: so much more than makes the regular news outlets like the NYT. Every fucking day. Here’s just a little snippet that caught my eye recently. Hardly worth mentioning.

    Federal officials said a third immigrant detained at New Jersey’s Delaney Hall died. They said Jose Chajon-Raxon experienced a medical emergency on July 19 and died in the hospital. As part of a new policy to stop reporting the deaths of detainees released from federal custody, DHS said Chajon-Raxon had been “released from ICE custody on July 22.”

    Yup. He was released. They got that right.

    Here’s what a grave threat to America looks like. Rest in peace, Jose.

    Linda and I attended the Gnats-Mets game at Shea yesterday. We brought our own lunch (allowed now in many stadiums, albeit not Detroit) and the Mets bought me a beer, with a $10 credit per ticket! Burp. Thanks Mets! I opted for a cold Montauk IPA. It wasn’t very memorable as beers go, but I’m not going to look that gift beer horse in the mouth. Nor was the game very memorable, though it was fine. DC squandered a small early lead and couldn’t get it up to mount much of a comeback, falling 4-3. But the weather held up, the trains were all fine, and we enjoyed the scene. A nice day at the ballpark. On the ride home I was reminded of this joke Riverdale Joe told me a while ago.

    A man needs to get to Minsk but has no money for a ticket. He gets on the train and when the conductor asks for his ticket he explains that he has no money and no ticket. So at the next stop, he’s thrown out on his ass. He waits a few hours for the next train and gets on that one. Again, when the conductor asks for his ticket he explains that he has no money and no ticket. And, again, at the following stop he’s thrown out on his ass.

    He waits there several more hours until the next train arrives where the scene is repeated and he’s thrown out on his ass yet again.

    As he’s sitting and waiting at the fourth station, a man sitting next to him strikes up a conversation. “Where are you headed?” he’s asked. “Minsk,” he replies. “If my ass holds up.”

    In today’s puzzle, “Well-dressed guy” was the clue for DAPPER DAN. Rex was reminded of “handsome Dan” from Bruce’s great song “Tougher Than The Rest.” He shared this gorgeous version by Everything But The Girl. I’m following it up with Bruce doing it, because, well, you’ll see.

    Linda and me on the train home from the game yesterday.

    Conductor: The next station is Orange.

    Linda: Why do we care if it’s orange?

    Me: That’s right! That means nothing to us. What’s the stop after that — strawberry? Are we on the wrong train? Are we in Candyland?

    I’m going to close with a long comment I posted on Rex’s blog anent last Saturday’s NYTXW. I was working with the following: “Hoedown get-down?” TEXAS TWO STEP; “French Baroque artist Nicolas” POUSSIN; “Complain” CARP; “Cut out the middleman, for delivery” DROPSHIP; “Certain tenant” ROOMER; “Citation shortener” ET AL; “Classic 1926 novel often published with a bull and matador on its cover” THE SUN ALSO RISES; “Upper regions of forests” TREE CANOPIES; and “Charybdis’ man-eating opposite, in myth” SCYLLA.

    Okay — here we go —

    TEXAS TWO STEP: Detain, deport.

    Not only was the French Baroque artist Nicolas POUSSIN an accomplished painter, he also designed elegant footwear. Frenchmen of his day enjoyed strolling the avenues in his POUSSIN boots. (Hi, egs!)

    Some people CARP just for the halibut.

    DROPSHIP: I know what it means to “drop anchor.” Seems a little extreme to DROP the entire SHIP, no?

    Have you seen the spare key to the apartment? Rumor has it the ROOMER has it.

    Brutus: Julie, I’m making up a list of assassins, oops, I mean friends – forget I said that. But it’s getting too long. What is that thing you add at the end that means “and others?”
    Caesar: “ET AL, Brutè?”

    In a Cheers episode, Diane brings a valuable first edition of THE SUN ALSO RISES to the bar and shows it off to the others. Sam glances at the title and scoffs, “Well, that’s profound.” He ends up convincing her to let him take it home to read. He decides to relax in a hot bath with the book. Of course, he drops it into the water, and returns it the next day all bloated and curled. (Hilarity ensues.)

    TREECANOPIES: Not to be confused with “free canapès.” That what we sharpen our elbows for at the buffets.

    I received a gift of some cookies long ago, in the shape of little people. They were delicious, and I ate them by biting off the little heads first. I was reminded of that when watching The Odyssey last week. That’s exactly the same approach SCYLLA took with O’s men!

    See you next time, Chatterheads! Thanks for popping in.

    (Steve Carlton. Carlton Fisk.)

  • Gammel Dansk

    I snuck this one past the OC guard puppies. I don’t really understand it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t like it, right? It’s from Poets.org, by Jameson Fitzpatrick, called “Refrain.”

    Sometimes still
    like light I catch
    the mermaids’ singing

    swimming back to me,
    a certain strain on the air.

    They sing for the hell of it.
    The pure, fresh hell.

    Snow on the inconsolable shore.

    Somehow still,
    half a person later,
    I know all the words.

    Or would, were there words

    to the chorus the mermaids,
    who are angels, my sisters, make.

    I changed my face

    but my face was still there:
    neither innocent nor gay
    nor heartless.

    I lean out, no longer dangerously,
    and answer them.

    I asked a very pretty mermaid to go out with me but just got a flippant response.

    Ba da boom.

    I just got an email with an offer for a credit card. It may be a scam, though. It’s from Bank Off America. What do you think?

    Another email is from Wendy, who lives in Western Canada, having escaped the U.S. and Philly. She’s in a band that plays Scandinavian folk music and contacted me via Rex’s blog to comment on one of my jokes. (My e-address is in my profile and once in a rare while someone reaches out.) Her friend/bandmate Joe shared this joke with me:

    Bronstein calls a law office and says: “This is Bronstein. I want to talk to Schacter.” 
    The receptionist replies, “I’m sorry, but Mr. Schacter died last week.” 
    The next week he phones again and says “This is Bronstein. I want to talk to Schacter.” The receptionist replies, “I told you last week that Mr. Schacter died.” 
    The next week he calls again: “This is Bronstein.  I want to talk to Schacter.”  By this time the receptionist is getting a little annoyed and says, “I keep telling you, Mr. Schacter has died. Why do you keep calling?” 
    Bronstein says, “I just like to hear you say it.” 

    Good one, amirite? I answered with a similar one of my own, below. We’ll see what I get back.

    A man picks up the phone and says “Law Offices of Bernstein, Bernstein, Bernstein, Bernstein, and Bernstein.  Our receptionist is out today.  May I help you?”

    Can I speak to Bernstein please?

    I’m sorry he’s in court today.

    OK, then how about Bernstein?  Is he available?

    He’s with a client right now.

    Hmm.  Is Bernstein there?

    No, he’s on vacation until the fifteenth.

    How about Bernstein then?  He might be able to help.

    Sorry, he’s on another line and will be tied up for a while.

    OK, in that case can I talk to Bernstein?

    Speaking.

    In the puzzle today the clue at 11D was “Pressed sandwich” and the answer was PANINI. Nothing too controversial, right? Wrong! A lot of folks take umbrage at it because, technically, like in Italian, panini is plural. So, today, I appreciated commenter Gary’s acerbic note:

    “The joy I feel typing in PANINI for a singular pressed sandwich knowing there are those out there with exploding pedantic brains is akin to the joy I feel watching elk ANTLERS goring tourists videos from Estes Park. Pure glee.”

    Here’s a girl who knows how to eat a panino.

    You must have heard about Trump’s recent trip back from low-sodium smoked Turkey? He was supposed to fly with the press and aides on Plane A. But our intelligence agencies learned of a credible threat to his life. So they engaged in subterfuge to slip him from Plane A to Plane B via a large catering container, see below.

    Okay. Smart.

    But they didn’t bother to tell the press or aides about it or take any steps to protect them from being blown up. Are you kidding me?

    Owl Chatter has gained exclusive access to the transcript of the phone call to the Secret Service setting this all up:

    We have to get POTUS onto a different plane. We learned this one has a decent chance of getting blown up.

    Okay, we’ll do it secretly so the killers think he’s still on it.

    Good. Maybe you can use one of those giant catering containers for the transfer.

    Perfect! Will do.

    How will you protect the reporters from getting blown up?

    What?

    How will you protect the reporters from getting blown up?

    What? The connection has gone bad.

    How will you protect the reporters from getting blown up?

    I can’t hear you.

    How will you protect the reporters from getting blown up?

    Gotta run. Later.

    Meanwhile, during the few minutes Trump was in the catering container, he ate close to two pounds of corned beef and a large jar of potato salad.

    In yesterday’s NYTXW, “Got too old” was AGED OUT. I noted:

    “AGED OUT could be a euphemism for one who died of old age. ‘Is Frank still alive? No, he’s still dead. He aged out at 94.’

    “Personally, I hope to die peacefully in my sleep when my time comes, like my grandfather did. And not screaming in terror like the passengers in his car.”

    Beverly C responded: So sorry to hear about Ed! 😁 Then she corrected herself and wrote: Frank.

    So I responded: Ed’s gone too. Been a tough year.

    I also noted that three separate answers in the grid (near each other) were OYS (“Yiddish laments”), CAMO (“Military wear, for short”), and VIA. So I wrote: “OYS CAMO VIA rings a bell. Did Santana have a song along those lines?”

    And Commenter DAV could not tell I was kidding and replied:

    “@Liveprof, you’re thinking of OYE COMO VA, and yes, by Santana. lt’s a lively song; we learned a Latin dance to it.”

    (OY, indeed. I let it go.)

    Other notes of mine on the puzzle were on ELMO, YOLO, and EIDER (“Duck down”):

    ELMO: El Cid’s goofy sidekick.

    YOLO: How Superman addressed Lois Lane when they were chillin’.

    If it comes down to a choice between duck down and metals that can be mined and processed, it’s an EIDER/ore decision.

    Here’s Milly Alcock, the latest incarnation of Supergirl, out of uniform. Looks tough, but Phil tells us she’s a real sweetheart. She’s 26 and an Aussie.

    Let’s close today with a video of a Scandinavian folk song performed by Gammel Dansk, a band from Vancouver, BC. Wendy, discussed above, sent it to me, after I asked if they ever played in the NYC region. She said they’ve never gotten further than Seattle, and then went on:

    “Since you won’t be hearing us live, I found one short fairly recent video that doesn’t have screechy sound.

    “I’m on guitar. I also play ukulele, and I play bass when Joe plays clarinet. Yogi the dog belongs to Joe. We usually look even more grim than in this video.”

    OMG — it couldn’t possibly be any better!

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for dropping in.

  • Avocados

    Thank God for GOP Sen. Bill Cassidy, one of the many leaders of the moron wing of the U.S. Senate. For a fleeting moment there we got the laughable impression that Blanche’s AG nom might actually be in danger. Cassidy, of course, is the same schmuck who’s vote gave us Kennedy at HHS. He’s a doc who’s got more blood on his hands than an ER surgeon. What’s the medical equivalent of being disbarred? The AMA should dis-caduceus him.

    Owl Chatter has received an exclusive copy of the transcript of the phone call from Senators Collins and Murkowski to Trump:

    C&M: Mr. President, it’s Susan and Lisa. How are you?

    Trump: Fine. Wassup?

    C&M: Listen, do you mind very much if we vote against Todd for AG? Our idiotic constituents seem to want us to do something in their interest once every couple of months. Of course, we would only do this if we were sure he’d pass anyway and with your approval.

    Trump: Okay, go right ahead then. What the fuck do I care? Who is this?

    C&M: Thank you, Mr. President. God Bless You.

    And God Bless America!

    Historian Heather Cox Richardson:

    “Some Republicans, like 92-year-old Senate Judiciary Committee chair Chuck Grassley of Iowa, were enthusiastic. ‘Mr. Blanche is a tough, fair prosecutor dedicated to ⁠the rule of ​law, and his leadership instills that same zeal throughout the entire Justice Department.’

    “Other Republicans were more skeptical but said if they didn’t confirm Blanche, Trump would choose someone worse. Perhaps in a permanent rather than an acting capacity, they said, he would be more likely to resist Trump’s pressure.”

    AYKM? Puh-leeze.

    June Torrance submitted the following to the NYT Metropolitan Diary.

    Dear Diary:

    In fall 2021, I visited my brother-in-law in the East Village. His husband had died in March. They had lived together in their rent-controlled apartment for over 30 years.

    The apartment had not changed much since my last visit, with the exception of the urn that contained his husband’s ashes and was prominently displayed.

    We had talked many times about holding a memorial service, but my brother-in-law had said he just could not bear to say a final goodbye.

    One day while I was there, an exterminator came to perform the apartment’s semiannual pest-control treatment. He had been providing the service regularly for some time and asked about my brother-in-law’s husband’s whereabouts.

    My brother-in-law pointed to the urn and explained what had occurred since the exterminator had last been there.

    Visibly moved, the exterminator asked if he could touch the urn.

    With my brother-in-law’s permission, he approached the urn, murmured a prayer, kissed two fingers of his right hand and then placed them on the urn.

    Owl Chatter friends Ellen and Stuart live down in the DC area, ground zero for Gnats fans. So I emailed them that I was heartbroken over the Gnats’ recent trades of Mead, Luis, and Grif for prospects unknown. S is less downtrodden than me: He said he was “disappointed,” a step or two down from heartbroken. He thinks the lineup is strong enough to absorb the losses and that they couldn’t have gotten very far anyway with the bullpen as weak as it is. Hope he’s right about the first part. As if to support his position, the boys cashed in two nice wins against the Reds, bouncing out of their recent swoon very nicely. It was enough to get Linda and me back in the fold. We’ll be cheering them on next Sunday at Shea against the Metsies, kinehora, God and NJ Transit willing. (It will always be Shea to me.)

    We’re still with you, Alexa! What’s all that crap in the bag?

    Today’s big Sunday puzzle was themeless, which is unusual, and it was by brilliant constructor Erik Agard who did not disappoint. Early on, he had us all swim a lap with a grid-spanning 21-space: COME ON IN THE WATER’S FINE, clued simply with “Swimming invitation.”

    “Communicate through a disagreement” was HAVE THINGS OUT.

    And this brilliant clue which I could only solve via the crosses and only understood after googling: “Bond between Lazenby and Dalton.” Answer: MOORE. Get it? They are all actors who played James Bond. Roger Moore, of course, George Lazenby, and Timothy Dalton.

    I commented as follows for the commentariat. [OC note: SALAT is “One of the Five Pillars of Islam, referring to prayer,” and LEIDEN is “Dutch city with a namesake jar.”]

    What a wonderful puzzle! Here’s some dreadful wordplay that, in the spirit of our new Attorney General, does it injustice.

    Sad memo heading at SNL: For LORNE.

    What “Ladies Night” seeks to bring in: MOLASSES.

    Recent trend at the NYTXW: MORASS.

    The off-switch broke on the merry-go-round. Now it WHIRLS without end.

    I went straight from the luau where I HULAED to the bar-mitzvah where I horaed. (Probably should have changed out of the grass skirt.)

    Selecting your finest outfit for the prayer meeting: SALAT dressing.

    We loved our trip to the Netherlands and especially recall watching the sunrise and sunset at LEIDEN with happiness.

    Unlike the Wheel of Fortune contestant who bought a vowel, ISOLDE.

    A comic was in the puzzle: SHENG Wang. You hear of him? Me neither. I challenge you to watch the first half of this five-minute video without laughing out loud.

    This is a “dad poem” by Jim Daniels. That’s what I call it, with no connection to dad jokes or dad bods. It’s from yesterday’s Writer’s Almanac and it’s called “Last Night I Drove My Son Home.”

    from his friend’s house, where they were filming
    a movie starring my son in a love triangle.
    My son, fifteen, has never been in a love right angle,
    or even a love straight line, as far as I know.
    He stopped talking two years ago—
    to me, I mean. I got this secondhand from a street informant
    I’ll refer to here by her code name, Little Sister.

    A warm night, windows rolled down—my cheap car
    requires physical cranking. (Not even a CD player!)
    Purchased in 2003 when he was ten and still kissed me goodnight
    and may even have held my hand while we watched
    old movies. (No cable TV either!) Yesterday
    he made me kill a giant bug, and I briefly saw
    that ten-year-old again.

    Full moon—I could see him looking up at it,
    following it as I turned and we lost it to the trees.
    September, but moist like August. I ached
    for a few soft words between us in that silence.

    On a sidewalk near the park a young man sat,
    face in hands, a friend standing helpless above him.
    I slowed down. What’s that guy doing? I said aloud.
    Is he Okay?

    I see him too, my son said.
    As the friend helped the man
    to his feet, I sped on.

    My son hummed an old song about the moon
    that I didn’t know he knew. My son, the star
    of a movie I’ll never see. I just get
    these vague coming attractions.
    I caught him in a lie or two this week.
    Every exchange a house of cards—all it takes
    is a deep sigh, and they come tumbling down.

    I’d have hummed along with him,
    but I didn’t want him to stop.

    We’re having a string of 90-degree days this week, reminding me that my mom thought mankind’s greatest invention was air-conditioning. So let’s talk about snowball fights. You ever get into a good one, a serious one? The best I was ever in was at Brandeis. A gang from one dorm attacked another dorm in the our quad but they soon joined forces and marched on another part of campus to attack. That quad had terraces on their buildings, so it became a battle of attackers on the ground against defenders, one flight up, on the terraces. The defenders were limited in ammo to the snow that had accumulated on the terrace, giving the attackers an advantage.

    The fight that crisp winter night comes to mind because the lead headline in today’s NYT is how we (the U.S.) have depleted our supply of crucial missiles and other munitions by using them up in Trump’s moronic Iran war. Are you shitting me!!?? We are fucking out of snowballs already?? After a few months — that’s it? The trillions we spend on defense — we’re out of bullets?? Srsly?

    Turns out Hegseth, our Secretary of Idiocy, lied to Trump about it, and is now blaming his deputy, pictured below.

    Now, I’m no expert on national defense. I dodged the draft, remember? But, it seems to me, instead of focusing on testosterone levels, ridding the armed forces of qualified trans soldiers, and denying promotions to worthy women and Blacks, maybe the Defense Department should be a little more on top of trivial items like munitions? Just sayin’.

    At least the folks who want us to stop providing weapons to Israel (or Ukraine) don’t have to raise a fuss anymore — we’re out of them.

    File the above in our You Can’t Make This Stuff Up Dept.

    Let’s close with this song by Bob Dylan. Linda’s sisters Bobbie and Judy did a beautiful job on it at our wedding.

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for popping by.

  • Caber Rattling

    J. Richison posted this on our neighborhood newsletter:

    Found this in my raised flower bed, can anyone tell me what plant this is?

    After a dozen or so comments suggesting it may be pokeweed, I chimed in with: Drop everything and run!!

    The puzzle was pun-centric Tuesday, with an Indian wedding theme. I know — not that tired old business again!! The theme answers included:

    Words uttered while sorting potential gowns for an Indian wedding? SARI NOT SARI.

    Wedding feast delivery from India’s capital? DELHI PLATTERS.

    And, my fave: “Esteemed reception guests, we regret to report that we’ve run out of flatbread,” e.g.? NAAN APOLOGY.

    I may have gone overboard with my ridiculous wordplay from answers, but they just kept popping into my head. [Note: NELL was clued as the character from Dickens.]

    I’ve had quite enough Chinese history for one day: Hold the MAO.

    Why are the church bells ringing so solemnly? A death, NELL.

    Me, trying to do something with my hair: “Darling, where’s my COMBAT?”

    Weaponize tootsie rolls: ARMCANDY.

    What an IPO does: Makes NYSE.

    Did you attend the University of Edinburgh? — Me? ALUM? NAE.

    A fine puzzle: not the least bit dal.

    In connection with the above, we sent Phil out to find a “Nell” for us. He went straight for actress/singer Nell Tiger Free. That’s her real name. She’s 26 and was born in London. NTF was in Game of Thrones and a smattering of movies and TV shows I didn’t see.

    Thanks Philly — you nelled it!

    Although Gnats GM Paul Toboni says the Gnats’ moves were made with an eye to the future while keeping hope alive for this season, we very much disagree with the latter half, and our baseball hearts are broken. The most productive lineup in the majors (!) was dealt a death-blow with the removal of Mead from the right side and Luis from the left. Early was picked up to bolster the rotation, okay, but Griff was jettisoned thus offsetting the gain. Ouch. Double Ouch. Triple Ouch.

    Now you’ve got a clubhouse reeling, in mourning, unable to score runs in a seven-game death spiral. The team got the message from management: We have no faith in your ability to win. We have no choice but to look to the future: the present has been bludgeoned. [Since writing that, the streak was broken with an extra-inning win over the Phils.]

    You know things are bad when you turn to politics for solace.

    It’s hysterical that a couple of moronic GOP senators preened about making Blanche “put it in writing.” The U.S. Constitution is in writing and that ain’t making a goddam bit of difference. What a joke. And if you think the Dems taking over Congress will matter, don’t hold your breath. Subpoenas will be disregarded up and down the line. And pretty Pam showed how testimony will be given. Puh-leeze.

    Commentators are calling the reflecting pool an apt metaphor for Trump’s operations. The East Wing of the White House is more to the point, see photo. We predict (and it is worth noting we have never been right before), the broad scope of fundamental damage will not be undone in our lifetime, if ever.

    Yesterday’s NYTXW was unusual: Every across line was a two-word answer that spanned the entire grid. So, e.g., at 50A the clue was “With 54-Across, math that underpins computer logic.” Answer, of course (Hi Judy!): BOOLEAN ALGEBRA. (And, btw, Hooraylean Algebra is far more popular.)

    The answer at 20D was CABER, for “Pole tossed in a Scottish game.” Amazingly, that word popped into my head. I had no idea I knew it. Here’s what I shared with the gang at Rex’s:

    “Did anyone else try to squeeze Walesa into 20D: Pole tossed in a Scottish game? (I googled famous Poles for that lame joke and learned that Marie Curie was Polish (as is the clearly mis-named Roman Polanski). BTW, Lech Walesa is still living, at age 82, and has been married to his wife Danuta since 1969(!), which is amazing since all of their friends thought they were polar opposites.”

    At 32A, the clue was “With 34-Across, sequestration of a greenhouse gas,” and the answer was CARBON STORAGE. It reminded me, sadly, of my great-uncle Izzy, who was in the carbon paper storage business, and was wiped out when xeroxing was introduced.

    At 59A, for the clue “Tallies attendees,” the answer was COUNTS NOSES. Some folks were bothered by it, and would have preferred “counts heads.” I really had trouble with it because I usually count ears and divide by two.

    Bonus points for whoever can identify that lovely young woman and figure out her connection to the above material. Hint: Sadly, she is no longer among the living.

    I laughed out loud at the New Yorker yesterday. Not a cartoon, though. It was material by Larry Doyle comprised of (made up) headlines rejected by The Onion. He softened me up with “Man Laughs Just Right Amount at Job Interview.” And I liked “Late-Night Cheese Snack Not Cheese, E.R. Doctors Determine.” But what got me to chuckle audibly was “Groom Sees Omen In Bride’s Grammy Leaving Teeth In His Beer.” (Honorable Mention: “Man’s Life Not Worth Living, Goes On Anyway.”)

    Paul Krugman shared this beautiful tune by Cat Power today. It related to his skewering Trump’s insane posts about his being “the greatest.”

    Here’s another apt tune for the day, linked to the puzzle’s answer JAMAICAN RUM (“Spirit of the Caribbean”). First time in Owl Chatter for Jack Browne. Welcome! Saw you years ago in Buffalo — good show!

    Did you know that YEMEN used to be called Arabia Felix? Well, at least by the Romans. Rex guest blogger Eli was reminded that Yemen was the place Chandler lied about moving to in order to get away from Janice in an episode of Friends. The address he gave her was 15 Yemen Road, Yemen.

    More useless knowledge from today’s puzzle: “Kind of seeds found in a basket in King Tutankhamen’s tomb,” SESAME. Tuck it in there — it may come in handy some day. (You’re telling the cute bagel girl how you want your dozen made up: “3 sesame — hey did you know . . . .?”)

    Other answers were PARMA (“Northern Italian city known for its cheese”), and PROTEST (“Not accept an outrage, say”).

    How did you do on the links today, Son? PARMA.

    Back in college if it came down to a choice between essay or exam, I was always PROTEST.

    Answer for the bonus points, above. The woman is the late Sharon Tate, conjured up by the reference to Roman Polanski.

    I have one Charles Manson joke, told by some comic I forget: He said he had the opportunity of visiting Manson in prison. They brought Manson in. He (Manson) sat down, stared him right in the eye, and said: “Am I crazy, or is it hot in here?”

    Well, I liked it.

    See you tomorrow!

  • You’re the One I’ll Come Back to Find

    The West Michigan Whitecaps play in the Midwest League, two steps up from Rookie league in the Tigers’ system. They took on the Beloit Sky Carp on Thursday. The weather was gorgeous and our seats were right behind the dugout. We had a little trouble getting in: I printed out our tickets but one of them was showing up as “invalid” at the gate. The guards directed us to the ticket office. I checked my phone and something did seem screwy about one of them, but the very pretty girl in the ticket office just printed it out for us in paper ticket form and we sailed through without further ado.

    It was Thrifty Thursday — made for me — so dinner was two dogs, and a 20-oz Yuengling for $9 total! What is this, 1966? If that’s not enough, the guy sitting next to me asked me if I was hungry. I told him we ate already but he said he had a bunch of vouchers he had to get rid of, so he handed me two for more dogs and sodas! Geez Louise — doubles!

    The game was close, with the Caps nursing a lead until the wheels came off the Carps’ bus in the sixth. We entered the ninth with a fat 8 run lead (10-2). Then, the unthinkable started taking shape. Walks, hits, a hit batter, and before you knew it, the Carp was one pitch away from bringing the tying run to the plate!! The batter popped the ball straight up, way up, and the catcher, a Bronx boy who was having a good night, circled under it, but shakily. He didn’t have a good bead on it and it fell, untouched, in fair territory! But the ump invoked the infield fly rule so the batter was out. Wow. It should only be invoked for popups that can be caught “with ordinary effort” and the catcher didn’t seem to be exhibiting that. But there was no argument: The Carp didn’t carp. (You must have seen that coming.) The next batter grounded out and the game was (finally) over. Good show boys!

    LMCU Ballpark is a nice stadium. Good place to watch a game. A little north of Grand Rapids: a two-hour drive from Annie Arbor. We had a nice lunch at one of the town’s many brewpubs (City Built), a nice walk over some bridges spanning the Grand River, and some relaxing time in a coffee shop near Ferris U. All in all, a very nice day trip from Annie Arbor.

    This Crossworld crowd is a tough crew. In today’s puzzle, the clue at 17A was “Size between mini and maxi,” and and the answer was MIDI. Commenter Gary, who is definitely worthy of membership in our Dirty Old Man Dept. despite being under 50, noted: “The only correct size is mini.” And a nitpicker carped: Midi is not a “size,” it’s a length. Srsly?

    Check out this tune:

    Three answers on Sunday were METES, MENU, and WANTON.

    Here’s my brilliant work on them:

    When my wife and I finally figured out 41D, I exclaimed “We have the METES!”

    All-male college: MENU

    Profligate consommé: WANTON soup.

    Our week in Annie Arbor was great. Good weather for a lot of nice walks. Great eats, of course, and nice times with Sam, Sarah, and the g’kids. Does some language have a word for the feeling you get when you see your son turned in to a great dad himself? Japanese? Some Native American language? Anyway, whatever it may be called, I got that.

    The ride to Altoona was through amazing rainfall. We made it, but were too tired to catch the ballgame that night, which the Curve won with two in the ninth, 4-3. Woulda been good. Instead we took a nice stroll to an incredible custard place and hit the hay early. The ride home today was much easier.

    So now it’s ” back to our miserable lives.” It’s amazing how different different cultures are. I used that line to our limo driver to the airport in Dublin and he roared and said he’d be stealing it. And I used it with a nice young Arab man on the staff on our Viking cruise and he said, “no, no, no,” and told me how his grandfather taught him that every day and every situation is precious in it’s own way.

    Last Friday, LYDIA from “Pride and Prejudice” visited the grid. Son Volt shared this tune with us in her honor.

    So after trading Curtis Mead away, the Gnats also said goodbye to lefty slugger Luis Garcia, Jr., whom we also loved. Slugger indeed — he was leading the NL in slugging percentage. If he keeps it up with his new team, the Yankees, he won’t be looking back. I’m not gonna say the trades were bad: they need the pitching they got, and I have faith in the team’s leadership. But they’ve dropped five in a row now and can’t seem to score runs anymore.

    Good luck Luis.

    Rest in peace, Glen Hansard. If you got to know him a little from the movie “Once,” you got to know him enough to love him. He was only 56 and died in a motorcycle accident.

    See you tomorrow!

  • A Brett Of Fresh Air

    Greetings from partly sunny Ann Arbor! We had a great day yesterday! Found a divey Curry/Pizza joint in Ypsilanti for a takeout chicken tikka masala pizza that was delish with my cold Stone IPA in our room. So filling we forgot to have our Trader Joe salad. And earlier we very much enjoyed Edward Norton, Penny Cruz, et al in The Invite. It’s sort of a funny, but still serious too, Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf?

    Wait. Phil? Weren’t there four of them?

    Okay, thanks Buddy! Hi Olivia!

    The only flaw to Monday was a painful Gnats loss to the Torontons, 3-2, marred by a seemingly endless series of squandered opportunities. We were able to watch (with gnashed teeth) in our room since I figured out how to set up the ROKU stick for our MLB subscription.

    We started Tuesday off in Annie Arbor’s public library where I gained access to last Sunday’s NYT Spelling Bee from the magazine section (not available online). We spent a pleasant hour there after finding a brilliant parking spot, or so I thought. We went next to the UMMA (UMich Museum of Art) where we spent another pleasant hour. Here are a couple of their Picassos.

    Lunch was an excellent Wreck (on multigrain) at the campus Potbelly’s — highly recommended over Subway and Jersey Mike’s. Not even close. Then we returned to the car and missed getting ticketed by about two minutes — the car three behind us was getting tagged. I misread the signs! — the whole row of us was in violation. Michigan has the most confusing parking signs. I got nailed in Lansing a long time ago and it still eats at me. I mailed in a long explanation in my defense showing how my confusion was reasonable: count yourself fortunate that I forget the details. It was returned stamped Rejected and I had to fork over I-forget-how-much.

    According to historian Heather Cox Richardson’s newsletter,  the Trump-appointed judges of the Presidential 1776 Award competition, emceed by Education Secretary Linda McMahon, rigged the competition to cut out a 17-year-old Indian immigrant in favor of a homeschooled blonde girl from Wyoming, a Michigan boy who attended a private Catholic school, and a girl from Washington who told CNN she supported Trump and wanted to see “everyone walking away from the competition knowing this is the greatest country of the world.”

    This seemingly minor racist act is Nazi stuff, ladies and gents. Any positive accomplishment of the Jews was systematically erased by the regime. Just sayin’.

    When Dr. Anthea M. Hartig, director of the National Museum of American History, testified before the House, Rep. Nancy Mace (R-SC) claimed she strives “to represent queer pedophiles, indoctrination, and grooming of kids at an American history museum,” and demanded: “Do you know how many kids get raped by adults every year in this country?” Lauren Boebert (R-CO) repeatedly demanded of Hartig where the exhibitions honoring “50 million aborted babies” are. Eric Burlison (R-MO) demanded: “Do you love America?”

    The morons are running loose folks. Take cover.

    Following her testimony, Dr. Hartig was removed from the premises. Here she is, handcuffed to a parking meter. She was later released after an aide came up with change for a five in quarters.

    Once in a while the puzzle’s theme is so ridiculous, you just have to love it. On Tuesday, the theme was IT’S NOTHING TO SNEEZE AT” and the theme answers were all words that sounded like sneezing. Yes, folks, this is the New York Times at play. The four sneezy answers were: MASSACHUSETTS; CATCH YOU LATER; PATCHOULI; and STATUETTE. So the idea is you can imagine the following exchange:

    What’s that unusual scent?

    Patchouli.

    Gezundheit.

    The clue for MASSACHUSETTS was interesting: “Home of the lowest town-level ZIP code in the continental U.S. (01001).”

    Commenter kitshef astutely noted: Did you notice all those qualifiers in the clue for Massachusetts? The “town-level” qualifier was needed to eliminate 00501 and 00544, which are zip codes for the IRS in New York. Also lower are all zip codes from Puerto Rico and the US Virgin Islands, so we needed the “continental U.S.” qualifier.

    Can you come up with a popular song that has PATCHOULI in it? Commenter Son Volt did.

    If you’re like me, God forbid, you’ve heard of enclaves, but aren’t really sure what they are, and you never heard of exclaves. Here was the clue for EXCLAVE: “Part of a country located entirely within another country.”

    An enclave is a territory completely surrounded by another country, while an exclave is a portion of a country separated from the main part by foreign territory. Vatican City is an enclave; Alaska is an EXCLAVE.

    Here’s the fun I had with some of the answers Tuesday:

    Lolita and her mom: HAZES

    Instructions for the repair of a leaking OULI: PATCHOULI

    They precede swine: PEARLS

    Former kname: KNEE

    Former clave: EXCLAVE

    Digitized emperor: ENERO

    An answer today was BRETT. Have you heard of Brett Dennen? Again, courtesy of Son Volt.

    We took grandson Morris to his first ballgame today along with mom and dad: he’ll be five in November, kinehora. He was excited about it, but didn’t really seem to enjoy it much. Too young. I think I was around seven when I started. Anyway, who cares? The game was incredible.

    The Tigers were hosting the Orioles and we were rooting for the birds. The great Tiger arm Tarik Skubal was on the mound, perhaps for his last game for Detroit. His strikeout of the leadoff batter was his 1,000th and he got a good ovation. He also got quite an ovation when he exited in the seventh with Detroit leading 7-1. The O’s were happy to be rid of him and pounced on the Tiger pen for four more, making it a game at 7-5 going into the eighth. Then, goodness!, the Tigers were unable to “hold the mayo” as Coby Mayo tripled home the tying runs. The birds flew all the way back from seven runs down to tie it! It still looked like Detroit would take it in overtime, however, when they put men on first and third with one out in the tenth. Not so fast — a double play took us all to the eleventh. Then it was the O’s turn to look like winners as they plated two to go up 9-7. But again no! Torkelson popped a two-run blast into the left field seats to tie it at nine!

    Morris was long out of patience by then, but Linda and I were riveted. A two-out hit into the pastures of centerfield by Colton Cowser (moooooo!) put the O’s up 10-9, but Detroit put men on second and third with two out in their half. It all came down Detroit’s DH, Eduardo Valencia. A hit and Detroit wins; an out and it’s the O’s. Baltimore brought in Andrew Kittredge for the job, their seventh pitcher. (Detroit had also used seven.) His fourth pitch induced a game-ending ground out to short.

    Good show, Baltimore! Never in doubt.

    Here’s Kittredge. The beard’s even longer now. It’s downright rabbinical.

    We’ve got a day trip to Grand Rapids planned for tomorrow with, oh no!, another ballgame at night! Too much? We’ll see.

    Let’s go out with a laugh. An answer in the puzzle today was PARTY CRASHER, which led commenter Gary to note: If I am ever at a party it’ll be because I’m crashing. For obvious reasons, people just don’t invite me to things as they fear I’ll spend the night talking to them.

    Thanks for dropping in.