The Wellington Files

  • Drawing Aces

    I’m sure you’ve heard about it, but it’s too perfect to ignore. On his social media platform overnight, Trump shared a video that includes a racist animation of former President Barack Obama and former first lady Michelle Obama depicted with the bodies of apes.

    White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt said, “This is from an internet meme video depicting President Trump as the King of the Jungle and Democrats as characters from the Lion King. Please stop the fake outrage.” But, but, but . . . the video only includes imagery of the Obamas.

    I guess Trump and Leavitt were unaware that the video was shared in October by the Hardin County Republican Party of Kentucky, which led the chairman to issue an apology after swift backlash noting the long history of racist tropes depicting Black people as apes or monkeys — a vehicle for slave traders and segregationists to dehumanize them. At least the Kentucky racists apologized, you know, when caught. Can’t imagine that from the White House.

    There was much in the puzzle to love today: an owl sighting (!) and a Taylor Swift lyric, just to name two. It’s going to be a heavy music day, starting with an exquisite Valentines tune. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

    The clue for OWL was classy: “Parliament constituent.” It’s from the term for a group of owls: a parliament.

    Here’s Rex: “Because I studied Middle English literature in grad school, I knew Chaucer’s poem Parlement of Foules (i.e. ‘Parliament of Fowls’) before I ever knew the term ‘parliament’ applied specifically to owls. Fun (and semi-timely) fact: Parlement of Foules is the likely origin of the association of St. Valentine’s Day with lovers.”

    Don’t need no Valentines; don’t need no roses.
    Just take me back in time.

    The Taylor Swift lyric was a mystery to me. The clue was “‘Hearts are ____ for the breakin”” (Taylor Swift lyric).” Answer HERS. It’s from this song, below, but brace yourself: she drops a few F-bombs in it.

    On HERS, Son Volt shared this tune by The Honeydogs, a band that started out in St. Paul MN in 1994. I’m glad word of them finally reached me under my rock.

    The Commentariat was suitably impressed with 49A: “Phenomenon through which luxuries become necessities.” Answer: LIFESTYLE CREEP. Egs gave it a secondary meaning: “In his day, Hugh Hefner might have seemed glamorous, but today he’d be viewed as a LIFESTYLE CREEP.”

    My personal favorite was at 7D: “Derisive term for unattractive public sculptures:” PLOP ART. You know, some horrible giant public art installation that is just plopped down in the middle of somewhere. A play on POP ART. This might qualify. It’s in Mississauga, Ontario, Canada.

    Mickey Lolich passed away on Wednesday at the age of 85, a brilliant left-handed starter for the Tigers from 1963 to 1975. It’s not too much of a stretch to say he single-handedly won the World Series for Detroit over St. Louis in 1968, pitching three complete game wins. In Game 7, on two days rest, Lolich outpitched Bob Gibson. Yeah, you heard me. Detroit won the game, 4-1. It was the last World Series game in which both starting pitchers pitched complete games (57 years and counting). Fifty years later Lolich said in an interview that he went into that game “slightly tired,” but that made his fastball sink more than usual. The final out was a foul pop out by Tim McCarver.

    In 1971, Lolich pitched 376 innings and struck out 308 batters. He went 25-14 with an ERA of 2.92. He lost out to Vida Blue for the Cy Young award that year. From 1971 thru 1974, he pitched over 300 innings each year and came one win short of averaging 20 per season.

    Post-baseball, Mickey and his wife ran a doughnut and pastry shop in Lake Orion MI. Thus, the photo, below. Rest in peace, Mickey.

    Got to hunker down now. It’s not getting out of the teens for a couple of days. Pancake and soup weather. We’ll stay in bed with the owls and do crosswords. Keep warm, Chatterheads!

  • The Halo of the Last Candle

    The Republicans have put a new spin on “No Child Left Behind.”

    Not really new, though.

    This poem is called “Adage.” It’s by Billy Collins and was in today’s Writer’s Almanac.

    When it’s late at night and branches
    are banging against the windows,
    you might think that love is just a matter

    of leaping out of the frying pan of yourself
    into the fire of someone else,
    but it’s a little more complicated than that.

    It’s more like trading the two birds
    who might be hiding in that bush
    for the one you are not holding in your hand.

    A wise man once said that love
    was like forcing a horse to drink
    but then everyone stopped thinking of him as wise.

    Let us be clear about something.
    Love is not as simple as getting up
    on the wrong side of the bed wearing the emperor’s clothes.

    No, it’s more like the way the pen
    feels after it has defeated the sword.
    It’s a little like the penny saved or the nine dropped stitches.

    You look at me through the halo of the last candle
    and tell me love is an ill wind
    that has no turning, a road that blows no good,

    but I am here to remind you,
    as our shadows tremble on the walls,
    that love is the early bird who is better late than never.

    Did you know this about William S. Burroughs, the writer from the Allen Ginsberg world: One night at a party, he and his wife, Joan, agreed to demonstrate how he could shoot a glass off the top of her head. He missed the glass and killed her. Yikes. He was born on this date in St. Louis in 1914. Actually, Burroughs recanted that version of the incident and maintained that it was purely accidental (didn’t know it was loaded, it went off when he dropped it, blah, blah, blah). He was convicted of manslaughter, which I’m trying to change into man’s laughter right now (and failing).

    Linda! Maybe we should hold off on our glass-shooting act for a bit.

    It puts a whole new spin on the meaning of “shot glass.”

    Ever hear of a SEXER? It was the answer at 31A today, clued with “Chick checker of a sort.” It’s someone who is specially trained to pick up baby chicks and determine their sex so they can be sorted (for future consumption or egg-laying or whatever). Large commercial hatcheries employ sexers to weed out the undesirable male chicks, which are mostly killed because they are “useless” (can’t lay eggs).

    Here’s a joke from my Uncle Morris from sixty years ago. A woman brought a bunch of chickens to the market to sell. She asked the man behind the counter how much he’d pay for them. He said it depends on where they’re from. “Let’s see,” he said. Then he took one, stuck his finger up its tuchas and said, “This one’s from Rhode Island.” He took the next one, stuck his finger up its tuchas and said, “This one’s from Kentucky.” And so on for all of them. He said he’d give her $30 for the lot and she said fine. As he was counting out the bills, he said “I haven’t seen you around here. Where are you from?” At that point, she turned around, pulled up her dress, bent over, and said: “You tell me.”

    [Thanks, Maish!]

    Yesterday’s puzzle’s theme was very inventive, especially for Seinfeld fans. There were three “rites of passage” as theme answers: BAR MITZVAH, VISION QUEST (for Native Americans), and RUMSPRINGA (for the Amish). Then, the revealer, from all the way in left field was ” ‘Seinfeld’ catchphrase… or, when parsed as three words, how a participant of the theme entries might be greeted?” Answer: HELLO NEWMAN. (Get it? Hello new man.)

    BTW, Jerry was asked by an interviewer once why he hated Newman, and he said, there was never any reason given for that on the show. It just seemed funny for that to be the case.

    Women’s Olympic hockey hit the ice running (skating) today, well, only part of it did. The U.S. topped The Czech Republic 5-1 in the opening game, but the much-anticipated Canada-Finland match was postponed because ten of the Finns fell ill.

    Here’s the Canadian team that won gold in 2022. Our Sarah Fillier is fourth from the left. Yay!

    Andy Spragg, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) says there’s an irreconcilable issue within this sentence of a review he wrote: It’s a bit corny, and apparently is an (allegedly much inferior) retread-for-UK of a Belgian TV series, but we’re enjoying it very much.

    I was too stupid to spot the issue, but several other dull members did. It’s an “a/an” issue pertaining to the word (an) immediately preceding the parentheses. “An” certainly sounds right as he wrote it. But there is a rule that says a sentence must make sense grammatically and logically if the parenthetical information is removed. I.e., were a parenthesis to be removed, the surrounding text must still be grammatically sound. And, here, removing the parentheses leaves you with “an retread.”

    As Andy puts it: “a sentence with an embedded fragment in brackets must be equally correct whether that fragment is present or absent, and in this case it’s not possible because the preceding indefinite article should be ‘an’ (if the fragment is present) or ‘a’ (if it is not).

    “SWMBO has suggested writing ‘a(n)’ as a neat trick to resolve the conundrum, which is nice but cheating, really, I think.

    “Allegedly, there is no ambiguity because the indefinite article ‘belongs’ to the noun immediately after the fragment. I’ll be very happy to have learned a new rule of English composition if this is indeed the case. However, several people asserting something to be so does not make it so. I wonder if anyone can point me to an ‘official’ reference that confirms this assertion, please?”

    [OC note: SWMBO stands for “she who must be obeyed,” i.e., his wife.]

    My vote is for “an” here. I think the phonetics trump the grammatical rule.

    Brain hurt now? Follow me to the beer department. Now drink this.

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for (burp!) stopping in.

  • Republican Egret

    I don’t think I ever started my tax class without a reference to Gertrude Stein that I stole from my tax prof at Penn Law, Bernie Wolfman, alav hashalom. I would talk about my friend Richie who found $100 on the street in SOHO. The question we discussed was, does the tax law require him to report it as taxable income? After we bat it around a bit, I tell the class that it is taxable because Gertrude Stein wrote Section 61 of the Internal Revenue Code, which says: Income is income is income.

    Gertrude Stein was born on this date in 1874 in Allegheny, PA. Happy birthday, old girl!

    Poets who don’t take themselves too seriously, and who aren’t phonies, have a much better chance of getting their work past the Owl Chatter guard puppies. X. J. Kennedy was a good example. He passed away at the age of 96 at his home in Peabody MA on Sunday. His “Brats” series for young readers featured humorous cautionary tales in verse.

    Garth, from off the garden wall,
    Ate a rosebush, roots and all.
    Doctors worked on him for hours.
    The family requests, “no flowers.”

    In Rex Parker’s writeups on the NYT puzzles he often makes fun of the wrong paths his brain leads him on. You know, you’ll have a few letters of a word, and assume an answer that turns out to be way off, or that you parse crazily. Today, there was an answer that was REGRET. Rex had the last five letters and thought of the bird (EGRET). And he didn’t let go of it even when the R appeared, momentarily thinking “R-egret? Is there such a thing as a Republican egret?” (He continued down that path:) Sung to the tune of “American Woman” by the Guess Who: “Republican egret / Stay away from me! / Republican egret / Mama let me be!”

    I chimed in to note that Rex may have uncovered an Ogden Nash poem:

    The Republican egret
    Has much to regret

    Whatsername commented that she loved it! I’m shallow enough that it made my day.

    The theme of the puzzle today was INSIDE VOICES, clued with “What children should use at the library.” Then in four long answers, the names of singers were buried. E.g., TUNN[EL VIS]ION concealed ELVIS.

    Re “inside voices,” I shared that I had a cousin who worked for many years in the Brooklyn Public Library system as a shusher.

    Since the clue at 53A was “Beyond well-done” for BURNT, we got a double reference with the following song (ELVIS and BURNT):

    That’s Aimee Mann. ‘Til Tuesday was her band. Phil said he had a really nice visit with her, despite being drunk (him, of course, not her).

    Commenter Lewis had the sweetest response to the puzzle today:

    “My favorite answer is INSIDE VOICES, which threw me back into elementary school, where teachers admonished us to use them as we walked in a line to the library, and if one of us spoke too loudly while there, the teacher would sternly repeat the phrase.

    “Then I fondly flashed on – actually saw in my mind’s eye — the two elementary school teachers I adored.

    “That was followed by vivid elementary school memories, such as in second grade, when my teacher and another teacher were flirting. All the kids tittered about it, and I was proud to be chosen to relay her love notes to him.

    “Crosswords, they wake things up, no?”

    A frequent complaint among the Commentariat cites the “dumbing down” of the NYTXW. The consensus is it has been made easier to increase subscriptions. Commenter Gary had enough of this “it’s too easy” whining, and let loose today. (For the record, I agree with the complainers: the XWs used to be more challenging and, thus. more rewarding to solve.) Here’s Gary:

    It’s the fashion of our blog participants to append an adjective to the word easy prior to launching into a tirade of thinly veiled contempt for the perceived tragic state of affairs at the NYTXW. Today it’s absurdly easy, but my favorite phrase, usually voiced by one of our beloved Anonymoti is insultingly easy.

    These plaintive cries from the barnyard of our fickle flock have been ongoing for years. The weeping juxtaposed next to the inconvenient fact the puzzle is more popular and more profitable than ever leaves me curious why a narrow band of highly experienced solvers keeps showing up, keeps complaining, keeps sharing their apocalyptic adjectives next to “easy.” Occasionally, I wonder aloud, how long will you keep doing over and over the same thing and expecting a different result?

    With the obsessive need to do the Times crossword it appears the insane addiction is permanent, and unlike Cnut, we will be yelling at the tides day after day in our petty way until our candle is snuffed out. Darned you brain for being able to do the puzzle produced by this venue! I can imagine an old man standing in the magazine aisle of the grocery store holding a book of Dell Fun to Solve crosswords above his head and yelling at passers-by, “These are too easy! They’re not fun to solve. Damn you Dell and Albertsons for letting me buy these puzzle books.” I picture a kind-hearted grocery clerk with one of those giant brooms swooshing up to him, patting the maniacal man on the back, gently saying he understands, letting him know everything will be fine, and saying, “Maybe these puzzles aren’t for you anymore.”

    From The Onion:

    Funeral Canceled Due to Runaway Corpse.

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for popping in.

  • The Velvet of Sweet Reasonableness

    I found a beautiful sentence recently that I wanted to send to Frank Bruni for his “For the Love of Sentences” feature. It was from the Ethics column in The Times. There was a husband and wife and the husband consented to the wife’s having an affair. After a bit, the wife broke off the affair, in part feeling bad about it. Of course, I forgot to send it to Frank, but several other readers did. Here it is, below, as presented in Frank’s column:

    In The Times Magazine, Kwame Anthony Appiah parsed a husband’s acquiescence to his wife’s affair, for her sake, and her subsequent abandonment of it, for his: “Beneath the velvet of sweet reasonableness lurked the edged steel of unspoken ultimatums.” 

    We are devoted to our owls here, of course, but when Caity was little her favorite stuffed animals were penguins. Don’t get me wrong, she loved “Uncle Welly,” but when asked about him she’d say, “He’s daddy’s.” Anyway, for those of you who like penguins too, let’s switch briefly to Penguin Chatter, via another clip from Frank’s column:

    In Smithsonian Magazine, Cheryl Katz observed Falkland Islands penguins returning to their colonies after rounding up food for their offspring: “I watch these intrepid mamas ride the churning surf below, porpoising over surging waves to shore, then blasting belly-first onto jagged, seaweed-slicked rocks. Some land, pop up on their feet and make a mad dash out of the way of the next wave. Most, however, wipe out and get swept back to sea. They’ll have to try again and again.”

    In today’s puzzle, many noted the fifth line up from the bottom. It contained only two words: DONALD and STENCH. The former was clued with: “Uncle of Huey, Dewey and Louie.”

    Son Volt steered clear of the politics, instead sharing a John Prine song containing these lyrics:

    But dreaming just comes natural
    Like the first breath from a baby
    Like sunshine feeding daisies
    Like the love hidden deep in your heart

    The puzzle was otherwise a paean to GROUNDHOG DAY, which it is today. Since the movie is all about repetition, it (GROUNDHOG DAY) is repeated four times in the answers, clued differently each time. It made the puzzle super easy, even for a Monday. The best of the clues, IMO, was “Film about which Harold Ramis said ‘He goes from being a prisoner of that time and place to being master of that time and place.’”

    Oh, hi Andie! Haven’t seen you in a while. We’ve got some Diet Grape Soda. George! Company!

    How’s Sarah? Andie’s pretty daughter Sarah Margaret Qualley is an actress too. And she’s married to Jack Antonoff, a big hotshot in the music biz. He’s worked with Taylor and has copped 13 Grammys. Here’s Sarah. Yup, we can see the resemblance.

    Claire Foy dropped by too, at 47A: “Actress Claire of ‘The Crown.’” Another knockout. What’s going on today?

    Claire is English, 41, and separated from her husband with whom she had a daughter. In 2021, Foy was targeted by a stalker who sent her more than 1,000 emails in one month and turned up at her house. It was a great relief to learn it was not our staff photographer Phil, especially for Phil. They caught the guy. Phil was cleared by the investigators when it emerged that he doesn’t know how to send email.

    I read the review of Melania by Lauren Collins in the New Yorker: “a journey into the void.” It is exactly what you would think it is. Here are some snippets:

    “The timing couldn’t be more infelicitous for ‘Melania,’ which showed, at a private White House screening, just hours after federal agents killed Alex Pretti, on a Minneapolis street. A notably patchy crowd, including Amazon bosses, Queen Rania of Jordan, and Mike Tyson enjoyed a spread of dichromatic snacks, such as hurricane lamps filled with white gumballs and macarons that looked as though they were made of toothpaste and coal. 

    “The First Couple’s marriage, never outwardly loving, comes across as particularly arid on the rare occasions when they interact. ‘That’s a good one, congrats,’ Melania says, over the phone on Election Night, as Trump crows about his victory. ‘I will see it on the news.’ Her husband may as well have won a bowling tournament. One wonders whether she’s exacting payback for the time, in 2018, when, in a tweet welcoming her home from the hospital after a minor procedure, he accidentally called her Melanie.”

    Collins reports that two-thirds of the people who worked on it asked to be removed from the credits.

    Many people have noted how often M’s heels are featured in shots. I suppose we have to give them credit for that. She’s got one helluva collection. Imelda is still living, btw, 96, kinehora. These are Louboutins (maybe).

    Oy. See you tomorrow, Chatterheads.

  • Celebrini’s Scruples

    How often is Kazakhstan in the sports news? Maybe we should get used to it. The brilliant and beautiful Elena Rybakina is from there and she just outdueled Aryna Sabalenka to win the Aussie Open. How impressive was Elena’s win? Sabalenka is ranked #1 in the world, and to reach the final Elena had to beat Iga Swiatek, ranked #2. The final went the distance and was as stressful as it gets. Elena was a rock, as Sabalenka suffered a flurry of unforced errors.

    Elena is 26 and not married. Her hair has been tangled up in her racket for several days now, but she is hesitant to cut it. We don’t blame her.

    This tiny love story is from today’s NYT and is by Nicole Hardy.

    Two days after Christmas, Maxwell called. “Might drop dead tomorrow,” he said. A loud-talking, adorable joker from Jersey, he hired me as a deckhand narrating Seattle boat tours in 1996. We fell in love, felt invincible with the Space Needle and Kurt Cobain’s house in the distance. Fast forward to Parkinson’s, heart failure, a D.N.R. “One to ten, how scared are you?” I asked. “Seven,” he replied. My heart dropped. “Do you still believe in God?” I asked. “Tell you tomorrow,” he joked, and we laughed ourselves breathless. “I love you forever,” I said. It’s always been true.

    Annals of good sportsmanship. The ump has just made a call in your favor in a matter that is not reviewable, but he got it wrong. Do you correct him, or silently reap the benefit? Silly question, right? You have the right to remain silent and that is clearly what you do. Unless you are Macklin Celebrini, who plays pro hockey for the San Jose Sharks.

    MC appeared to be the victim of a high stick, and the ref called a penalty on the perpetrator. But he knew the stick never touched him. He went over to the ref and signaled, “No, don’t call it.” The ref called it anyway, but Celebrini’s impressive gesture has been noted. We asked Owl Chatter Sports Consultant Sarah Fillier for her thoughts on the matter. There is no tougher competitor on the ice than Sarah. “Of course, he did the right thing,” Sarah said. Wait, did she just wink?

    Song Sung Blue is a wonderful movie, no matter how well you know Neil Diamond’s hits (which go way beyond Sweet Caroline, it stresses), starring, overwhelmingly, Hugh Jackman and Kate Hudson, the latter garnering an Oscar nom for her work, and the former, IMHO, deserving one. We saw it down near Princeton with friend Minnesota Mary, who concurred. Favorite scene: in the Thai restaurant. Bring tissues.

    Can a lake be both “great” and “superior?” Sure, why not? Lake Superior is both, and, according to the puzzle yesterday, it’s the “largest freshwater lake in the world by surface area.” Wow. In the world. The Ojibwe called it Gitche Gumee, to use Longfellow’s spelling, which means great lake. Gordon Lightfoot popularized the song “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” which memorializes Superior at its fiercest.

    Does anyone know where the love of God goes
    When the waves turn the minutes to hours?

    But here’s Laura Cantrell.

    At 122A today, the clue was “Embarrassing items to have revealed on an airport X-ray,” and the answer was SEX TOYS. Tee hee. I shared this story with the gang:

    On airport security (but not sex toys). Seeking a gift for my daughter in Dublin, I went to a “cheesemonger” and explained my mission. He spun right around, grabbed a giant slab of Irish Cheddar, and scraped me off a taste. That was easy: I had him wrap up a pound for her (and had to have a small chunk right away for me).

    For the trip home I stupidly elected not to pack Caity’s cheese in the bag we checked, but to carry it on. What could be threatening about cheese? (Hijacker to pilot: “I’m taking over this plane: I’ve got a pound of Irish Cheddar in here and I’m not afraid to use it!!”) But, sure enough, after my bag took its little trip through the scanner, it was shunted aside, a guard pulled out the cheese, asked me to wait, and went to some back room with it.

    At this point, I had two fears. I figured there was a 50% chance it would be confiscated because of some cheese security rule I never heard of, and a 5% chance I would be arrested, and spend the rest of my life in some Irish version of Midnight Express.

    Happy ending: After a few minutes the guard returned with the cheese, gave me a big thumbs up and a smile, and placed it back in my bag.

    Caity loved it.

    Josh Boyes, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) posted the following: Does anyone know what these square white things are at the bottom of my pool in Cabo Verde? It’s causing far too much excitement for a ‘Holiday’. Thanks!

    Robin Smith: It’s a cover for a drain. It stops toes getting sucked into the whirlpool of water leaving the pool.

    Avi Liveson: So where do the toes go?

    Wayne Coxon: I worked as a life guard for a few years, I’ve messed around with plant rooms, drained and refilled pools and dragged hair out of places you wouldn’t expect it so let me tell you that I have absolutely no idea what this thing is.

    AJ Hart: I’m more concerned that the steps are on the right, meaning you have to enter the pool and go left… when in fact written English goes left to right. So the pool is totally wrong. … Is the photo reversed?

    We agree that the pool is totally wrong. See you tomorrow!

  • You Want Fries With That?

    Here’s Marlanda Dekine. Look at that beautiful punim. She’s a South Carolina girl, both a poet and a social worker.

    Marlanda’s poem, “Memory Poem,” was today’s Poem-A-Day from Poets.org.

    I am a child  
    of wonder again and 
    rain tells me to watch 
    for snails and slugs. 

    I gather dirt, sand, and sticks 
    for the terrarium 
    where I make a safe home 
    away from footsteps, fast cars, and ditch water.

    I don’t want them to die  
    so I make them  
    a space for living. 

    I ask my ma to buy lettuce 
    because in the book I got from the library 
    I learned they will eat lettuce.

    I am  
    greedy to learn  
    what keeps everything alive.

    Their spiral shapes leave shiny trails behind. 
    I imagine I am a snail leaving  
    magic everywhere I go.

    President Trump said U.S. forces used a secret weapon called the “Discombobulator” that helped impair Venezuelan equipment during the early January raid that captured Nicolás Maduro.

    “The Discombobulator. I’m not allowed to talk about it,” the president said in an interview with the New York Post published Saturday. (Not kidding.)

    Owl Chatter sent George down to see what he could find out about the Discombobulator. We figured since he’s already discombobulated most of the time, he’d be pretty safe. For reasons of national security, we cannot publish any of the technical material his sources provided to us. But he did manage to sneak this photo out of the Pentagon in Fawn Hall’s bra.

    Yup, it’s in there. Hey babe! You like Fresca?

    Today’s puzzle was by beloved constructor Robyn Weintraub and it did not disappoint. Has the news gotten you down? How could it not, amirite? Feeling a little discombobulated? Well, right next to each other at 46A and 52A are FACE REALITY and REMAIN CALM.

    Tay gives it an anti-gay-hatred tilt here:

    Robyn tips her cap to the gay community at 28D: “Florida setting for ‘The Birdcage.’” Answer: SOUTH BEACH.

    And speaking of THEM, that was the answer at 15A, clued with “Those guys?” It led Son Volt to share this old tune. If you recognize the voice, you may recall that Them was Van Morrison’s band before he went solo.

    At 39A, “Mylar alternative” was LATEX, and at 44D, “Popular brand of weedkiller” was ORTHO. So I posted the following for the gang at Rex’s:

    If I had known my LATEX was going to keel over like that, I wouldn’t have blown all that money on the divorce.

    After several sessions with a speech therapist, my cousin Louie doesn’t lisp anymore. ORTHO he says.

    Not a fashionista here, but it’s hard to imagine why these latex outfits haven’t caught on.

    Our friend ‘Zona Nancy posted this moosage on facebook: “If you choose not to find joy in the snow, you will have less joy, but the same amount of snow.”

    I commented: “Right now, I am choosing to find one of my gloves in the snow.”

    Is that bottle of water who I think it is?

    Owl Chatter sports consultant Sarah Fillier will be reporting on the Winter Olympics for us from the heart of the action. She’s one of three NY Sirens named to Team Canada. Brava, Filly!! The other two are our brilliant goalie Kayle Osborne and forward Kristin O’Neill. Drop the puck, ref!! We’re ready!!

    Canada’s first game will be against Finland, Thursday night, Feb. 5.

    Here’s Kayle. Try to stay calm, fellas. I know the effect those sexy uniforms can have. But she’s got some serious sh*t to attend to.

    See you tomorrow Chatterheads! Thanks for popping by.

  • Bruce

    NFL fans are stunned that Bill Belichick failed to get into the Hall of Fame in his first try. “I’m as deflated as a Tom Brady football,” lamented the 95-year-old Belichick. “Jesus H. Christ,” his 14-year-old girlfriend Jordan Hudson fumed. “How many [bleeps] do I have to [bleep] to get that geezer inducted?” Hudson’s his biggest cheerleader. Literally.

    Back on Earth, composer Philip Glass notified the Board of the Kennedy Center that he is canceling the premier of his Abe Lincoln Symphony that had been scheduled for June

    “Symphony No. 15 is a portrait of Abraham Lincoln, and the values of the Kennedy Center today are in direct conflict with the message of the Symphony,” Glass wrote. “Therefore, I feel an obligation to withdraw this Symphony premiere from the Kennedy Center under its current leadership.”

    It’s absurd to think he would have let it go on.

    Sticking with music, if you haven’t heard it yet, or would like to hear it again, here’s the boss.

    All these reports have Trump sagging in the polls and “under water” on the issues — but he’s still at 40%. Are the killings of two liberals (one gay) going to change things much with that crowd? Puh-leeze. Our political man, George Santos, tells us to keep an eye on what DOJ is doing with voter rolls it’s collecting. The midterms are going to get very ugly. [By the way, we’re a little low on Diet Pepsi, Georgie — the kind with caffeine.]

    The puzzle today was a debut effort by one of the regular commenters on Rex’s blog — kitshef. It was great and he (I think he) talked about the process a bit. He says the puzzle people at The Times replaced 50 of the 76 clues he wrote: Many for minor issues but some were substantial, e.g., he disavowed the clue at 66A: “Five train in Brooklyn.” Answer: NETS. You need to think basketball and not subway, and train is a verb not a noun.

    The theme was tricky to figure out and there was no revealer. The first theme clue was “Expand,” and the answer ran across the entire row: GGGGGGGGGGGGGGG. What? The second was “Sadness” and the answer was SORSORSORSORSOR. Finally, “Day after today,” was TOMORTOMORTOMOR. It took me a while to see that you needed mentally to add “row” to each answer. So “expand:” Grow; “Sadness:” SORrow; and the third was TOMORrow.

    Anyone who hated it, or failed to see it, surely landed on Desolation Row, wouldn’t you say?

    They’re selling postcards of the hanging
    They’re painting the passports brown
    The beauty parlor is filled with sailors
    The circus is in town.

    Did someone say “tomorrow?” How has this song eluded me for 76 years? Thanks to commenter jberg for sharing it, although my brain hurts a little now from trying to parse it. It goes from bad to verse, and here’s one of the verses:

    If you had gone to Morrow yesterday now don’t you see
    You could have gone to Morrow and returned today at three
    For the train today to Morrow, if the schedule is right
    Today it goes to Morrow and returns tomorrow night”

    I once asked a great Rabbi how Jewish tradition views the beginning of the Universe. He said at first there just a great void. Then there was another one. And one void led to the next.

    That’s going to be the last void today. Thanks from dropping in!

  • Flying High

    From today’s NYT letters.

    To the Editor:

    While driving Saturday, the day Alex Pretti, a peaceful protester, was killed by a squad of federal agents while he was trying to help a woman who had been pepper sprayed — I saw a woman standing at the main intersection of a small town on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington State, 30 minutes after sunset, holding a solo candlelight vigil.

    I slowed down my car, rolled down my window and asked, “This is for the man in Minnesota, right?”

    “Yes,” she said.

    “Thank you,” I said.

    “Thank you,” she replied.

    David Moore
    Sequim, Wash.

    The puzzle today was great, and spoke especially to Welly and Wilma, the owls of Owl Chatter. We’ll let Wilma talk about it.

    Hi everybody! The theme was all about birds leaving home, which we know all about from when our son Worthington took off for Michigan. The revealer clue was at 54A: “Metaphor for a parent whose youngest has ‘launched’ … like the little bird whose progress is suggested by the three theme answers.” The answer: EMPTY NESTER. Then the three theme clues/answers were:

    “Far from any urban center, colloquially.” IN THE STICKS

    “Potentially at risk, metaphorically.” OUT ON A LIMB

    “In a soaring mood, so to speak.” FLYING HIGH

    Here’s a song on the topic. Tom Rush said when he first learned it he couldn’t perform it — he would break down.

    In connection with the above, egs posted:

    We have a bald eagle pair nesting in our back yard and, believe me, you don’t know “sticks” til you’ve seen an eagles’ nest. It must be 10′ across. A couple of days ago I guess they decided it needed some work and we watched them ferrying 4′ long sticks there for hours.

    okanaganer added: around here the power company builds platforms on top of some of their poles so the eagles can build their nests there. And yes, they’re big!

    Cdilly52 chimed in:

    egs, I envy you your eagles and your locale! Ages ago, when my husband and I were still doing rugged camping, we were treated to an eagle nest repair just as you describe, and a gift from Mother Nature we never forgot, a peek at two very young egrets as they were fed and encouraged. We stayed a week up in the Pecos Wilderness to watch the eagles rather than complete our planned trek.

    Sometimes you need to be super clear when making an assignment. Here’s what Phil got for us when I told him we were doing a story on bald eagles. Argggggh.

    I learned something from the puzzle about a word I thought I knew: MOOT. It means “deprived of practical significance : made abstract or purely academic,” right? The issue became moot once the debt in dispute was paid. And it does mean that, but that’s only its secondary meaning. Miriam says the primary meaning is “debatable,” open to question. He says they should have foreseen the accident, but that point is moot, i.e., debatable.

    The clue for STAY, at 66A, was: “Corset component.” And here’s some random woman in a corset dress:

    You may have heard Syd got into a little hot water out in Hollywood. She is launching a line of bras and may have crossed the line with a promotional stunt. [I’m going to pause a bit now to let the fellas recover from the association of Sydney Sweeney with bras in that last sentence. Deep breaths, guys. Maybe a drink of water?] Our Phil was on hand, of course, and turned his videotape of the scene over to TMZ for their report, below. You can see Syd herself climbing the HOLLYWOOD sign to festoon it with chains of bras. Her team may have gotten permission to film near the sign, but did not have permission to use it as they did. Whatever. We’re not going to lose sleep over this.

    That’ll do it for today. More nonsense tomorrow! Sleep tight!

  • Happy Birthday Jules Feiffer

    “Today we remember that freedom is not free. We have to work at it, nurture it, protect it, and even sacrifice for it. May we never forget and always remember our brothers and sisters who have served so that we may enjoy the gift of freedom. So in this moment, we remember and give thanks for their dedication and selfless service to our nation in the cause of our freedom. In this solemn hour, we give them our honor, and our gratitude.”

    Those words were spoken at the deathbed of a U.S. veteran by his RN at the VA, Alex Pretti. A video of Alex saying them was posted by the veteran’s son after Alex was killed. The Earth is a colder place without him.

    Happy to see the Seahawks advance to the Super Bowl last night. Nothing against the Rams, but we like Seattle QB Sam Darnold from his dreadful time with the Jets and we like their outstanding RB, Kenneth Walker III, from the Big Ten (MSU). Since the game was in Seattle, a few football personalities showed up at Pike’s Place, where the fish fly, literally, at the famous market.

    From Frank Bruni’s “For the Love of Sentences.”

    Ron Charles, in WAPO: “If, as King promised, the arc of the moral universe bends toward justice, we could use some more torque these days.”

    In her newsletter, Joanne Carducci (a.k.a. JoJoFromJerz), below, wrote: “The rest of the world is looking at us the way you look at a family having a full-volume meltdown in the cereal aisle.”

    As lazy as I am, I hate to give you work to do, but this poem asks for (and rewards) some effort. Right off the bat, it’s called “Poem in Which the Poet Ventriloquizes the Beloved.” It’s by Kimberly Quiogue Andrews, pronounced “kee-OH-gay.” First, the poem. Then, her notes on it (which help).

    I’m sorry I’m taking the car to the airport that is closer to,
    rather than farther away from, the oncoming hurricane.
    In the parking garage of my love for you, I circle around
    quietly, looking for a space to put the day’s best guesses,
    one not too far from the kiosk of you, standing mute and
    ready to hand me a small slip of paper that reads I’m sorry
    I can’t tell you what I want.     So we’re both mildly apologetic
    all the time, which is a small courtesy, two pulsars fanning
    light at one another in bursts detectable years later. Why
    won’t you take this bundle of daffodils. Why have the
    daffodils turned into dirty forks. I’m sorry about my socks.
    See, there I go again. In the backyard, a vine from next
    door has crawled up and over the fence and has flourished
    there, a great nest of green six feet off the ground. I’d
    trim it, but you’re holding the hedge clippers against your
    hair. You’re saying that your hair is morning glories and
    you’d like to keep the morning glories if possible. I don’t
    even know what morning glories are exactly; my mother
    is an excellent gardener but I have neither her memory for
    color nor your cataloguing tendencies and it’s late in the day
    and I’m sorry for that. It’s difficult to hold you in this
    shaft of light when you keep taking three steps away and
    sitting down in the nearest chair, one hand on each knee
    like a monument. It’s difficult to feel your body against
    my side in sleep, the desires it holds distant and tired,
    like an animal that has walked too far in an inhospitable
    climate. I am full of water but as thirst is a form of
    suffering, I would not wish it upon you. Instead, I will
    work my way through your dreaming, which I know is of
    endless snow fields. I will wait in this puddle of melt.
    Perhaps, one day, you will come to me with your skin
    near to brittle from the cold you love so much. Perhaps on
    that day we can begin to think together about the seasons,
    about how spring can also arrive in precision, if you let it.

    Kim’s notes: “This poem takes the interiority of the ‘lyric I’ and tries to graft it onto perhaps the most common object of apostrophic address: the beloved you. I wanted to create a character out of the quotidian realities of love beset by the kind of illness (depression) that seems to evacuate all capacity for feeling. That vacuum creates a specific type of alone-togetherness that this poem attempts to capture: tender, yet confused, somewhat exasperated, and, in the very best cases, steadfastly patient. I’m lucky, in other words, and this poem wants to honor that.”

    Here she is, with some serious-ass bedhead.

    Notes from the collection. The flurry of articles about the Hall of Fame that appeared when Beltran and Jones got in, alerted me to the probable eventual induction of two great managers: Dusty Baker and Bruce Bochy. Since they are both missing from my autograph collection and are readily available on eBay, I picked up one of each over the weekend for about $20 total.

    (Signed on the back.)

    Happy Birthday Jules Feiffer (1929). He passed away last January, just shy of his 96th birthday. He won a Pulitzer Prize for cartooning in 1986. He said: “I was a terrible flop as a child. You cannot be a successful boy in America if you cannot throw or catch a ball.” 

    Confirming my “reverse-Pinocchio” theory that Karoline Leavitt gets sexier the more lies she tells, she was droolingly gorgeous today lying egregiously about the murder of Alex Pretti, dressed in a black top that set off her searing dark eyes. I couldn’t stop looking at her, but I also couldn’t stomach the sh*t flowing out of her mouth. Finally had to get up and turn the sound down.

    Looks like they’ve decided to throw Bovino under the bus. And as for the great investigation they’re conducting — we’ll get the results about the same time we get the Epstein files. Notice how they are hiding behind this bullshit investigation? Why aren’t they being asked why there’s no investigation of Renee Good’s killing? It’s sickening and deplorable. Trump is reeling but not dead. Look for an attempt to cancel the midterm elections via the Insurrection Act.

    See you tomorrow.

  • How Many Deaths Will It Take?

    America is on fire. From sea to shining sea. Alex Pretti was only 37 years old and was a nurse, like our Caitlin. It is a caring profession. Others more eloquent than us are telling the tale. Everyone reading this shares our sorrow and rage. To honor Alex’s memory (and Renee’s), here is a picture and an old song.

    This “tiny love story” is by Alexander Lau. It’s called “The Decision to Embrace,” and is from today’s NYT.

    Leon is in his high chair, giggling. Then — a crash. Bacon and potatoes everywhere. He laughs; I snap. Suddenly a full-time pandemic father, grappling with the identity loss of leaving my job, I feel anger flare white-hot. I yell, slam my hand down. Leon’s face crumples, lip trembling, eyes wet. He looks afraid. Just like that, the anger drains into shame. “I’m sorry,” I say, but he turns away. My wife takes over. That moment, I changed. Now a parent of two, I no longer see the challenges of parenthood as burdens, but as the opportunity to be a father.

    Robert Burns was born in Alloway, Scotland on this date in 1759. He was a tax collector. Also wrote poems and songs. Among his compositions was Auld Lang Syne. And Jumpin’ Jack Flash (no it wasn’t).

    According to The Writer’s Almanac, upon writing his first poem, Burns observed: “There certainly is some connection between Love and Music and Poetry. I never had the least thought or inclination of turning Poet till I once got heartily in love, and then rhyme and song were, in a manner, the spontaneous language of my heart.”

    Happy Birthday Bob!

    In yesterday’s puzzle, the clue for TURBAN was cute: “It may wind up at the top of one’s head.” Commenter RickS confessed that he filled in AIRBUN before getting TURBAN, and asked: “Who knows, maybe an airbun is a thing?” Which led me to reply: Yes, according to Miriam Webster, an “airbun” is what you’re left with when you grab at someone’s tush but they pull away in time.

    Most commenters appreciated GENDER EUPHORIA as an answer yesterday, but some complained about the clue which was “Feeling that a new haircut or a new set of clothes might bring.”

    Kitshef: I don’t get how the GENDER EUPHORIA clue relates to the answer.

    Lynn: I agree. The clue for GENDER EUPHORIA was very general. Everyone gets new haircuts and new clothes.

    tht: To make sense of GENDER EUPHORIA, it might help to set it against gender dysphoria, in order to imagine how something that might seem so quotidian like getting a hair cut can take on an entirely different significance for someone who has suffered from gender dysphoria. I thought the clue-answer pairing were great, and also thought-provoking.

    Les. S. More: I agree with you that GENDER EUPHORIA is a really nice answer but I think the clue, though colourful, was a bit weak. If I have to infer the answer’s opposite (euphoria/dysphoria) to understand it, that should be hinted at in the clue. And I don’t think it was. Getting a haircut or new clothes can spur a kind of euphoria, but it doesn’t necessarily include gender identification.

    JeffLett: Hairstyles and clothes are strongly tied to people’s perception of gender roles, enough so that it’s very common for people to be teased or even bullied for not having the “right kind” for their gender. Even though what counts as “masculine” and “feminine” has changed drastically over the centuries! So for people who maybe grew up teased for their style choices to finally boldly and confidently wear them — it must feel good.

    Jacke: GENDER EUPHORIA was not clued as a universal phenomenon ⸺ it specifically says “might.” Incidentally though, there is an interesting discussion to have about whether it is experienced by everyone. I’m pretty sure that the underlying feeling is similar to when a cis-lady finds a very becoming dress, or a cis-gentleman gets swole at the gym for instance. It’s less likely to achieve the level of euphoria, probably, because the good gender feels are closer to those people’s baseline gender experience. And of course it’s not consciously identified as related to gender because cis people in general do not think about how weird it is that, e.g., mainly only women feel actualized in a becoming dress.

    Let’s give Carola the last word: “GENDER EUPHORIA was new to me as a phrase but immediately brought to mind the photo of someone very dear to me after they’d gotten their first haircut that matched their gender identity – the most joyful smile ever.”

    I googled the term and then clicked on “images.” Hi kids!

    At 61D today, “V-shaped designs” was CHEVRONS. This lyric came immediately to mind.

    See the geese in chevron flight
    Flapping and racing on before the snow…
    They’ve got the urge for going
    And they’ve got the wings to go.

    It’s Joni’s song, of course. When she sings it, below, I love watching how the men look at her.

    I first saw Tom Rush perform in Ann Arbor at The Ark. It was an orientation weekend for Sam at Umich and they took him away from me. So I plopped down $25 for the show and saw it alone. One of the best shows I’ve ever seen. Hysterical stories that had me in tears laughing, followed by wrenching songs that had me in tears again, crying. I saw him several times after that and he was always wonderful, but never as brilliant a storyteller as that first time at The Ark.

    At 127A, “Chips may go into it,” was ONION DIP. I liked this note from Anony Mouse: My superpower is the ability to finish a (large) bag of Ruffles at the exact same time as a (small) tub of ONION DIP.

    At 107A, the clue was “Symbol of transformation in The Silence of the Lambs.” The answer was MOTH. And Anony Mouse wrote: I like to watch the credits at the end of movies, there is good stuff in there sometimes! I especially like oddball credits (e.g., Malcom X had a “Stunt Waitress” credit). One of my favorite odd credits is in Silence of the Lambs: someone is credited as “Moth Wrangler and Stylist” (which would be pretty good on its own!), but if you wait another minute or so, after umpteen intervening credits, they list an “Assistant Moth Wrangler and Stylist!”

    Thanks for stopping by. See you tomorrow!