The Wellington Files

  • Sites For Sore Eyes

    Heartbreaking. The following comes from historian Heather Cox Richardson’s newsletter:

    “The administration ignored the law on Saturday, when it felled more than 400 trees on the East Potomac Golf Links course that Trump wants to turn into another of his projects.

    “U.S. District Judge Ana C. Reyes had previously warned the administration not to make any irreversible changes to the landscape, but she did not forbid it from doing maintenance work. The administration maintains the Saturday cutting was routine maintenance. Reyes was furious, telling the administration’s lawyers she didn’t know how she could have made it any clearer that she was trying to stop it from doing precisely what it did. She warned that the government had lost all credibility with her. The administration’s lawyer said they still planned to cut several hundred more trees.”

    Here’s a small part of the “maintenance work.” Five hundred trees have been felled.

    Our Phil is out on assignment in Rome and has just filed this report:

    “Pope Pissed At God Over White Sox, Cancer”

    The Vatican, October 15. The feeling running through the halls of the Vatican these days is, in general, “What the f*ck, God?” . . .

    My “work” on today’s puzzle:

    Did you get the answer for 4D? You look like you’ve seen AGHAST.

    Online list of ophthalmologists: SITES for sore eyes.

    What should I do with these barges? TOTEM.

    OK, and what about those small wheatfields out back? Weed ’em and REAP.

    In bed last night:

    Me: How come we can close our eyes but nothing else?

    Linda: That’s profound.

    Yikes. The Dodgers are reeling. We just watched the Brewers take Game 3 in LA after falling behind 2-1 in the sixth. As an insurance run for Milwaukee crossed the plate on a wild pitch, I said to Linda “the wheels are coming off the bus.” It ain’t over, of course, but the Dodgers look old. Special kudos today to Jake Bauers who seems like he can foul pitches off ad infinitum until he walks or gets one he can drive. And reliever DL (Dayton Lane) Hall who was “lights out” when things looked a little shaky. They’re a very likable team, playing with a lot of confidence. It’s like parking spots — if you believe there’s one around the corner, there will goddamn be one around the corner.

    We’ll keep it short today, and finish with a “musical coda” I am shamelessly stealing from a recent Paul Krugman newsletter. Word of this band hadn’t reached me under my rock. They’re Scottish.

    Here’s a shot Phil got for us of vocalist Lauren Mayberry.

    Thanks for dropping in! See you tomorrow!

  • Out Of Order

    Sheesh, and I’ve been down on Penn since its Prez caved in to You-Know-Whom. What can we say about Cornell? Well, one thing we can say is everyone should read David French’s Op-Ed piece in the NYT today. It’s about courage, in particular the courage it would have taken for just one of the “bros” to intercede and stop what was going on.

    The example he gave was of a true hero, and one whom, to my shame, I hadn’t heard of. Here’s French (in English!):

    “It can take an immense amount of courage to actually care enough about another human being to intervene — especially if a person you don’t know needs protection from people you do know. This month, just as new details about the Cornell case seemed to be hitting the news every day, we covered the My Lai massacre during the Vietnam War in the Law of War class I teach at Lipscomb University in Nashville.

    For those who don’t remember, the My Lai massacre was one of the worst episodes in American military history. American soldiers in Vietnam went on a killing spree, murdering hundreds of innocent civilians. [Yikes. I knew it was very bad, but I didn’t recall that it was hundreds.]

    “Obviously, the massacre was far more extreme than anything that happened at the Chi Phi house, but I bring it up for a simple reason: to introduce you to a man named Hugh Thompson.

    “Thompson is an American hero. He was the Army helicopter pilot who saw the massacre from the air, immediately radioed an alarm and landed his aircraft, placing it between his own brothers-in-arms and a small group of innocent civilians they were pursuing. He even ordered his crew to open fire on American soldiers if they tried to kill the people he was protecting.

    “He cared for innocent people he did not know and probably would never know, and he cared for them enough to risk his life and the rejection and scorn of his own brotherhood to save their lives. In the process, he also showed care for his brothers-in-arms — he stopped them from continuing to commit the most heinous of crimes.

    “Think about how much less courage it would have taken to act that night at Cornell. Then consider again that no one intervened. To them, “Free pu**y” wasn’t an alarm bell; it was an invitation.”

    I don’t blame Trump and his ilk directly for what happened that night like I blame him and RFK Jr. for the measles deaths, and him and Musk for the tens of thousands of dead children resulting from the shameful USAID cuts. But Trump is the guy who bragged of grabbing women “by the pu**y” and got elected twice. And who was found liable by a jury for sexual assault and got re-elected. So what happened in Ithaca is at least consistent with the American ethos of this Trump era.

    My favorite quote on courage is from Al Pacino’s Oscar-winning turn in Scent of a Woman. Impressed by the courage Charlie was showing in refusing to rat out his friends to save himself, Pacino says: “I have come to the crossroads in my life. I always knew what the right path was — without exception, I knew. But I never took it. You know why? It was too damn hard.”

    French finished his piece with this flourish of eloquence:

    “’Courage,’ C.S. Lewis wrote in one of my favorite quotes, ‘is not simply one of the virtues but the form of every virtue at the testing point, which means, at the point of highest reality.’

    “How do we know what courage is? When we see a man risk himself to care for another person, that’s courage. The legal judgment may be uncertain, but the moral verdict is already in. On the most traumatic night in a young woman’s life, a good man could not be found.”

    Let’s find some refuge in today’s puzzle. I loved the theme. It’s taking place in an imagined Zoom meeting. The first three theme answers are trying to get the meeting’s host to unmute himself:

    YOU’RE MUTED (Response to “Good morning, everybody!”)
    WE CAN’T HEAR YOU (“Response to “Let’s get this meeting going”)
    TURN YOUR MIC ON (Response to “Why is everyone ignoring me?”)

    And, finally, down near the bottom: “Reaction to the unsuccessful ‘conversation’ in this puzzle:” OH FORGET IT.

    Okay, now brace yourselves. My wordplay today is pretty groanworthy. I was working with CONGAS (“Cuban drums”); LINE (“Cue from a cuer”); MYNA (“Talkative bird”); SECTS (“Amish, Shakers and others”); EGOS (“They may be subject to inflation”); and the clue for OILS was “Mechanic’s canfuls.” Here’s what I got:

    When younger, I would try to entice dates up to my room to see my Cuban drum, but they were too smart to fall for my CONGA LINE, and they all told me to beat it.

    My nephew, a bird lover, looked for a college that offered a program suited to his interest. The closest he came was Oregon State that has a Wildlife Studies major and an Ornithology MYNA.

    I learned all about the Amish, Shakers and others in high school, in SECTS ed.

    I’m working on a book about large personalities in photography. It will be called EGOS and Fstops.

    (Old joke.) On those “Mechanic’s canfuls,” I learned that my mechanic was addicted to brake fluid. I said, “Marvin, that’s really dangerous.” And he said, “Don’t worry. I can stop whenever I want to.”

    My rooting “priority” in the baseball playoffs are to see the Dodgers fall. They are down 2-0 to a very impressive, kinehora, Brewer squad, but it’s far from over. The fat lady isn’t even in the dressing room. But for purposes of rooting for an AL team, I am going to insanely imagine the Brewers will win so I can root for underdog Cleveland against Tampa Bay. Woof, woof. Game 1 was terrific with ex-Gnats Foster Griffin and Nathaniel Lowe making important contributions. But young Chase DeLauter was really impressive. We’re going to keep an Owl Chatter eye on that young fella, for sure. Gotta love J-Ram too. He’s electric.

    From the I-wish-I-said-that bin: For the clue today “Flora and fauna, collectively,” the answer was BIOTA. Commenter Lynn noted: A BIOTA is twice as much as an IOTA.

    Here are a few headlines of extraordinary importance from the recent pages of The Onion:

    White House Downplays Hyena Biting Down On Trump’s Ass

    ‘First Date Going Really Well,’ Thinks Man Who Hasn’t Stopped Talking Yet

    In other baseball news, kudos to Gnat Daylen Lile, finalist for a Gold Glove in LF this year, the only Gnat to make the list. And a big boo for the omission of Jacob Young in CF — the man is f*cking brilliant. He’s got the Owl Chatter nod for sure. JY’s on the left here.

    Let’s give Andy Coulstock, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK chapter) the last word today. His post, with two photos:

    “Today I’ve re-organised my British payphone display.”

    Mark Hall: I’m more inquisitive about what’s through the door. They look like vinyl records but stacked the wrong way around, so must be something else?

    Andy: Yes they’re records, but they’re stacked properly and in alphabetical order

    John Wilkins: By band name, album title,…?

    Andy: Band name.

    John: Discounting “the?”

    Andy: Yes.

    Alison Shaw: What happens to albums by The The?

    . . .

    John Scotland: Now that is both seriously impressive, and seriously dull, at one and the same time. Makes my random assortment of old tools look quite pedestrian.

    Avi Liveson: Don’t get down on yourself — life’s too short.

    Steve Hearsey: Don’t see one with the A and B buttons.

    Andy: They’re in the older phone section upstairs.

    Stephen Marshall: Have you got a before pic so we can admire what it looked like and marvel in the effort you made once you finished it?

    Andy:

    Can’t top that! See you next time! Thanks for stopping by.

  • Perfect Person

    This poem by Brian Komei Dempster is called “Glow.” It was the poem-a-day from Poets.org today. It’s about as painful as a poem can get. I’ll share what the poet said about it first, so you can brace yourself. (Or skip it — no one could blame you.)

    “The loss of an unborn child is one of the most difficult things we may go through—an experience so painful that for some it remains a secret, unspoken and vaulted inside. This poem, kept private for many years, is shared now to honor the shape and contours of a life imagined, the afterglow of absence that stays with us long after the moment’s tragic reality and sudden shock.”
    —Brian Komei Dempster

    Glow

    The skull wasn’t there.
    We listened

    to the heartbeat.
    Would our child

    live?     Air tinted

    gray, I moved
    closer, searched the screen

    for the halo
    of bone,

    touched glass

    and stroked
    our bad luck,

    my finger leaving
    its smudge

    on the oval glow,

    delicate as a grape.
    The head would

    never form.
    Grace stared

    at the brightness

    then closed her eyes,
    the light flickered

    on our hands.
    This second child. Never.

    The dark

    washed in,
    heavy as water.

    Did our baby know pain?
    Inside tiny feet

    kicking, small hands

    open, fingers
    reached out. Drift

    of white static,
    this broken globe

    we had made.

    There was some nice wordplay in Wednesday’s puzzle. The theme was “do a double take.” There were four paired answers. You had to remove two of the same letters from the first word to be left with the second word. For example, the two clues were “Staunchly loyal” and “Knob on an amplifier.” The answer to the first was TRUEBLUE. Then, you remove the two Us and are left with TREBLE. The other pairs were SATURDAY/STURDY (removing the As), RAINGEAR/RINGER (removing the As), and ATLANTIS/ALANIS (removing the Ts).

    I went a little wild with wordplay from yesterday’s puzzle. It will be interesting to see if it gets any comments. [It didn’t.] Here it all is, with the answers from the puzzle in all CAPS, as usual (except MIT was not an answer).

    The electrical engineers from Cal Tech and MIT fight over who are the greatest of EES.

    With KAYE, TEE, KEW, two OHs, those EEs, that STRAIGHTA, and ORALB, this puzzle is a real alphABET soup.

    Did you bring the money?
    What money?
    Why are you wearing a sailor suit?
    Your message said something about setting sail.
    No, you idiot — I said the judge SETBAIL.
    D’oh!

    When I told the arm surgeon to BONEUPON the ULNA before my operation, he gave me the finger.

    Is KAL (Penn) in his dressing room? No, he’s ONSET.

    So you’re telling me your sibling, Susan, was just crying wolf?
    Yes. My sis Sue’s SOS is SUS.

    Where you’ll find my grandson Isaac’s broccoli: TOTHESIDE, if not on the floor.

    CAL, the university, was in the grid today. Lucky us, because it evoked the following tune from the movie of the same name.

    On Saturday, that “Certain snack cake” was a YODEL. The folks at Drake’s churned them out. If offered, I wouldn’t turn one down.

    But there’s a different type of YODEL in this Jerry Jeff Walker tune.

    We’ve had to expand our You-Can’t-Make-This-Stuff-Up Department. When Trump banned CNN et al from the White House (an action later disallowed by the courts), the rest of the media outlets blacked him out as a show of support: an action the media should have taken long ago in response to the unending stream of insults and improprieties. Anyway, so now the DOJ is investigating whether that action constitutes an anti-trust violation, you know, because they acted in collusion. I’m just hoping they didn’t have to shift investigators off the vital Jim Comey seashells prosecution for it.

    Can you check on that for us, Kaity?

    We all heard of how stressed the folks on the USS Abe Lincoln were on their overlong deployment, right? Sounds like it was almost as bad as Linda’s and my Viking cruise last fall.

    But did you know just how bad it was? This is from the NYT. And keep in mind that we’re not exactly scrimping on the defense budget.

    “With Iran’s ballistic missiles able to hold all ports around the Arabian Peninsula at risk of attack, the Navy’s warships in the region began to experience shortages of food, fuel and other goods as the service moved its supply hub to the British-owned island of Diego Garcia about 2,200 miles away.”

    That’s a pretty long trek to the grocery store for a package of Chips Ahoy!. Couldn’t see that coming, fellas?

    “The first indications of problems came from family members of Lincoln sailors, who sent reporters photos of meager meals served on the ship while supplies were running low. ‘It was pathetic,’ Victoria Tozzi, whose son enlisted after high school to help fund his college education, said of the portions of food. ‘It looked gross, and he was like, yeah it’s pretty bad.’

    Let’s pause here for a mo. The United States of America can’t decently feed its sailors in combat.

    But that’s the least of it. Get this:

    “Eight sailors tried to take their own lives. One jumped overboard, and another tried to do so before being stopped by shipmates.”

    WTF!!

    Of course, “When pressed about whether he was worried about the crew’s mental health and whether he thought the deployment had gone on too long, Trump said, ‘No. No. No.’ He added that the deployment — then more than eight months long — had not been ‘nearly long enough.’”

    But never mind all that, another delicious flap has arisen over pretty Natalie Harp. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that she is fond of wearing short skirts. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. But in Nebraska this week, things grew a bit unseemly between Nat and the boss. He called her out on stage to bring him some ridiculous order he was signing. And when she was done, he gushed over her droolingly, calling her a “perfect person.” It was immediately noted widely that he never gushes over Melania like that. Just sayin’.

    In today’s puzzle, “Soapmaker’s supply” was LYE.

    Soapmaker: I’m running low on supplies.
    What’s the problem?
    No LYE.
    I believe you, but what’s the problem?
    No LYE.
    Are you deaf? I said I believe you.
    Arggggh!

    Richard Gray, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) had some issues with this list of ingredients:

    “Finally got around to picking up a bottle of Indian mixed pickle. Not a familiar brand so I had to spend the rest of the afternoon trying to get an enlargement of the ingredients. Not sure why Carrot and carrot are both listed, or what that oil is…”

    Hmm. There are separate listings for “Carrot” and “carrot.” I noted: “Apparently, in the production of the item, both capitalized and lower case carrots were used.” Several members explained that “gingelly” oil is sesame oil.

    Another member said: “That’s a jar; not a bottle.” Hrrrrumph.

    Clare Lorraine Payne inquired (with an apology): “Does it have carrot in it?”

    David Mortimer said the list was not as unusual as the list on a bag of peanuts he purchased which warned “May contain nuts.” But Annaoj Wright explained: A peanut isn’t actually a nut, it is a legume (similar to, say, a chickpea), so it is saying there may be actual nuts in it.

    Gotta go check on the Jets. They were up 7-6 at the half. Thanks for dropping in. See you next time!

  • The Missing Years

    The Sirens better start playing soon (they don’t: the opener is in December), everyone else is reeling: the Yanks (ouch), Michigan (double ouch), and the Jets (fuhgedaboutit). Losing is bad enough, but how you lose can be embarrassing. The Yanks made four errors last night and had a dreadful baserunning blunder in Game One. And don’t start me on the Jets. Michigan appears to be falling apart after losses to Iowa and Minny.

    Complaints have arisen in the UMich locker room about the new offensive coordinator. He came from Utah along with new head coach Whittingham. The OC is dissing the tight ends and, with them, the entire Michigan ethos. Utah had a wide open offense, but Michigan is known for smashing straight ahead with bruising running backs and tight ends. Get this — seven Michigan tight ends have made it to the NFL in the last ten years. The departure from tradition ain’t working and has the locker room roiled. That plus the highly touted QB has been a bust. No game this week. Then they play Penn State, a team that is also struggling. So that game should tell a tale. After that some very rough games down the road (Indy, Oregon, UCLA, and, of course, the team that shall not be mentioned). Things are already ugly and may get uglier.

    Nobody ugly here. Hey! — get your foot off my head!! Watch your hands!

    A Trump story this week left out one important detail. Trump spent millions of taxpayer dollars on ads promoting himself (and the Repubs) for the midterms: Insipid ads that could only be appealing to the idiots who support him anyway. When people started screaming about it (including some in the GOP, shockingly), he said he’d repay the cost from his Super PAC (which would be illegal, but that’s the least of it). What the story neglected to note is that there’s no way in hell we taxpayers will actually get repaid. The money will fly out of his orange ass before it flies out of the PAC and back into the Treasury. (Sorry for that image if you’re reading this over breakfast.) His promises are meaningless. Utterly. 100%.

    It’s a hard thing in life to train yourself to discount completely a person’s statements. The press is woefully weak on this score. They continue to report Trump’s statements as if they matter. The NATO people and Carney in Canada finally have a good handle on it. Zelensky for sure, long ago. Here are VZ and fam listening to one of Trump’s speeches.

    Trump isn’t the first schmuck I’ve encountered like that. Many years ago I had a law partner in Rochester (NY) who was dishonest to the bone. His word meant nothing. It was about him that I had my famous line: “To Jerry, the truth is a coincidence.” (Well, “famous” among 3 or 4 people.)

    From our earliest moments of consciousness, we (mostly) trust the words our parents say to us. Then teachers, friends, colleagues, etc. So when you encounter a Trump, or a Jerry, you have to keep reminding yourself — don’t count at all on what he says. Your instinct from everyone else in your life is to give at least some weight to their words. (And, of course, you must know by now that I’m full of sh*t too. Why in the world are you still reading this nonsense?)

    [OC note: Since the above was written, Trump has clarified that he will not be reimbursing the Treasury for the $10 million already spent on ads.]

    The puzzle’s theme a few days ago was Shakespeare’s “Ay, there’s the rub,” and the theme answers were rub-related: MASSAGETABLE, MAGICLAMP, and SPARERIBS. Regarding the third, Son Volt shared this performance of a Grateful Dead song with us by Shinyribs.

    In a bed by the waterside I will lay my head . . . .

    In Taylor Swift news, Phil tells us the marriage is already spiraling down to hell. Here’s a shot he got for us of Travis, hands cuffed behind his back, drunk, after getting arrested for urinating in public. Don’t let it get you down, Big Fella. We’ve all been there.

    I’m just joking, kids. The lovebirds are as tight as ever. Here’s Tay, sultry, in the outfit she wore at the Video Music Awards.

    Did you know Paul McCartney performed at the wedding? Taylor requested that he do “I Want To Hold Your Hand,” and he agreed to on the condition that she sing it along with him and to Trav. Awwwwww.

    Wanna feel happy inside?

    Wow — lots of music today. Never need an excuse for a John Prine song, but we have one today. JESUS was in the puzzle. Yeah, that one. Clued via one of his quotes about the meek. So, thanks for this tune, Son Volt.

    Have you hit “the age” yet? The age at which you spend half your life at doctors’ appointments and the other half confirming the appointments, pre-checking-in for them, and answering surveys about them. “Yes,” I assure them repeatedly, “I am definitely very very satisfied with how considerate and warm the staff was when my blood was taken — I’ve never seen anything like it, except maybe at the dermatologist’s. I felt loved.”

    My bad. I forgot to report on something neat from the Gnats game we went to on 9/27 to close out the regular season. A pitch call was challenged and when the home plate ump stepped out to announce that, it seemed like a woman’s voice. What the. . . ? Sure enough, it was Jen Pawol, the first woman to ump in the MLB. How neat is that? It wasn’t her first time behind the plate, but still. Way to go JP!

    OMG, I just checked and learned that not only is she a Jersey girl (49 now) but she was an art teacher before going into umpiring and earned an MFA at Hunter College! She could have been in one of my classes!! (But wasn’t.)

    Call ’em as you see ’em, Babe!

    One thing that gets on Rex’s goat is when the puzzle gives some corporate product or brand name free advertising, especially when it’s easily avoidable. Yesterday, for MUG, the clue was “Starbucks keepsake, perhaps,” and Rex lit into it:

    “Why would you shill for Starbucks like this? Who gets ‘keepsakes’ from Starbucks?

    “Ah, this MUG reminds me of that time we went to Starbucks. Remember, honey?”

    “The one in the airport or the one in the mall?”

    “No, the one across from Walmart. I can’t believe you’ve forgotten already!? Do our visits to ubiquitous coffee shops mean nothing to you!?”

    Christa “Houdini” Pike, the woman whom Tennessee tried and failed to execute recently has regained consciousness. State officials, every one of them a first-class moron, are trying to convince her she is in Heaven until they figure out what to do. In case anyone still had any doubt of how impressively rock-headed the officials are, they kept Pike handcuffed and shackled to the bed the entire time she was out, according to her lawyers.

    Some wordplay from today’s puzzle: I was working with NO TAR, DIN, and MEAT. Here’s what I got:

    Country that bans cigarettes: NOTAR Republic.

    Enthusiastic cacophony: Gung-ho DIN.

    Carnivore’s assignation: Meet MEAT the meat mart.

    Did I share my favorite clue/answer with you from a recent puzzle? The clue was “Other sock.” Answer 4 letters long. I had no idea until I got some crosses. Ready? (I’ll reveal it below.)

    A fond Owl Chatter farewell to the ever exquisite Eva Marie Saint, who passed away at 102 yesterday. A Jersey girl, born in Newark. Rest in peace, Eva. (Love the bedhead here, Phil. Thanks!)

    See you tomorrow Chatterheads. Thanks for popping by.

    Answer to “Other sock:” MATE.

  • Lincoln Wins!

    Hey, everybody — today’s poem is by me! I was working with SAMOAS, ANA (de Armas), (Lady) GAGA, (Greta) GARBO, and BANANA.

    The favorite snack of Jason Momoa’s
    Is a heaping handful of Girl Scout SAMOAS.
    ANA de Armas enjoys them as well
    And GAGA and GARBO both think/thought they’re swell.
    So next time you’re hungry, don’t grab a BANANA
    Crack open a box with Jason and ANA.

    For the word AMISS, I came up with:

    Is something AMISS?
    Alas, yes.
    Wait — a lass is AMISS?
    Yes, a lass is A MISS.
    What?

    Although Owl Chatter boasts proudly of its total commitment to nonsense, occasionally a story of serious importance intrudes.

    The above photo (thanks Phil!) is a shot of the Presidents Race. It’s been run in the middle of the 4th inning at every Gnats home game for 20 years now. The results from this year’s competitions have just been released: Abe won 30 times; George 21; Tom 18; and Teddy 11. FDR pretty much dominates the wheelchair division.

    Dasi Ilowitz shared this story with Met Diary last week. It’s a small tale, but the mensch on the bike deserves a nod.

    Dear Diary:

    I was walking through Prospect Park on a glorious fall afternoon, admiring the foliage and taking in the scene. Ahead of me, a cyclist tossed something toward a garbage can and missed. Without slowing down, he continued on.

    When I reached the spot, I picked up the litter. It seemed clear to me that the man had meant to throw it away. I wanted to do my part to keep the park clean.

    As I straightened up, I noticed the cyclist coming back. He had turned around to retrieve what he had dropped.

    I gave him a thumbs up.

    “I got it,” I said.

    He waved, said, “thank you,” circled around and continued on his ride.

    Rex Parker’s blog on the NYTXW celebrated its twentieth anniversary this week. It’s been a big part of my life (and this blog) for the past few years. Its genius (actually that of its creator, Michael Sharp) is the recognition that the puzzle is much more than an exercise in wordplay. Each puzzle tells a story, opens doors in your memory, honors (in a way) individuals whom it features, and so on.

    I was hesitant to add my small voice to the comments section at first, but the community is so warm and welcoming, I’m delighted with the small role I’ve taken on. Along with egsforbreakfast (“egs”), I seek out items in the puzzle for puns (ideally terrible ones), or other silly wordplay. Today, e.g., I learned at 3D that the “Country where the game of dominoes is a national pastime” is CUBA. So, obviously, I had to write: “Oh man, I was sure the country that loves dominos was the Dominocan Republic.”

    I also worked with ESTATE SALE, HALCYON, STET (the proofreader’s command), and SON, to come up with:

    My Uncle Bob caught a lot of grief for his collection of exotic beers, but when he died we all fought over the ESTATESALE.

    I asked the old cowboy if he could pull any proofreader commands out of his hat, and he said “STET, SON.”

    My good friend Etta Mology tells me the word HALCYON comes from Hal Cyon, a pitcher for the Braves in the ’30s famed for remaining calm no matter how bad the ump’s calls were.

    DEAD SEA in the puzzle led Commenter Lewis to share the following memory with us:

    When I was in my early 20s, I visited the DEAD SEA. I was by myself at the time, and everyone said to go and see it. I really didn’t know anything about it.

    When I arrived, I saw many people just standing in the water. Hardly anyone was moving. I just thought it was a stodgy crowd.

    Back then, the way I liked to enter a lake or the ocean was to run full speed into the water, maybe even splash those nearby, and I was going to do that this time, and show these people what fun looks like.

    What I didn’t know was that the water was so salty and mineral–rich, you could actually sit on top of it. That salt, if it splashes in your face, seriously sears the eyes.

    So, as I began my run from a great distance from the sea’s lip, I could see the beginnings of looks of terror in the faces of those on the beach as well as in the water. As I got closer, I saw their arms flailing, heard shouts of “NOOOOOO”. It was like one of those slow motion sequences in a movie, where faces were zoomed in on, and the voices were slow motion slow.

    The people in the water turned their backs to me and covered their eyes. People on the beach were running to stop my invasion of the water.

    Oh, I got the message and stopped in time, but I will never forget that moment. Hadn’t thought about it in forever. But today when I uncovered DEAD SEA, it was as if I were there.

    (I noted that I’m so old that when I visited the DEAD SEA it was still alive.)

    For BOX in the puzzle (“Word with shadow or shoe”), Son Volt shared this Grateful Dead song, perhaps my personal favorite of theirs.

    The song deals with Phil Lesh’s father’s battle with cancer. As Phil drove out each day to visit his dad in the nursing home, he would sing “Box of Rain” and cry.

    What do you want me to do
    To do for you, to see you through?
    A box of rain will ease the pain
    And love will see you through

    Two wonderful seasons are kicking off for us. Thursday night we schlepped down to Princeton for the first of eight chamber music concerts in the series we subscribed to. World class musicians in spectacular Richardson Auditorium at a ridiculously low cost. It was the Brentano String Quartet this time — they we so incredibly good we almost stayed awake for the entire performance.

    And the NY Sirens of the PWHL (Professional Women’s Hockey League) announced their season schedule. It includes about a dozen games near us (at the Pru in Newark) so we’ll be signing up for a “flex pack” of 4 games or so. Drop the puck and let’s go, ladies!! The league expanded to twelve teams, broken up into two divisions. Eight will qualify for the playoffs. C’mon Sirens!! Let’s make it this year! Here’s our Sarah, with her game face on.

    Some of you may have been surprised that our mention of Ana de Armas, above, was not accompanied by a photo of Ana, as it always does. Well, Phil tells me Ana, as gracious as she is beautiful, requested that we feature this photo instead, of a colonial girl who, no doubt, was pulling for George or Tom in the Presidents Race featured above. Okay, Armas — but you owe us one!

    We ain’t gonna top that shayna punim for a close. See you tomorrow!

  • Bluegills

    The question of damage caused by deer came up yesterday. Mathgent posted: “I worked with a guy who lived in Marin county. Deer were destroying his expensive greenery. He wasn’t able to stop them. He had heard that the odor of lion dung would drive them away. The zoo allowed him to take away a couple of sackfuls. He spread the stuff out and it worked — no more deer. But during the long drive back from the zoo, the nauseating smell had permeated the upholstery of his car. He wasn’t able to get it out. He had to get rid of the car.”

    I’d file that under “you can’t win,” right behind the history of the Jets. I replied: “Yup, that can happen. I’m never giving my brother-in-law a ride to the airport again.”

    A steady stream of poems passes by me for OC. Most seem fine to my untrained eye but don’t grab me in the special way that makes me want to share them. Some seem so bad I’ll share a snippet. So today is an especially wonderful day – October 1, 2026. Here are two that floated by!

    The first is “No Map,” by Stephen Dobyns from today’s Writer’s Almanac.

    How close the clouds press this October first
    and the rain—a gray scarf across the sky.
    In separate hospitals my father and a dear friend
    lie waiting for their respective operations,
    hours on a table as surgeons crack their chests.
    They were so brave when I talked to them last
    as they spoke of the good times we would share
    in the future. To neither did I say how much
    I loved them, nor express the extent of my fear.
    Their bodies are delicate glass boxes
    at which the world begins to fling its stones.
    Is this the day their long cry will be released?
    How can I live in this place without them?
    But today is also my son’s birthday.
    He is eight and beginning his difficult march.
    To him the sky is welcoming, the road straight.
    Far from my house he will open his presents—
    a book, a Swiss army knife, some music. Where
    is his manual of instructions? Where is his map
    showing the dark places and how to escape them?

    The next is by Stuart Dybek and is called “Nine Bluegills.” It’s today’s poem-a-day from poets.org.

    Nine Bluegills

    Gutted, scaled, rinsed with the water they swam in,
    lie on my uncle’s dock from which they were caught.
    Loon Lake is opaque with sunset, but in the dock’s shadow
    crawdads on a blue sand bottom gather for a feast.

    Tonight, fish in frothing butter will brown in cast iron pans,
    but now is the hour of panfish striking a mayfly hatch
    as plash by echoing plash, the lake hidden by willows
    and pines becomes a reflection from which the moon

    rises, “born like us to kiss the water,” my cousin Vera says.
    Home from frosh year at Oberlin, summoned by loons
    for a night swim, she stands robed in a white towel, her wand,

    a Hamm’s, foams in the glow of the kerosene lantern brought
    to see my catch and to guide her back to the dock in the dark.
    I’m fourteen, on my knees cleaning bluegills.

    This is what the poet said about it:

    “I grew up in an inner-city South Side of Chicago neighborhood, obviously not the setting for this poem. It’s set on a small northern lake up in Michigan. I wanted, in the length of a sonnet, to recreate it as I’ve remembered. It’s fair to say it’s a poem of place, but ‘place’ can be defined as part lake and bluegills, and part the magical sensibility of youth. I hoped that would suddenly be felt when the poem makes that turn called the volta—that gear shift that sonnets are about, when a nineteen-year-old girl dares to say, ‘born like us to kiss the water.’ She really said that. And I’ve been convinced of it ever since.”

    Gotta like a man with a moustache.

    The Red Sox were in over their heads this year, with a lineup that was cleanly dispatched by Max (Fried), last night, and Cam (Schlittler) the night before. Very happy to note the first Yankee run was Luis Garcia Jr’s dinger, the ex-Gnat, who finished the night 3 for 5. Boone had him batting third: a show of confidence that was rewarded. Will the bats stay hot against Tampa’s arms? Should be a good series.

    Why not the guillotine for Tennessee? They keep botching their executions. Out of four scheduled for this year, only one went off properly. The method they use is “lethal” injection, with lethal in quotes because it ain’t lethalling people. One execution had to be canceled because they couldn’t find the guy’s vein. I’m not kidding.

    And then, just yesterday, they tried to execute a woman for the first time in 200 years in the state: Christa Pike. Let’s hail their progress: they found a vein. And they injected her with two doses of the drug. Then they waited.

    And waited.

    And waited.

    The media was present, but a curtain was lowered between Ms. Pike and the observers, so all they could do is hear. And what they heard was her breathing and snoring. For nearly an hour. One of the reporters was overheard saying “F*ck this sh*t, let’s go for pizza.” (No he wasn’t.) Then the state gave up, called it off, and took her to a hospital.

    Not only did the drug not kill her, it was no help at all for her snoring problem.

    It must have seemed Shakespearian: To sleep, perchance to snore . . .

    Here’s Christa. Still walking among us. Pretty well-rested. Sup, Girl?

    Wanna learn something new? C’mon, it won’t kill you. In the puzzle recently there were a pair of clues leading to this:

    Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.

    The word “flies” is used in two different meanings. Commenter Doctor John noted that there’s a term for that: Antanaclasis. Yup. I looked it up. It’s when a word (or phrase) is repeated, but with different meanings. Ben Franklin’s “We must all hang together or we will hang separately” is a good example. Othello’s “put out the light and then put out the light” is another: the first saves on electricity and the second kills Desdy. BTW, in a recent production of Othello in Tennessee, he’s unable to kill her: couldn’t find a vein.

    Here they are in happier times.

    There are politicians I admire. But ever since Caity’s graduation from the nursing program at RVCC, I’ve loved Cory Booker. He spoke at the ceremony. He was funny, inspirational, eloquent — it was a brilliant speech. I wasn’t planning on returning to the Senate floor today, but this letter appeared in the NYT.

    “As I watched the moving exchange between Senator Cory Booker, Democrat of New Jersey, and the former special prosecutor Jack Smith, I was filled with pride. Their courage was an inspiration in these dark times.

    “Senator Booker presented the facts about President Trump’s efforts to overturn the 2020 election and the Republican Party’s perpetuation of the lie that the election was stolen from him coherently and forcefully. Mr. Smith responded about what his investigation uncovered about Mr. Trump’s role in the violence at the Capitol on Jan. 6, 2021, with a calm, controlled demeanor.

    “The critical importance of standing up to this mendacious, self-serving and corrupt administration cannot be overestimated. My sincere gratitude to these brave men. Hopefully, speaking the truth and demonstrating integrity will inspire others.”

    Joanne E. Reed, Rye, NY.

    We’re going to let Smith and CB close for us today. See you tomorrow!

  • Chicago Dogs

    Not that I’m any judge of them, but Ivy and Coney, in “the Shaw” in DC, is a great dive bar.

    That door to the left of the pizza place, right below the pride flag, is how you get in. You walk up a flight of stairs because it’s above the pizza place. Here’s exactly how it felt inside, maybe a bit more crowded.

    It has a Chicago/Detroit vibe and is a magnet for folks from those parts of the Midwest. They bill themselves as “your home for cheap drinks, cheap food, and even cheaper company.”

    When we got to our hotel on Saturday, the weather was a bit iffy, so we planned to watch the Michigan-Iowa game in our room and head out for dinner afterwards. But as nice as our hotel was (more on that later), it lacked cable TV, and so we couldn’t get the game. Oh, no! The obvious move was Ivy and Coney. It would’ve been about a 35-minute walk, but with the weather shaky we drove (a fateful decision, more on which, also, later).

    When we arrived, there was a line out the door, but only about six people long so we decided to join it. The deal was the bar was packed and they would only allow new people in as old people left. It was almost halftime by then, so we hoped some spots would open. And they did. It was our first time in the place and when we climbed the stairs we were hit by quite a scene. I scoped out the various areas and we got lucky to find two empty stools near a shelf on the wall. The beertender gave me (or my Michigan cap) a big smile and took my order: One water, one Old Style, and two Chicago dogs.

    They have a decent selection of canned beers, but only Bell’s (Michigan) and Old Style on draft, the former $9 a pint and the latter $6, so the choice was obvious. Old Style is your basic cheap Chicago beer and I loved it. The dogs were top notch at $6 each. Hey, there’s one on the left! Look at all the great stuff they pile on it — good job Chicago!

    Michigan had the game well in hand and the crowd roared with each first down and sang Hail to the Victors with each score. But we failed to drive a stake through the Iowa heart and stupid bad plays on our part kept them alive. With two seconds to go, they got the miracle they were working towards and the crowd grew immediately silent, stunned. We filtered out down the steps, walked a few blocks to our car, and got into an accident.

    Wait, what? What accident? Like a car accident?

    Yup. As I was turning left, a car blew a stop sign and clipped me. Much damage was caused on the other car’s driver’s side via scraping and denting. I just got a small dent in front, on the right. Pretty minimal. It’s all in the hands of the insurance people now.

    The driver of the other vehicle was an older (yes, even older than me, albeit just by three months), Black woman, whom I took a liking to immediately. As I approached her, she was fumbling through her paperwork to find stuff and apologized for taking so long. I said, “Take your time, I’m retired and in no rush.” She smiled and said she’s been retired for 12 years. She thanked me when I said I’d call the police for us, but when I called they said all we needed to do was exchange info. DC is a no-fault jurisdiction so the cops only come if there’s an injury or a vehicle that cannot be driven away. Fine. We were done pretty quickly.

    Here’s our little baby.

    We were staying at the Hotel Nell. Pretty chic, certainly by our usual dumpy standards. It’s in a wonderful neighborhood that’s on the way up: Union Market.

    Our room was fine, but could have had a better layout. Here’s the lobby, where we enjoyed our breakfast each morning.

    This was the second time we stayed in a relatively upscale place and discovered they only had streaming services for the TV and not the usual cable channels. Is that a thing now? It worked out because we loved Ivy and Coney. What else about the weekend? Oh, yeah, the ballgame.

    In deference to the weather, the Gnats moved the game up to 1 pm from 4, so we arrived via the Metro a little after noon, Potbelly sandwich in hand. Things were a bit damp and the crowd pretty sparse, but it’s always great to be at the ballpark. As it happened, the game was delayed an hour, but did start at 2 and we got to watch the grounds crew work its magic with the big tarp. Well done, fellas (and one girl). Hey, here she is!

    The game got off to a dreadful start. DJ Herz seemed to be throwing batting practice and back-to-back dingers by the Mets put them in front 4-1 after two. And it was cold and wet and little feelings of misery started making themselves known. Could we last two more hours? Imperceptibly, however, the momentum switched. The Gnats pen took over in the fourth and tamped down the Mets bats. Meanwhile Andres Chaparro hit an enormous homerun and then another! We were all tied up and then ahead 5-4. Could we hold on? Brady House poked across an insurance run for us in the seventh, but put a Met on via an error in the eighth. Brady giveth, and Brady taketh away. Jack Sinclair kept the run from scoring and we entered the ninth up 6-4 with new closer Erik Tolman on the mound facing Lindor and Soto: two of the best hitters in the game. It wasn’t going to be easy. Both batters drove the ball well, but into Gnat gloves for two outs. Of course, Bichette followed with a single to bring the tying run to the plate. Then — strike three! It’s over! Gnats win! Gnats win!

    By all of the usual metrics it was a meaningless game. But it was joyful to the Gnat players and fans, and to us! It put a big smile on the end of the season, which saw the Gnats winning their last three series. There’s a hopeful ringing in the air.

    Pretty Alexa Datt interviewed Andres Chaparro for his two homers (and key single) but she could have interviewed any number of guys for their roles in the win: CJ Abrams, who got his 106th RBI of the season; Nasim Nunez, whose incredible diving stab of a grounder at short with the infield drawn in saved two runs; Brady House; half the bullpen that shut out the Mets for the final seven innings; Eric Tolman for the save. There was no shortage of heroes.

    Where have the likes of Bob Dole, John McCain, and Mitt Romney gone? Instead the GOP has come up with Eric Schmitt of Missouri, an utterly worthless human being. In a Senate hearing yesterday, Schmitt charged Jack Smith with perjury for lying about his attendance at an Atlanta Hawks game. For good measure he called Smith a “dirtbag.”

    It soon emerged that Schmitt’s big smoking gun was a dud. Smith had attended a “Hawkeye” game (Iowa vs Maryland, showcasing Caitlin Clark) and in fact was truthful about not attending the Hawks game. Schmitt had his head up his ass and left the hearing embarrassed, but not before repeating that Smith was a dirtbag anyway. It’s that second dirtbag that sets Schmitt apart from the rest of the GOP morons in the Senate.

    You proud of your Senator, Missouri? Phil is refusing to waste film on the schmuck. Here’s CC instead.

    I’ve been having a lot of fun with the puzzles lately. Here’s some of the nonsense I came up with for Rex’s gang. For the answer ACID:

    Conversation overheard in Eleventh Century Spain:

    Was that El Cid?
    No.
    It sure looked like him.
    It wasn’t him.
    It sure looked like him.
    It was ACID, but not El Cid.
    Oh, OK.

    How about this for ASPECT: If you don’t want your ASPECT, keep your pants on in the chicken coop.

    For GO PLACES:

    What Republicans use
    To tie their shoes

    Did you hear about the poet who liked to work the minute he woke up? He went from bed to verse.

    ***********

    On the Yankee win last night: Not only was Cam Schlittler brilliant against Boston last night, he is sure to win both the AL Cy Young award this year and the award for Pitcher With The Most Carefully Pronounced Last Name.

    We’ll see how Max does tonight.

    See you tomorrow, Chatterheads! Thanks for popping by.

  • Her Kerning is Harmonical

    Ten percent of this would blow me away. And it just keeps going and getting better. But maybe I’m just easily impressed.

    OMG, was Trump great at the UN, or what? We are miles beyond “you cannot make this stuff up.”

     “I have a big decision to make. Will a deal be made with Iran that lets them rebuild and create a far greater country than it ever was before, maybe one of the greatest in the Middle East or even the world? Or do I annihilate the Islamic Republic and do it quickly, never giving them a chance to kill and destroy people and countries again? Do I drive them into hell with no chance of survival and no hope of future greatness or generations?”

    “I do not believe in letting problems fester,” he declared. “They only become harder to solve. So while others have talked, I have acted. While others have spoken of peace, I have made peace. While others have ignored threats, I have confronted them. While others have talked of courage, America has shown it. While others have promised strength, I have used it to make America the most powerful country in the world.”

    Bouncing around a bit . . .

    “The United States also totally rejects any attempt to construct a globalist scheme to control the artificial intelligence being spoken of so much, now here and after officially called superintelligence, changing the name. The use of the word artificial makes intelligence fake, it makes it sound fake … From this point forward, all of United States documents and hopefully the world will be changed to use the much more accurate term super as opposed to artificial.”

    Krugman notes: “Most reporting on Trump’s speech emphasized either his belligerence or the fact that almost everything he said was a lie. But isn’t the bigger story the fact that the leader of what used to be the world’s most powerful nation has clearly and undeniably lost his mind?”

    He compared it to the dictator’s speech in Bananas:

    From this day on, the official language of San Marcos will be Swedish. Silence! In addition to that, all citizens will be required to change their underwear every half-hour. Underwear will be worn on the outside so we can check.

    Here’s a poem for autumn, courtesy of my new Canadian friend Wendy from the Scandinavian folk music band. (Note that the letters making up the bottom line are the ones that fell from the upper lines. )

    Roger Allen of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) asks: What is an acceptable level of bubbles?

    Philip Goodchild: As I live on my tod, if I’ve cooked dinner and a saucepan has been used, I use the saucepan as a washing up bowl. It saves water, uses minimum detergent, the saucepan then gets washed up last. Then I rinse off everything once the washing up is done as I don’t like the idea of soap suds drying on the plate. Even if the plates have stacked up, I can wash several dinner plates, a bundle of cutlery and a couple of saucepans using the medium saucepan as the washing up bowl.

    OC: What the hell are you talking about? He asked about bubbles. What’s a tod?

    Well, I did a little research, Chatterheads. First, it means he lives “on his own.” It derives from “Cockney rhyming slang,” rhyming with Sloan whose first name was Tod. Here’s the progression: On your tod . . . on your tod Sloan, . . . on your own.

    James Forman (Tod) Sloan was born in Indiana in 1874 and overcame neglect and poverty in his early life to become a highly successful jockey. And get this — George M. Cohan’s Yankee Doodle Dandy was based on Sloan’s life.

    Yankee Doodle came to London,
    Just to ride the ponies.

    He fell from grace after his successful period. Doesn’t look too chipper here.

    According to historian Heather Cox Richardson:

    James McCrery II, the first architect on Trump’s ballroom, resigned when Trump insisted on a design that did not meet fire codes. Normally, White House construction would be managed by federal agencies required by law to comply with building safety codes, but White House officials have routed the ballroom through the tiny Executive Residence office that is exempt from rules because it is not a federal agency.

    McCrery warned that Trump’s design did not have enough emergency exits or measures to contain a fire, which could spread quickly from the kitchen below the ballroom to the event space above it, and pointed out that the design was not up to code.

    Trump waved off his concerns. “I am the code,” he said. (Not kidding.)

    It reminded me of a brilliant traffic cop I saw years ago at the corner of 56th Street and First Avenue in Manhattan. It was a very active intersection. The cop was a big, very-well-built Black officer in a military-crisp uniform. He was in total command. The light stopping traffic from 56th Street entering the Avenue turned from red to green, but the officer determined it would be better to hold those cars at bay a little longer. The driver of the first car in line was not happy about it. He stuck his head out of the window and yelled: “Hey, the light’s green!” And the cop beamed down at him with a wide smile and said “I am the light, baby.”

    Continuing with the news:

    HHS Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr. funded enhanced security for himself by taking funds from the department’s Office of Minority Health. The Reagan administration created the Office of Minority Health after a landmark report showed that Black life expectancy in the U.S. was shorter than white Americans’ and that Black babies were more likely than white babies to die.

    [When this was brought to Trump’s attention at a press conference, he said “Fuck ’em. What the hell do I care?” (That didn’t happen.)]

    At 54D today, IOWA was boringly clued with “Part of the Corn Belt.” This one is for very special Owl Chatter friend Pam:

    Some of the great battles in Crossworld are over plurals. For example, much blood has been shed over the plural of octopus: octopi, octopodes, octopusses. Anyway, the puzzle today had SOLOS for “Recital pieces,” and commenter Keith clarified when it should be SOLOS or SOLI:

    “According to the Standard Dictionary of Italianate Loanwords, it’s SOLI when the constructor needs to fill 4 boxes, SOLOS when she’s filling 5. SOLOES is an obscure variant for emergencies.”

    [Because we’re a serious group, Anony Mouse added later: “Love the joke answer, but here’s a serious answer (in orchestral music): solo is played by one person, a soli is a (singular) solo-like passage played by a group of people (e.g. the cellos in the opening of William Tell). Solos is the plural of solo. The plural of soli is probably solis, but I’ve never heard that used.”]

    If they can avoid disaster over the weekend against the visiting Mets, the Gnats will be finishing off the season on a good note. They won their last two series on the road, against the Cards and Tigers. The brilliant CJ Abrams reached 100 RBI, and our fave, little Nasim Nunez, set the all-time franchise season steals record. He’s at 49. Hope he makes 50. Ace Cavalli has been locked up with a new contract, a good sign that they may be willing to spend a few bucks. We’ll say goodbye to the boys on Sunday. Thanks for a fun season guys! Get some rest!

    Here’s the gang that won it all in 2019.

    They defeated the hated cheating Astros in seven games. Oddly, the road team won in all seven. Stephen Strasburg was the Series MVP.

    Wait, did someone say Stephen Strasburg?

    Owl Chatter staff photographer Phil made it into the news again! According to NBC News, earlier this month, on a United Airlines flight out of Rochester, NY, headed to Newark, a woman left her seat and complained to a flight attendant that the man sitting next to her was looking at her and jerking off. (Not kidding.) Apparently, instead of being flattered, she was upset. Neither party was named in the story, but it had to be our Philly: We recall him complaining after that flight that there wasn’t enough elbow room.

    Anyway, there were no empty seats on the plane, so they allowed her to stand in the flight attendant’s area for the duration of the flight. However, when the plane began its descent, they told her she had to return to her seat. Her feeling was “Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not going near that guy.” But they gave her no option. They said it should just be for about five minutes, but it lasted longer, of course. When the flight landed, the “gentleman” simply deplaned and walked away.

    You may be surprised to learn that the airline did not respond with much wisdom to the woman’s complaints. They offered her a $100 credit and the moron in charge of the response wrote: “I can imagine how upsetting and uncomfortable it must have been to experience behavior from another passenger that caused you concern, particularly while seated in a location where you felt concerned.”

    The woman, a pediatric crisis therapist, called the language “blaming” and “offensive.” “Additionally, framing public masturbation as ‘behavior that caused me concern’ implies that what occurred could somehow be perceived as acceptable,” she told NBC.

    We asked Phil why he didn’t get a photo of her for OC, and he said he had his hands full.

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

  • The Key of Life

    The NYT Sports Section finally took on a question I’m sure you’ve often pondered: Why doesn’t some hockey team get a sumo wrestler and plop him in front of the goal to plug it up pretty much completely?

    They came up with three reasons. First, an NHL goal is six-feet wide and even the widest sumo wrestler falls short (narrow?) of that width. And today’s sharpshooters would be able to take advantage of even the smallest of gaps. Second, goalies have various important jobs besides just stopping shots that involve skating around a bit. Third, it’s likely to be a tough sell: “Hey man, I know you’re a famous and highly respected athlete, but would you want to quit that job to get hit by vulcanized rubber going 100 mph for three hours a night? You may need to take a pay cut.” Not to mention the ridicule and dishonor.

    Conversation between Owl Chatter and an Owl Chatter friend:

    OC: They can do genetic testing now to see if you have an elevated risk of getting Alzheimer’s.

    OCF: But what can you do about it if you know?

    OC: Not much, unfortunately. General health advice applies: exercise, healthy diet, etc.

    OCF: Mental stimulation, like puzzles?

    OC: Yes. Mental stimulation. Does porn count?

    OCF: It better.

    Today’s puzzle was a “tribute puzzle,” commemorating the 50th anniversary (next Monday) of Stevie Wonder’s great double album, “Songs in the Key of Life.” It’s by a world class constructor Erik Agard and was very well received, including the first 5-star rating by Rex that I can remember. Answers included SW’s full name as well as the name of the album and titles of three songs from it. I’ve always admired Stevie very much but he’s never been one of my favorites, music-wise.

    I worked with several of the non-theme answers, including ALFRE (Woodard), TIERED, and SPATULA.

    Director of the 1963 film “The Bir.” ALFRE Hitchco

    When I saw how high in the theater my $200 seats were, I TIERED up.

    Vampire who makes excellent pancakes: SPATULA.

    Most folks were delighted with the tribute to STEVIE WONDER. But acerbic commenter Gary took mild exception, to wit:

    “Great. A tribute puzzle to an album from 1976. Just great. Add in Star Wars, Star Trek, and Atari and I’m hoping you solved this next to a lava lamp while sitting on a shag carpet. I was 12 when this album came out. I haven’t been 12 in a very long time.

    “I hope this opens the door for a puzzle celebrating the life of John Wilbye and his hit madrigals from the post Italian Renaissance era. He didn’t need no stinkin’ Rock and Roll Hall Of Fame, nor self-congratulatory Grammy, nor even Billboard magazine. He just needed a quill and a cool song title. By the way, the Wikipedia entry for madrigals uses the word ‘whilst’ unironically in the first paragraph. That’s how you know smart people are involved.”

    We’re starting to see glimmers of what next season might look like for the Gnats. DJ Herz, who looks like actor Jesse Plemons, came back from a very long absence due to Tommy John surgery and looked good for four innings last night. If he and Josiah Gray can hit their potential, they’ll join Cavalli and Alvarez to form a strong rotation. We’ll hibernate until late March and see what happens. As far as the playoffs go, we’ll likely be pulling for the Yanks. Also like Tampa, Atlanta, the Phils and Cubbies, once the Yanks crash and burn. Looking forward to it.

    Here’s DJ.

    Owl Chatter sports consultant Sarah Fillier of the PWHL’s NY Sirens will be covering the action for us. We have George going over some of the basics with her. Three strikes, three outs, nine innings, . . . You’ll get it, babe.

    Brace yourselves, fellas. This shot of her in that sexy uniform pushes most men over the edge. George! Where are my heart pills??!!

    I forgot to kvell over a recent math-related Sunday NYTXW that I thought was brilliant (Hi Judy!). It was by Tracy Gray and was called “Rise to the Power.” It used base numbers and exponents. Yeah, I didn’t remember those either. But they’re easy. If your base number is 2 and the exponent is 3, it’s “two to the third power,” and the answer is 8 (2 x 2 x 2). Similarly, 3 to the 4th power is (3 x 3 x 3 x 3), 81, right? In the puzzle each theme answer appeared in two lines: the base number on the lower line and the exponent on top of it, just off to the right — exactly how you’d indicate, e.g., 3 to the fourth power. Here’s how it worked:

    The clue was “Beatles classic with the lyric ‘Will you still need me / Will you still feed me.’” Now you’ll immediately think WHEN I’M SIXTY FOUR, but that won’t work in the puzzle. Instead, you fill in WHENIMFOUR on one line and THREE above it to the right. Because “4 to the 3rd power” is 64. Get it? Brilliant, right?

    Another example: The clue was “So very appreciated,” and the answer was THANKS A TEN below SIX. Because ten to the sixth power is a million. (So you get “Thanks a million.”)

    Now, get this. Where the clue was “Vegas casino machine” the answer was NINE-ARMED BANDIT below ZERO, because 9 to the zero power is one. (So you get “one-armed bandit.”) And I learned that any number taken to the zero power equals one! I either never knew that or forgot.

    This is the easiest explanation of it that I found:

    Look at the powers of any number, say 8:

    8^1 = 8
    8^2 = 64
    8^3 = 512 [64 x 8]

    To get from 8^3 to 8^2 we have to divide by 8. And to get from 8^2 to 8^1 we have to divide by 8 again. The logical idea is to continue doing this so we get:

    to go from 8^1 to 8^0 we should divide by 8. And 8 divided by 8 equals 1.

    This works for any nonzero number.

    Ouch, my brain hurts a little now. Let’s get to Sydney Sweeney. Have you seen the ad everyone is buzzing about? It’s for a betting platform Novig. SS appears in it sans clothes, covering up with various items of sports equipment, repeating the phrase “just sports.” (Novig only offers gambling on sports.) The criticism is that the ad promotes the treatment of women athletes as sex objects. SS blew off the charge and offered a bunch of examples in which women athletes themselves appear in sexy poses. I’m far too stupid and shallow to have anything worthwhile to say on the issue. I am certainly “guilty” of drooling over women tennis players, basketball players, etc. But, surely, ladies, don’t you do the same over sexy male stars?

    Phil notes that as gorgeous as Sydney is, it’s hard to capture her in a photo. He likes this one. So do we.

    On Saturday, “Hardwood whose bark is sometimes used as paper” was BIRCH. This tune is courtesy of Son Volt. It’s a good way to close today.

    Thanks for popping by. See you tomorrow!

  • Bombing the Hooters

    I was pretty pleased Saturday with my puzzle-related ridiculous wordplay. I worked with SAWSHARK (“Ocean predator with external teeth”);

    SAMOA (“Siva ___ (traditional dance named for its country of origin)); LOSESFACE (“Goes down in estimation”); and SHOOKETH (“Rattled, humorously”).

    So I came up with:

    Film about a deep-sea diver who turns his life around after a frightening underwater experience: The SAWSHARK Redemption.

    Jason Momoa
    Is not from SAMOA.
    He was born in Hawaii
    But lives there nomoa.

    Science headline: Man LOSES FACE; Sues Plastic Surgeon

    The males (who knew some Yiddish) in the audience applaudeth when the lovely young dancer SHOOKETH her tucheth.

    Jason is divorced from Lisa Bonet, with whom he had two kids, daughter Lola Iolani, and son Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha, the latter of whom, I’m guessing, has a nickname.

    Here’s JM with his girlfriend, actress Adria Arjona. What in the world does he see in her?

    The Gnats destroyed the Cards Friday night, 9-1, precursor to a strong final week, we hope, especially since we’ll be down in DC for the last game on Sunday (9/27) against the Mets. Getting out of the division cellar may be at stake, if anyone notices. But never mind all that — Josiah Gray pitched an inning! JG was an All Star as a Gnat in 2023 but has been out with various injuries the past two seasons. If he can return to form, we’ve got three good arms in the rotation heading into ’27 (not counting Jake Irvin, whom we love, but who has been stinking it up pretty consistently). Here’s Josiah:

    Stephen Dudley of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) asks: I wonder who felt it necessary to mould a fullstop? Is it grammatically correct to use a fullstop after a single word? [By “fullstop” he means a period (you know, the dot).]

    [The question is do you need the period after the single word “lifebuoy,” which I gather means “life preserver.”]

    Mark Fox-Parkes posted the rule that a period is proper if the single word functions as a sentence. E.g., a command like “Stop” would take a period “because it contains an implied subject and contains a complete thought.”

    [But does that mean a period is to be used here? Is the single word acting as a sentence: “This is a lifebuoy?” Or is it merely identifying the object? I go with the “no period” folks.]

    Here are some other member responses:

    Ian Steer: It is a noun, not a command (eg “stop”). Can you imagine putting a full stop after a sign that says “cars?”

    Steve Vickery: My mate drowned in the sea and at the funeral we laid a wreath in the shape of a lifebuoy. Well… It’s what he would have wanted.

    Tony Ross: A common greeting hereabout when you’ve not seen a mate in ages: “Was it yourself or your brother that drowned at sea?”

    David Mortimer: Whilst it true you can have a single word sentence and therefore a full stop after a single word, I’d suggest that slightly different rules apply to signage. For the above example the full stop after lifebuoy is superfluous.

    Tony Ross: Not on your life buoy.

    Nigel Parsons: “Can I touch your palm, Olive?” “Not on your life, boy!”

    Mark Meds: Why even use the word “lifebuoy?” Did they think people would get confused and think it was a potato?

    Sarah Knight: Probably my husband. He puts a full stop after his signature. Does my head in.

    Michelle Goldberg was spot-on in her column yesterday on the law firms, colleges, etc., that abandoned their principles to toady up to Trump, e.g., UPenn. Brad Karp at Paul Weiss explained that he caved because the threat Trump posed to the firm was “existential.” But, Goldberg writes, Karp and his colleagues weren’t facing prison or penury. An average of $7.5 million per partner might have fallen to, who knows, $4 or $5 million for a couple of years. That’s a real hit, but it’s not exactly martyrdom.

    [I sent it to Bruni’s “For the Love of Sentences” feature. Coming after you, Pam!]

    Christina Daigneault shared this story in today’s Met Diary:

    Dear Diary:

    I was walking down Bedford Avenue on a Monday afternoon, hurrying back to my home office in Williamsburg, when I looked down and saw an injured mourning dove on the sidewalk.

    A woman was sitting beside the dazed bird, shielding it from passers-by while calling 311.

    I stopped to offer my help, which she welcomed. I told her that the Wild Bird Fund, which I follow on Instagram, had recently posted instructions about what to do if you find an injured bird.

    We found the emergency bird hotline. In the meantime, we decided the dove might benefit from water and the safety of a shoe box.

    I rushed to a nearby doughnut place. I explained the situation and asked for water. The young woman behind the counter eagerly offered some in an espresso cup and waved as I hurried out.

    After placing the cup next to bird, I darted across the street to a shoe store. I explained the situation again and said a shoe box would be helpful.

    The shopkeeper happily went to the back to fetch one, as customers inquired about the bird situation.

    When I returned with the shoe box, the woman was on the phone coordinating the bird’s care.

    Before leaving, I felt I should introduce myself to this kind stranger and then asked her name in return.

    “My name is Hope,” she said.

    Here’s a Tiny Love Story from the Times. It’s by Lauren Wein.

    The night before our grandmother’s funeral, my sister and I collapsed onto the pullout couch we hadn’t slept on in decades. In the dark, my sister whispered, “Yes.” “Yes, what?” I asked. Suddenly, I remembered. Growing up, we shared a room. Though I was four years older, I was the one afraid of the dark. At bedtime, I’d ask if I could wake her if I couldn’t sleep. She always said yes. Eventually, our shorthand became: “Yes?” “Yes.” We often woke up in the same bed. The morning of the funeral, we found this photo in our grandmother’s night stand.

    Yikes — it has stretched into Monday. Good morning!

    I wasted too much time watching the Jets sink to their inevitable loss — in OT, no less. Up ten in the fourth quarter, they managed brilliantly to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. The faces change under those green helmets, but it’s always SOJ (same old Jets).

    Anyway, so there’s a new puzzle to play with. Here’s what I came up with for silly wordplay:

    Biography of the artist Max: The Importance of Being ERNST

    How Don, from yesterday’s puzzle, introduces himself: IMHO

    Compendium of material on floral organic compounds: The Book of ESTER.

    Fish drawings: CARPART

    And, last, for the clue “First name of Julius Caesar” the answer was GAIUS. But I offered: First name of Julius Caesar: Julius.

    Here’s a rendering of Esther from bible.art. A knockout, for sure — but doesn’t look Jewish to me. And kinda young.

    This one works better. Hey, Babe — you going to finish that hamentashen?

    From the “It Couldn’t Happen to a Nicer Guy” Department. After years of kissing Trump’s orange ass and pouring billions of dollars into his pockets, Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman got the royal Fuck You from Trump on his plea for help against the Hooters. Here’s how the NYT describes Trump’s decision “process:”

    “Trump met with advisers and told them he did not favor strikes. But after speaking with the Saudi crown prince, he reversed himself and told the Pentagon to prepare for airstrikes against the Houthis. But by midday Sunday, the president reversed himself again. There would be no U.S. airstrikes. Trump’s decision to pull back came as commanders had approved target lists, troops were loading bombs onto U.S. warplanes and the wave of attacks was just about to begin.”

    The NYT goes on to note:

    “In the spring of 2025, the U.S. military bombed the Houthis for more than 50 days to restore freedom of navigation in the Red Sea and to stop the group’s attacks on commercial and U.S. naval shipping vessels.

    “The U.S. strikes burned through weapons and munitions at a rate of about $1 billion in the first month alone. During the campaign, two $67 million F/A-18 Super Hornets tasked with conducting strikes against the Houthis accidentally tumbled off America’s flagship aircraft carrier into the sea.”

    Oopsies! Plane overboard! Plane overboard!

    I’m going in after them — see you next time!