The Wellington Files

  • If The Glove Don’t Fit . . .

    Hello Chatterheads! Long time no blog. We have relocated 600 miles west, in sunny Annie Arbor MI. Our suite in the aptly named Sonesta Suites a few miles south of town is perfect, with a small kitchenette and everything else that works, although housekeeping has been a bit spotty. We deposited the owls at Sam’s so they could visit with Worthy for the week. Here they are in our room at the brilliant Royal Motel in Hermitage PA, our first stop. We could walk from there to an excellent Indian restaurant for dinner.

    The place looked quite creepy from the outside, see below, but turned out to be one of the best cheap dumps I’ve ever found. Very nice Indian fellow in charge and the room was very clean, quiet, and comfortable. All for $64! It’s in Hermitage, PA, very close the the Ohio border in Western PA.

    With GPS guiding us, it doesn’t matter what you do, you’ll get there the same time they predict. The GPS lady knows me so well she anticipates my every move. E.g., say she tells us we’ll arrive at 4 pm. I could speed like crazy, driving 90 mph for an hour, and we’ll still arrive at 4. Apparently, she knew I’d speed and builds that into the ETA. Same result if I lollygag at 40 mph — she knew I would! How does that happen?

    Get this. Yesterday we were driving in town and she said: “At the light, you must turn right.” Then she repeated it a moment later: “At the light, you must turn right.” Then, without missing a beat, she said: “If the glove don’t fit, you must acquit.” Amazing.

    Sunday’s puzzle was all about the classic video game Mario. It generated 234 comments on Rex’s blog, with many folks unfamiliar with the game, furious. Here’s one defense: “After seeing so much hate for this very fun and clever puzzle, I feel compelled to comment to give the constructor the praise I believe she deserves. I don’t know why so many are acting as though the Mario Universe is some obscure area of knowledge. It’s no more obscure than Batman or Star Wars or 1950s MLB stars or any number of other pop culture references that dominate the NYTXW.”

    And: “The hand-wringing about the theme here is kind of absurd. I’m 48-years old and played this game as a child, it is very old and has been very much a part of our culture for four decades. If I can learn about actors whose heyday was 20-40 years before I was born to solve puzzles, older solvers can learn about things that happened around them while they were alive — even if it’s not something that interests them personally.”

    As it happens I could not complete the puzzle, but not because of the Mario material, which is foreign to me. I couldn’t get MOW for “Razor blades.” D’oh! Turns out razor is a verb, and blades are grass.

    The hardest clue, which I solved from the crosses, was “Total heat content of a thermodynamic system.” Answer: ENTHALPY. SRSLY?

    One of the theme answers was IT’SA ME: MARIO, which anagrams to Marisa Tomei, it was noted. MT’s a Brooklyn girl, and 61 now. Ouch.

    Phil broke in and woke her up for this shot, but she loves him and was okay about it.

    Today’s puzzle included EMIR and VIAGRA.

    My favorite Viagra joke: What do you get when you combine Viagra and Rogaine?

    Answer: Don King.

    For EMIR, I came up with: “To the leader of Qatar, bribing Trump for favors cost EMIR bag of shells.”

    We bid a very fond Owl Chatter farewell to Aussie Curtis Mead, traded by the Gnats to the Bostons for pitcher Connelly Early. Hate to see such a good young bat go, but we do need the arm. Love the name. I look forward to much good (and timely) punning on “Early.” (Hi Carl!)

    The Gnats bats continue to rage. CJ and James Wood each popped a pair in a crucial win over ‘Zona yesterday to claim the series 2-1 and move one game out of the final playoff spot. Up 10-5 going into the ninth, the pen, as usual, turned it into a nail-biter. Matt Krook walked the first (and only) three batters he faced, the last on a pitch clock violation. Yikes. Clayton Beeter had to be summoned to douse the fire, but only after two ‘Zonians crossed the plate and the tying run came up to bat. Good job CB.

    We’re off to the movies and dinner now. Report to follow.

    Thanks for popping by! Good to be back!

  • Clarity, Purity, and Beauty

    Took a while, but my amateur nouns finally became pronouns.

    Who, me?

    You know, Trump is such as ass, his pronouns should be hee/haw.

    I knew a woman who was a snob. Hers were chi/chi.

    Then there was the chocolate lover: her/she.

    How to comfort the victim of a malicious pronoun joke: their/their.

    The Hershey one was in the puzzle yesterday: a pronoun joke. There actually is a category of joke now called pronoun jokes. Sadly most are malicious and aimed at trans folks, like they don’t have enough tsuris.

    I was trying to read a list of dates I hastily jotted down and couldn’t tell if after 2/2 the next was 3/31 or if that first 3 was a 2. Then I realized there is no 2/31. Duh.

    After handing the A’s a good drubbing Friday night, 23-4, the Gnats took one on themselves, losing 15-1 on Saturday. The combined run differential of 33 (19+14) in consecutive games was the most in MLB history since 1900. The boys bounced back to take the series on Sunday with a more mundane 5-2 win. Record after 100 games: 50-50. They were 51-50 after Sunday and just 1 game out of a playoff spot. Yikes! Oddly, they are road warriors, sporting the second best road record in all of baseball, just 1/2 game behind the Dodgers. Can’t explain why they don’t do better at beloved Gnats Park, one of the few remaining stadia to resist corporate naming.

    Here’s what I have to say about the stadium.

    (a) Parking’s murder. Almost skipped a game once, in frustration. Lot W is the most reasonable: it’s about a 15-minute walk and can cost up to $30. We did a little better using Spot Hero. It’s a good app. But we try to take the Metro now — much much better. We park near Dupont Circ.

    (b) You can get a cold can o’ beer up to the first pitch (“Happy Hour”) for just $5 at the Bud terrace, or whatever they call it. That applies every game. On Tues you can get one all night all over the park, along with $5 dogs and pretzels and soda. Tix and parking bargains are available Tuesdays too, if you purchase carefully via the Gnats webby site. Or bring your own sandwiches (and bottled water) to the park – it’s allowed. Just use a clear plastic bag so they can distinguish the corned beef subs from the hand grenades.

    (c) Buy the cheapest ticket you can get: I always check Stubhub. The ushers don’t enforce seating rules in the 400 level. So just grab any open seat in Section 409 or 408. It’s a great view for the game. If it’s an unusually big crowd, you may have to settle for 407 or 406. Very important: For day games, the third base side is shadier. Even at night, the sun can be tough for a 6:45 start.

    Okay, now you have no excuses. Throw on your Gnats cap and jump on the Metro! Go Gnats!

    Remember MOSHE Dayan? Amazingly, he was in the puzzle today: “Israeli politician Dayan.”

    Here’s a joke:

    After the six-day war, Israeli PM Levi Eshkol was, of course, incredibly busy 24/7. Desperate for attention, his wife came up to him one evening wearing nothing from her waist up but a sexy black bra. She lowered one half and said, “Levi darling, does this remind you of anything?” And Eshkol slapped his forehead and said “I forgot to call Dayan!”

    We had a visit from a young Japanese woman recently who was quite irate. She told us her name is Sumi. It means “clarity, purity, and beauty.” No argument here.

    We invited her in and asked George to get her a cold Diet Dr. P.

    “What is it, Sweetheart? If you need to vent, you’ve come to the right place.”

    It turns out Sumi works in an office in Tokyo and, like many women over there, feels she was blindsided by a new Japanese dress code. Due to soaring energy costs and terrible heat waves, workers have been encouraged to wear casual shirts and shorts (!) in business offices. Even the men.

    “But that seems sensible,” we offered.

    “Sensible my sweet tuchas!” Sumi retorted. “I have to look at some slob’s hairy legs all day??!! It’s disgusting. I can’t eat lunch at my desk anymore: I’ll throw up. Plus, it’s not fair — I’m still expected to spend hours making sure my legs are gorgeous (see below) or wear long skirts or pantyhose, but the men can just saunter in however they like?? I’ve had it!”

    Sumi has a point. In fact, there was a full-page story in the Times about it this week. Officials acknowledge that it will take time before shorts catch on. During a recent visit to a Tokyo office on a sultry afternoon, only 11 of 70 male workers were wearing them.

    Toshio Suzuki, 57, is taking a cautious approach. Mr. Suzuki, a public relations employee, wore a pair of athletic stretch pants to work. He had shaved the parts of his ankles that were exposed, saying he wanted to show that he cared about hygiene and grooming, and he did not want to offend his female colleagues. His wife advised him to maintain proper skin care and dress appropriately for his age. “In Japan, people don’t have a positive, macho image of hairy legs,” he said. “I’m not so hairy. But I’m mindful. I don’t want to be seen as sloppy.”

    You’re a good man, Suzuki. We hope our new friend Sumi meets someone like you.

    “Until then, S, maybe have lunch in a cafe?”

    This poem is by Tess Gallagher from The Poetry Foundation. It’s called “I Stop Writing the Poem.”

    I Stop Writing the Poem

    to fold the clothes. No matter who lives
    or who dies, I’m still a woman.
    I’ll always have plenty to do.
    I bring the arms of his shirt 
    together. Nothing can stop
    our tenderness. I’ll get back
    to the poem. I’ll get back to being
    a woman. But for now
    there’s a shirt, a giant shirt
    in my hands, and somewhere a small girl
    standing next to her mother
    watching to see how it’s done.

    Here’s Tess.

    Story from The Onion:

    Man Angry He Got Hit By Sprinkler Acting Like He’s Never Going To Be Dry Again

    EAU CLAIRE, WI—Staring down at his dampened shirt with a mixture of anger and stunned disbelief, local man Frank Buchwald was reportedly acting like he was never going to be dry again after he got hit by a sprinkler Tuesday. Buchwald, who was described by friends and colleagues as an otherwise sane and rational person, was heard crying out “Christ!” when he came into contact with the water, his tone suggesting he believed he lived in a world where towels had been outlawed across the globe and evaporation did not exist. According to sources, the man continued to sulk for the duration of the short journey down the block, as if he were struggling to come to terms with a life in which he would be dripping puddles while walking his daughter down the aisle at her wedding and would one day be buried alongside his wife in a watery grave. At press time, Buchwald was said to be in an even worse mood after onlookers suggested the spray of water must feel kind of good on such a hot day.

    Here’s a very pretty song called Jennifer Save Me, performed by the Jayhawks. Original version by Golden Smog.

    It’s time to face the music
    But they never taught me how to dance
    I’d give you everything I’ve got
    If you’d only give me half the chance

    Monday’s puzzle included the medical exam: EEGS, a good source of E’s. It reminded me about a doc I once knew:

    My neurologist, Dr. Ricardo Benedict, was so quick to order electroencephalograms for his patients that he was known around the office as EEGs Benedict.

    At 23D today, the clue was “Risqué game that teenagers might give a whirl?” and the answer was SPIN THE BOTTLE. It rankled commenter Gary, to wit:

    “When did spin the bottle fall into the domain of teenagers? So weird. Me and the grandmas down at the senior center play it all the time. Those ladies don’t care about truth, they’re all dare all the time. I always wear my Superman underwear.”

    See you tomorrow!

  • Time Machine

    By the time you read this, the World Cup will be in the hands of Spain or ‘Tina. We are rooting slightly for ‘Tina, but we really loved watching both teams make it this far. Spain’s dismantling of France made me start to appreciate how much there is to the sport.

    Learned from Rex today that BRUSCHETTA is pronounced brews-ketta. Not kidding. He also shared this (hysterical) short guide for it:

    From the puzzle, I also learned what a whitesmith is. It’s related to a blacksmith (duh). The puzzle wanted us to know that a whitesmith works with TIN.

    “A whitesmith is a metalworker who does finishing work on iron and steel such as filing, lathing, burnishing or polishing. The term also refers to a person who works with “white” or light-colored metals, and is sometimes used as a synonym for tinsmith. Whitesmithing developed as a speciality of blacksmithing in the 1700s, when extra time was given to filing and polishing certain products.”

    The fellow, below, is tinning a platter. When it’s finished it can be used for serving bruschetta.

    The Gnats kicked serious ass out in Sacramento Friday night, where the A’s play while waiting for Vegas to get a stadium ready for them. The final score was something like 23-4. Andres Chapparo had eight RBI (he had seven all season before Friday). Catching prospect Harry Ford (who played for England in the World Baseball Classic last year) hit his first MLB home run in his first game for DC, and looked good! Jolly good show, old chap! He’ll spell Keibert behind the plate. [OC note: In a stark reversal, the Gnats lost 15-1 last night. Ouch! Argggggh.]

    Notice was taken of Joshua Kuroda-Grauer, rookie third-baseman for the A’s. JKG was born in New Brunswick, the one in Jersey, and played college ball for Rutgers. Looks like the real deal. (I picked up his signed card, below, for the collection: $10.) He was raised by two moms — Sumi Kuroda and Edie Grauer, and signed for a bonus of over $1 million. Not too shabby!

    Special Owl Chatter birthday wishes go out to Edgar Degas, born on this date (7/19) in Paris in 1834, a favorite of our Dirty Old Man Dept, for obvious reasons. Despite his lifelong attention to agile young women, Eddie never married. Critics of his work were know for “stepping on Degas.”

    I am breaking an Owl Chatter poetry rule and only sharing the first few lines of this one. It’s by Brenda Shaughnessy and is called “I Have a Time Machine.” It’s from The Poetry Foundation.

    I Have a Time Machine

    But unfortunately it can only travel into the future
    at a rate of one second per second,
     
    which seems slow to the physicists and to the grant
    committees and even to me.
     
    But I manage to get there, time after time, to the next
    moment and to the next.

    *********

    Brenda lives (from moment to moment) in Verona NJ with hubby and their cute kids, and is a prof at Rutgers-Newark.

    Did you catch Donald Jessica Trump’s great speech on election fraud this week? Kennedy-esque, no? Ask not what your country can do for you. Before you dismiss my next prediction as nonsense (like I do), remember my prediction that we’ll never see the Epstein files? How’s that one working out? Anyway, I predict Federal troops will be used to prevent the Dems from taking control of the House and/or Senate in November. Hope I’m wrong, but don’t bet your World Cup winnings against it. Just sayin’.

    As a sign of the times, many of the posts to my neighborhood newsletter are warnings about this or that scam. I liked how one woman dealt with one. She was told she won a million dollars and just had to buy $500 worth of perfume to claim it. (Seems like a good deal. What am I missing?) Anyway, she says she ordered $700 worth of perfume and told them to take the payment out of her million.

    You talkin’ to me?

    Just read a review of The Odyssey in the NYT. Looks like we should try to see it. I’ll tell you one thing, though — no matter how terrifying some of the scenes may be, they can’t come close to what happens on a regular basis in Caity’s Odyssey. “Raffi — what are you doing to him??!! Stopitthisinstant!!” Isaac — stop screaming — put that down!!

    Here’s a metaphor for you from back in the day. “I’m down to seeds and stems.” In the puzzle today SEEDS was the answer for the (unclever) clue: “They’re often covered with dirt.” It led Son Volt to share this oldie with us (that was new to me).

    Johan Sebastián Durán Guerrero, 25, lived with his partner and 3-year-old daughter in Biddeford, Maine. The lawyer representing his family stated he was working in the U.S. lawfully. He was shot and killed by ICE agent David Brouillette. It later emerged he was not the intended target of the ICE operation.

    Ho hum, hardly newsworthy. But I like this part of it. According to the NYT, Brouillette called his ex-wife and asked her to defend his character. “He said, ‘You need to tell them I’m a good person,’” and asked her not to tell anyone that he had abused her during their marriage. In fact, Ms. Brouillette said David became abusive after he joined the military. He choked her, slammed her to the floor and pushed her against a wall. She actually moved out of Maine to escape him. Still, he threatened to kill her as recently as November. “I have said to people, ‘If I end up dead, it’s him.’”

    Another former wife of his also accused him of abuse. In a filing for an order of protection, she wrote that he broke her door down, destroyed her belongings and dumped her clothes over a bridge. He spit in her face and cornered her in a room. “I am scared of him coming to my home or sitting in the parking lot of my work until I leave,” she said in the filing.

    Well, exes can be bitter. So it should also be noted that after high school his mom kicked him out of the house. (His mom!) (He was raised by his grandparents.)

    God Bless America.

    See you tomorrow.

  • Erling Haaland

    We are so proud of you Georgie! Owl Chatter’s own staff administrator, in charge of our entire diet soda supply (his only responsibility), was the subject of this CBS News story yesterday:

    In September, Santos will appear on the fifth season of Fox’s “Special Forces: World’s Toughest Test,” a grueling contest where participants will be subjected to chemical gassing and other military-themed challenges in a Malaysian jungle, the network announced Wednesday. “I took my fat behind off the coach and tried something new!,” Santos wrote in a post on X. “And it changed EVERYTHING! I can’t wait to share this experience with y’all!”

    “This experience changed my perspective in life and it was the most humbling thing I’ve ever done!” he continued. He will go up against more than a dozen other contestants – including former NBA player Matt Barnes and actor Ruby Rose – in a show Fox has billed as the “ultimate test of physical, mental and emotional resilience.”

    And here’s Ruby Rose. Yikes! That’s a lotta ink.

    Headline from The Onion:

    Study Finds Gen Z Telepaths Lack Attention Span To Read Even Single Mind

    You hear about Gabriel Perez? He’s a long-time teleprompter operator for Trump and was caught placing bets (with inside knowledge) on specific words and phrases Trump would say in his speeches. He made tens of thousands of dollars. He’s being investigated for insider trading. Karoline Leavitt announced that he was being suspended. After Perez agreed to give Trump 40% of his winnings, however, the suspension was lifted and he was named Secretary of the Treasury.

    Good to see you, KL! You’re the only blond left with Pam gone. Miss you, PB!

    You like arthropods? Silly question: who doesn’t? I had some fun with the millipede that was in yesterday’s puzzle.

    Customer: Can you break this MILLIPEDE for me?
    Teller: Ten centipedes okay?
    Customer: Sure, I just need them for the pedometer.

    I got lucky at the arthropod wedding I attended recently. I was the one at my table who got to take the centipede home.

    Kudos to Owl Chatter friend Pam on her successful submission to Frank Bruni’s For The Love Of Sentences feature! It’s on the amazing soccer star for Norway. Here it is:

    In The Wall Street Journal, Ben Cohen and Joshua Robinson traced the demigod’s origins: “A soccer dome opening in the hometown of Erling Haaland when he was a toddler was the equivalent of the Cavern Club opening in Liverpool when the Beatles were teenagers.”

    With the above, Pam pulled ahead of me in our, what she aptly termed, “death match.”

    In response, I just submitted the following, regarding the current cyclospora outbreak:

    Brian Beutler of Off Message commented: “I feel like if Biden or Obama had turned America into a diarrhea splatter film, Republicans would’ve made it into a political problem for them.”

    I’ll spare you a photo from mine. Here’s Erling, soaking it all in.

    While we’re on the topic, here’s a shot of soccer mom Caity, with her Raffi.

    Smoke from the Canadian fires hit Jersey yesterday. You could look directly at the sun through the haze without hurting your eyes, that’s how thick it was. And the smell of smoke was pretty strong. Up in Canada now, 40% of the salmon is smoked salmon. Bagel shops are unable to keep up with the demand. Today’s better. The wind shifted.

    This poem, which should have appeared on Mother’s Day, is by Wo Chan. It’s dedicated to her mother. It’s called “Roller Coaster, Lightning Storm,” and is from Poets.org.

    This one moment I loved: you
    in the air, permed hair flying
    wild in the rain, around and through
    and not a thought of us dying

    in the air, permed hair flying
    against the storm, lashing hot rain
    and not a thought of us dying,
    strapped in the plastic car, chained

    against the storm lashing hot rain
    on our faces as we’re hurled up,
    strapped in the plastic car, chain
    clouds glowing, whirling—the gust

    on our faces as we’re hurled up,
    launched into the electric
    clouds glowing whirling, the gust
    as you laughed and laughed. It’s

    launched into the electric,
    wild in the rain, around and through
    as you laughed and laughed—it’s
    this one moment I loved you.

    This is what Wo said about it: “I wrote this poem in 2012 and never published it. My mother passed away on Christmas Eve, 2025. When we went to China for a funeral once, we took a week to go to Macau (my birthplace) and we rode a roller coaster. As soon as we launched up, it started pouring rain and crackling lightning in the visible distance. We were trapped in this raucous insanity, flying through rain and clouds and storms. I had never seen my mother have fun like this.”

    Let’s close today with a cat picture. The clue was “They typically come in sets of four,” and the answer was PAWS. Rex is a serious cat lover and shared this shot of Ida and Alfie high-fiving.

    See you tomorrow!

  • We The Pizza

    Reporting today [Sat.] from The District, a great hotel “find” of mine near Dupont Circle in Our Nation’s Capitol. Clean, comfortable, quiet, and incredibly cheap. Parking not a problem on weekends; would be tricky Mon-Fri. We’re in town to catch a rare Nats-Yankees game. I think they only play each other one series a year, alternating sites. Today’s game has become a must win for the boys as the Bombers embarrassed us with come-from-behinds in both of the first two games. Ouch.

    Last night’s dinner plans went up in smoke. We were drooling over the thought of Chicago-style dogs and cheap beer (for me, burp!) at Ivy and Coney, a highly rated dive bar in the Shaw District, about a mile walk from our hotel. But when we got there, there was literally a line down the block. Instead we ended up at the Shaw Tavern, a very lively spot where we shared a generous and tasty Jambalaya. I was itching to try the Shaw Tavern Lager, at only $6.50 a pint, but they were out! Godammit! So I blew $8 on a decent IPA, but get this! — about halfway through our meal, a lovely young women came by with two glasses of beer and asked if we wanted free beer. AYKM? Of course! They were Stellas and all we had to do for them is let her take a photo of us for some promo they were doing. Little did she know, I’d strip and do a jig for it, if she asked. That more than made up for the lager they were out of. I staggered out drunk, but since we walked, we’re still alive and no police had to be involved.

    Here is the wordplay I came up from the NYTXW. The words in all CAPS are the answers from the puzzle I played with. Except the last one was a play on IN JEST.

    Where a buttinsky trains: MEDDLE school

    Asimov’s failed precursor to “I, Robot:” EYEDOC.

    Henri, Hans, are you both on board? OUI, JA.

    Your dog’s or cat’s DAD: PETSPA.

    On Japanese beef, KOBE or not KOBE. That is the question.

    Sigourney Weaver horror film about a woman unable to pay her mortgage: ALIEN.

    The feeling you get after reading these jokes: Indijestion.

    One of our more repulsive public figures, Lindsey Graham, died this week at the age of 71. I don’t wish for anyone’s death, but he will not be missed. The only passing marks I’d give him are for Ukraine and a sense of humor. I saw him interviewed after he flipped and became a Trump sycophant after savaging him during the primaries. He said something complimentary, then paused, smiled, and said: “I’m working on it. I’ll get better.” He sure did. Utterly unprincipled. He never married or had children. He consistently denied rumors that he was gay and was certainly no LGBTQ ally, as far as his dreadful voting record goes.

    Wrapping up the material above, the Nats suffered a crushing defeat in the game we attended and were swept by the Bombers, blowing a late lead and squandering oppterous numertunities. Highlights were a leadoff HR by James Wood and a later clutch pinch-hit HR by Aussie Curtis Mead. We also saw the first MLB hit, a well-driven double, by prospect Abimelec Ortiz. (He has a bro named Elimelec.) He was returned to Rochester after the game. Hope we see him again. Looks like a nice kid. And we must mention a great give-away that surprised us: T-shirts honoring Wood and Abrams for All-Starring this year. Top quality shirts in sizes that fit!

    After the game, we chilled in our room for a bit, and then shot across town for an excellent pie at the brilliantly named We The Pizza. Monday it was back to our miserable lives after a stop at the Holy Hound Taproom in York PA for some excellent Hound Burgers and a pint of pale ale (Tap #29 out of 30: South County Fakie, from Fawn Grove PA). Woof Woof.

    This poem from Poets.org is called “The Bricklayer” and is by Luis Chaves, translated from Spanish by Julia Guez.

    One brick at a time
    one beside the next
    then a row of them on
    this mortar, a fine mix.

    This is how you rebuild a house
    with bricks from the one before it.

    Out of order but
    the same bricks
    cement sand water.

    Every house is built around
    a brick that’s indispensable:
    the bricklayer in search of the philosopher’s stone.

    Like someone whose house
    begins with smoke,
    let’s put a brick
    in the shape of our girls
    on each pillow,
    one the cat’s weight on the quilt,
    on top of that goes one made of windblown
    rosemary and one from summer for the shower
    on the patio.

    Each wall holds up a ruin
    or receives shade from the tree.

    Every house needs that capital
    brick, if it’s not there
    light from the nightstands left on at night
    can be seen
    from outside.

    One brick at a time
    if it’s worth the effort little by little
    every house is built
    around that brick
    no house has.

    Tumbling out of the sports pages today is Chase Bellinger, All-Star MVP Cody’s bride. She’s a model and they have two daughters, both gorgeous, to no surprise. Belli’s trying to hold down the fort in Judge’s absence. Good luck with that, CB.

    The theme for Monday’s puzzle was PLAYTHINGS and the theme answers all ended with things related to plays, you know, the theater. So there was ORALSTAGE, TURBOPROP, IRONCURTAIN, and ERECTORSET. Egs gave us this in his comment: (He just spent a week at a cabin in Montana.) “. . . less pleasing was the list of things to do when leaving. Take out garbage, strip beds and clean fridge seemed fine, but IRONCURTAIN? I mean c’mon.”

    And I chipped in with:

    {Viagra, Cialis, Levitra}: ERECTOR SET.

    Rex shared this great oldie, justified with “plaything” in the lyrics.

    How can you tell me how much you miss me
    When the last time I saw you, you wouldn’t even kiss me?
    That rich guy you’ve been seein’ must have put you down
    So, welcome back, baby, to the poor side of town

    And, speaking of the poor side of town — thanks for stopping by. See you next time!

  • I’m Becoming Spongy!

    As in any “world,” Crossworld has its own acronyms, terminology, etc. WOE is a cleaned-up version of WTF. It stands for “what on earth?” Here’s a plea for help from an anony mouse, followed by my response.

    Anon: I’ve been reading this blog for a while, and I still can’t figure out what WOE is. Help, please?

    Liveprof (me): Sure. It stands for What Owls Eat, and is a handy way to refer to mice and similar small rodents.

    I didn’t hesitate to offer my nonsense, thinking five or six non-lunatics would help the poor fellow (or gal) out with the real answer in short order. As of now (about 3 hours later), of course, mine is still the only response. Gulp.

    If you knew what a tarsier is, as I did not, you would have been able to fill in the answer at 45A noting its “prominent features.” EYES. Here’s the little fella.

    Yup. Looks like me when the high school girls walk by the house.

    Here’s the “title” of an email I deleted without opening: PAYMENT_DECLIENED. I’ll have to give this to them, though — I like the underscore.

    Can you like a poem without understanding it? I think so. Amy Gerstler wrote this one and it became The Poetry Foundation’s Poem of the Day recently. It’s called “Bon Courage.”

    Why are the woods so alluring? A forest appears
    to a young girl one morning as she combs
    the dreams out of   her hair. The trees rustle
    and whisper, shimmer and hiss. The forest
    opens and closes, a door loose on its hinges,
    banging in a strong wind. Everything in the dim
    kitchen: the basin, the jug, the skillet, the churn,
    snickers scornfully. In this way a maiden
    is driven toward the dangers of a forest,
    but the forest is our subject, not this young girl.

    She’s glad to lie down with trees towering all around.
    A certain euphoria sets in. She feels molecular,
    bedeviled, senses someone gently pulling her hair,
    tingles with kisses she won’t receive for years.
    Three felled trees, a sort of chorus, narrate
    her thoughts, or rather channel theirs through her,
    or rather subject her to their peculiar verbal
    restlessness …    our deepening need for non-being intones
    the largest and most decayed tree, mid-sentence.
    I’m not one of you squeaks the shattered sapling,

    blackened by lightning. Their words become metallic
    spangles shivering the air. Will I forget the way home?
    the third blurts. Why do I feel like I’m hiding in a giant’s nostril?
    the oldest prone pine wants to know. Are we being   freed
    from matter?     the sapling asks. Insects are well-intentioned,
    offers the third tree, by way of consolation. Will it grow
    impossible to think a thought through to its end?     gasps the sapling,
    adding in a panicky voice, I’m becoming spongy! The girl
    feels her hands attach to some distant body. She rises
    to leave, relieved these trees are not talking about her.

    July 4th thoughts via Paul Krugman. He discussed Trump’s announcement that he was simply cutting off all trade with Spain. He can’t do that of course, and, for one thing, we run a trade surplus with them, but it just goes by unnoticed. Per PK: “We cannot leave the fate of the US or the world in the hands of somebody who is completely irrational, who is making demands and believing himself to have powers that he does not.

    “The problem is a lot bigger than Trump. Something is fundamentally wrong with America, and at this point you don’t have to go through complicated justifications. You can just say something is wrong with a country and a system that lets this guy remain in a position of power.”

    Well, we have come to this after 250 years.

    Let’s stick with DJT a bit. Per historian Heather Cox Richardson, here’s his take on the sensitive negotiations with Iran. Iranian leaders are “scum. They’re sick people. They’re led by sick people, and they’re, they’re vicious, violent people,” Trump said. “Far as I’m concerned, it’s just a waste of time dealing with them. They’re liars.… There’s something wrong with them. They’re cuckoo. As far as I’m concerned, [negotiations are] over.”

    Of course, oil prices spiked, and Trump walked it all back. As Tom Nichols noted in The Atlantic, the Iranians are calling the shots in the war and “are routinely humiliating the American president.” Like many other observers, Nichols noted that Trump was “incoherent.” He referred to Iran as the “Islamic Republic of Japan” and referred to President Zelensky as “President Putin.”

    A German official stated: “Europeans don’t take Trump seriously any longer.”

    Ya think?

    At 57D in the puzzle yesterday, the clue was “Benin neighbor,” and the answer was TOGO.

    It reminded me of the time I ordered a sandwich at a deli in Benin and the guy behind the counter asked: “Is it for here or TOGO.”

    It was a good exercise in wordplay yesterday, the NYTXW. The theme “revealer” clue was “Renounced … or a phonetic hint to reading the answers to the starred clues.” And the answer was FORGONE, which phonetically is “four gone.” It meant we had to remove four letters (all the same) from the theme answers to make sense of them.

    E.g., at 17A, for the clue “Honeybunch,” the answer in the grid: STUTTGART, made no sense. But if the four Ts are removed (“gone”), you’re left with SUGAR.

    Similarly, at 49A, you might wonder how BASSISTS is the answer for “Worms or flies, often.” But, take the Ss out and you’re left with BAIT.

    [Side note: I separately suggested “bassists” might be a good clue for “infielders.”]

    BTW, we sent Phil out to TOGO to put a human face on the story, above. I’m not sure he charmed these three young women. The one on the right, especially. If looks could kill . . . run, Philly!

    Wow, beautiful shot, Buddy. Much better.

    We bid farewell to Louise Lasser, 87, whom we absolutely loved so long ago in “Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman,” the very funny late-night soap opera parody. According to the NYT obit, “Ms. Lasser — somehow simultaneously neurotic and girlish — appeared on the covers of major magazines, including People, Newsweek, Ms. and Rolling Stone. The show ran only a year and a half, from January 1976 to July 1977, but that was 325 episodes.”

    “She’s a survivor,” Ms. Lasser said very aptly of Mary. “But that makes me sad. Because she’s a survivor in a world I wonder if it’s worth surviving in.” (The character eventually had a nervous breakdown.)

    I was “working” at a law firm in Norristown PA back then and my favorite secretary (of many wonderful ones), was Sandy. We’d go over the episodes each day, roaring. That was a dark time for me but Sandy was a kindred spirit, laugh-wise, which was important. I didn’t keep up with her after I left, but I should have. I just learned she passed away back in 2011. She was only 65.

    I rode an elevator at Hunter with Louise Lasser once maybe ten years after the show ended. Four or five of us in the car. I didn’t say anything. Probably should have. Her dad was the Lasser of popular tax guide fame. Get this! –Louise studied Political Science at Brandeis for three years in the early 60s. Both her parents committed suicide, separately. Ouch.

    Rest in peace Louise. As the saying goes, they broke the mold. . . Thank you for all the great, if unusual, laughs.

    There were some complaints today about 38D. The clue was simply “On.” And the answer was ENABLED. I can see it. Here’s how one comment explained it: “If your WiFi is enabled, it’s on. If your cruise control is enabled, it’s on. Etc.”

    But I liked this one better: “In Silicon Valley, they’re synonyms. For example, you flip the lights enabled when you walk in the door, turn enabled the tv. It’s used in idioms the same way too, for example, ‘you really turn me enabled.’”

    “Relative of a bandeau,” was TUBE TOP. It made me realize that what this poor battered world of ours really needs now is a paean to the tube top. Happily, Rex shared this with us. See you tomorrow!

  • Cats Claw Bats

    Sunday’s chamberpot music program at T’wood was as unusual as it was wonderful. Six separate groups with, among them all, only one violinist in only one of the groups. How could that be?

    It opened with a sextet of percussionists. Can you beat that? All young men. Brilliant. And it closed with a 16-piece brass ensemble that blew the roof off the Ozawa, with three works by Gabrieli from around the turn of the 16th century, you know, the late 1500’s, early 1600’s, right?

    My favorite may have been a septet (seven, right?) of double basses (bassi?). You heard me: seven. First bass, second bass, third bass, shortstop, home plate, left field, and seventh bass. They performed a piece by Liane J. Kang, 33, called Viriditas, commissioned by the T’wood Music Center. For much of it, the seven of them were doing their own things, but always for a unified effect. Here’s how the piece is described in the program:

    Viriditas is a sonic depiction of life and vitality, a shimmering, luminous green. The work weaves threads of sound exploring the unique, tactile, spectral, and spacious sonic qualities of the double bass, with gestures expanding, slipping away, and then at times aligning as harmonies. Melodic lines emerge among multiple instruments, sometimes faintly, sometimes clearly. The continuous movement, endlessly evolving while preserving its essence, gives rise to an organic evolution within its complex inner structure, evoking rich gradients of brilliant color, from which splashes of green spring forth.

    Yeah, whatever.

    The night before, we took in a New England Collegiate Baseball League game at Joe Wolfe Field in North Adams, MA. “Cats Claw Bats,” the headline could have been. The North Adams SteepleCats took on the Keene (NH) Swamp Bats. Could we have been expecting much? The Cats were cellared at 4-18, while the Bats were in second place at 12-7. But there we were, up 2-0 after one. The Bats quickly tied it in the second. D’oh! But, wow, the Cats were up again by two after 3! Awfully early, could we hold on? My favorite kind of game, clinging to a slim lead as the innings grind on. A big double play helped, and then a little insurance in the fifth put us up by three. The lead stretched to five in the seventh and the heavens showed their approval with a lovely rainbow! How neat is that! We hadn’t seen one in ages.

    In the end, the Cats held on for a great 7-3 win and were jubilant. Hugs all around and leaping high fives. Then something unusual happened that I’ve never seen before at a game. As the team moved to exit the field towards the first base dugout, several players looked up and applauded the fans. I had seen that at some World Cup matches and thought it was nice that it carried over in this way. But that wasn’t it. As the team reached the dugout, they didn’t leave for the clubhouse. They climbed into the stands and paraded through among us! Big smiles, more hugs, high fives — the joy was infectious. It was beautiful to behold. I couldn’t capture it with this shot, but it was impossible not to be moved, as silly as it may sound.

    Nice job, North Adams! Good game, boys.

    Several items of note from The Onion:

    Mom Packs Son’s Lunch Box With Leftover Fireworks

    And, on the big wedding:

    Travis Kelce Wins Coin Flip To Kick Off Vows

    Credit-Where-Due Dept. Having lambasted the New Yorker cartoons in the past, it’s only fair that I praise some recents that I liked:

    “Hamlet! I am thy father’s ghost. Avenge me!”

    “Wait . . . what did you want again?”

    The following are snippets from a larger grouping of verses by Marilyn Chin called “Two Goats,” The Poetry Foundation’s Poem of the Day today.

    Two goats ascending
       Mt. Fuji
    Wearing flip flops

    Woman Warrior
    4 ft 9 inches tall
    Teetering on kitten heels

    Brave Orchid walks into a bar
      He says: we don’t serve cymbidiums here

    Moon Orchid walks into a bar
      How can you pay? You are scentless

    I had two things to say on the puzzle today. First, for the clue “Vanish into thin air” (Hi Joe!), the answer was GO POOF. And for “Like a feeling of tender happiness,” the answer was WARM AND FUZZY. So I got:

    GOP. OOF.

    and

    “WARMAN D. FUZZY, Car Talk Sec’y of Defense

    At 4D today, “Fruit from a tree that can self-pollinate,” was AVOCADO. Commenter Seth shared the following:

    “As a Californian with several fruit trees (including two AVOCADOs) in my yard and dozens more in my neighborhood, the cluing on AVOCADO is a really odd choice. Lots of fruit trees are self-pollinating, citrus and stonefruit being two obvious examples.

    “But while it’s technically true that AVOCADO trees can self-pollinate, they have a much harder time doing it. Some varietals of AVOCADO either release their pollen in the morning and open their flowers in the afternoon. Other varietals do the opposite. One is called type A and the other is type B, though I can never remember which is which. But the point is you’ll have a much easier time pollinating your AVOCADO trees if you have at least one of each. Otherwise you’re relying on pollinators to gather pollen in the morning and still stick around to drop it in the flowers in the afternoon. Which does happen especially with bigger trees.

    “But the point is that while AVOCADO trees can self-pollinate, they are very fussy about it, and are absolutely not a good example of a self-pollinating tree. Literally I read the clue and had AVO and thought ‘it wouldn’t be AVOCADO, it must be some scientific term I don’t know.’

    “I should add that some varietals of AVOCADO have been selectively bred to be better at self-pollination, but they aren’t (to my knowledge) common commercially. Hass AVOCADOs, by far the most common AVOCADO in the US, is a type A, for example.”

    Phil — those are very pretty eyes, but she’s creeping me out a little.

    On Sunday, for the clue “Kind of costume that includes a round hat and kerchief,” the answer was SAILOR. Commenter Gary: They forgot the miniskirt on the SAILOR costume.

    Well, Trump stuck his fat ass into the World Cup, to no surprise. Did his boorish act taint the souls of the USA players? Something waylaid them. Belgium sliced them up like a ripe avocado, see above.

    Here’s a happy Belgian fan who caught Phil’s eye.

    Yesterday, “Nuthatch or nightingale” was the clue for SONGBIRD. We’ll let Emmylou close for us. Thanks for popping by! See you tomorrow.

  • Tavern 23

    Holy Sh*t! Did you see the end of the Portugal-Croatia match? With seconds to go, the Crows’ tying goal was disallowed on a hairline ruling. Heartbreaking even tho I was rooting for the Ports. But dems da breaks.

    Special shoutout to the great folks (and chef) at Tavern 23 in Poughkeepsie. It’s a must if you’re in the area. So friendly. Great burgers and fish tacos. Great craft beer selection (burp!).

    After we settled up, I told the waitress we were up from Jersey and always stop in when we’re nearby because we love it so much. She said, Hold on a sec, and went behind the bar and got us two tokens for free drinks. How great is that!

    Snuck in a nice walk after bkfst, before the temp hit 90. On to the B’shires today. Can’t wait to see Emma the owl, newly fixed up by owl-meistress Jenny.

    Great puzzle today. Fave: “Item that’s not on the list, say.” IMPULSE BUY.

    More on it next time.

    Thanks for dropping in!

  • Yankee Doodle

    America’s 250th birthday is akin to what my 25th was awhile back: fat, job I hated, no girlfriend. Let’s hope the country pulls out of this at least as well as I did.

    As some of you know, we’ll be heading up to the Berkshires for the weekend: our annual retreat (and surrender) with (very, oy) long-time friends. It will include some nice chamber pot music at T-Wood, good eats at the Water Street Grill (on Water Street), and (maybe) a ballgame (Collegiate league) in North Adams, MA, the Steeple Cats, all kicked off with the traditional whiny and cheesy fest at the infamous Berkshire Valley Motel, infamous, in this case, meaning “not famous.”

    We’re heading up a day early and staying over tonight in Poughkeepsie, dining at Tavern 23, and cranking the AC up as far as it goes at the Third-Best Western Hotel.

    All of which is to say, broadcasting may be spotty these next few days.

    When I say “we,” above, that’s just Linda and me. The rest of our staff: Ana, Sarah, Phil, and George, will be at “The Wedding,” of course — full report to follow. (Hope Phil gets some good shots for us before blacking out.) Mazel Tov, kids! Trav — take good care of her.

    Keep cool, chatterheads!

  • The Air’s Accomplices

    Let’s get this out of the way. It’s disgusting. Per historian Heather Cox Richardson: Observers are noting that the reflecting pool fiasco, in which Trump created the idea there was an emergency, ignored experts, bypassed normal procedures to give a wildly inflated contract to a crony, bragged about his success, ignored the problems, claimed his enemies had sabotaged him, and finally stationed troops around the landmark he had turned into a swamp, represents the Trump administration perfectly.

    But there are many many many other candidates.

    Trump redirected taxpayer money from national parks around the country to his own projects, leaving the parks unable to make needed repairs or hire staff. Expected funding for more than 900 Park Service projects never arrived—including $424,000 to replace a guardrail on the edge of a cliff in Colorado’s Gunnison National Park identified as “a significant safety hazard for visitors.” For some parks, nearly 70% of approved funds have been pulled back.

    Early this year, the Interior Department instructed its employees they could not share information about serious injuries or deaths on public lands. Over 300 million people visit America’s national parks each year, and about 350 of them die (not always from accidents). In the past, park service employees could identify deaths or injuries from unsafe conditions, warning others from the area. Now the Interior Department controls that information and does not always release it.

    It did not release the information that a 72-year-old man died of extreme heat on a popular trail in the Grand Canyon on June 12 of this year. NPS employees wanted to warn other visitors, but the Interior Department did not release the information. Four days later a couple aged 67 and 68 also died of extreme heat on the same trail.

    Linda! I’m turning on the AC!

    We sent Phil out on assignment for the above story. He apparently learned that National Parks are great for surreptitiously photographing cute girls from behind. (We’re not complaining.)

    Phil! Don’ t you dare follow her!! We talked about that!!

    For a puzzle earlier this week, here’s my ridiculous wordplay and some “adjustments.”

    Once he cleared the wading birds off the property, the developer said he had no EGRETs.

    Julianne’s gender: Moore is LASS.

    Skye’s hubby: IONE have eyes for you.

    For the Jewish version of the puzzle, please make the following adjustments:

    SMEAR — schmear

    CBGB (Punk rock club) — Temple Beth Shalom

    GIMLET — Manischewitz

    CAVER — You go. I’ll stay here on the tour bus.

    THONG — Seriously? You can’t go with us to the beach like that. AUNT Estelle will have another stroke.

    The previous day’s nonsense:

    When a whale gets the munchies he’ll move in for the KRILL.

    What you wait for after stubbing it: Toe to HEAL.

    What you see after dropping your bar of Lifebuoy and slamming your head into the shower wall bending over to retrieve it: SOAPSTARS.

    When I’m driving in town and pass a buddy on the street, I will often use my horn to TOOTHY.

    This “tiny love story” from the NYT yesterday cut straight to my heart. It’s by Corey Gerard Lambert.

    I came out to my mom at 24, drunk and crying after a night with friends who already knew I was gay. I asked her not to tell my father. The next morning I awoke, hung over, to my dad rubbing my back. “Bud, that’s not the sort of thing you keep from your parents,” he said. “We’ll love you no matter what.” My mom, a vocal ally, outwardly carried the flag for the rest of her life. My dad offers equal, though quieter, support. I smile seeing him in the background of photos at my hometown’s Pride parades.

    Look at these gorgeous punim!

    The reason it got to me is we confronted the exact opposite in Robin’s dad two years ago. Robin’s not gay, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but she is an ally, keeps a pride flag in her room, and has trans friends. This was unacceptable to him and he began to abuse her psychologically: “to ‘beat’ the gay out of her,” as Caity put it. Long story short — the schmuck lost his daughter.

    We love you Robin — that’s our tiny love story. As long as we live, we will never let anyone hurt you. George! Get off your fat ass and get the girl a fresca!

    We’ve been enjoying the World Cup very much so far. Not so much that we stay up for the 9 pm games, but a lot. Watched all of Paraguay’s upset of Germany — yikes! And caught the end of Norway’s squeaker over Ivory Soap.

    Generally not a soccer fan, but this is so compelling. And an insightful report just came in from our Owl Chatter sports consultant, the brilliant women’s ice hockey star, Sarah Fillier, noting that, except for goaltenders, soccer players cannot touch the ball with their hands. Thanks Babe! Appreciate the report! Love you!

    In the puzzle yesterday, for the clue “Peter ____, physicist with a field and a particle named for him,” the answer, of course, was HIGGS. (Just kidding. Didn’t have the foggiest. Or figgiest.) He died two years ago. Won the Nobel in Physics for his work on the mass of subatomic particles. The Higgs Boson is named for him.

    Hey, I bet you agree with us that it’s about time we added a bad physics joke to the repertoire. This is from Anony Mouse:

    Did you hear about the Higgs Boson that walked into a Catholic Church? The priest said, “Hey, we don’t allow Higgs Bosons in here.” The Boson said, “ Hey … without me, you can’t have mass.”

    Yesterday’s grid contained a lot of “empty words,” i.e., two-word phrases starting with the letters M and T. One of the theme answers was MAGIC TOUCH. Remember this one?

    Back to you-know-whom and his henchpeople for just a sec before we close with a poem.

    If you are among those who maintain an analogy of Trump to Hitler is apt, then, surely, Musk is his Eichmann.

    Here’s Paul Krugman on Musk: Rep. Ro Khanna said there are credible estimates that the destruction by DOGE of USAID has led to millions of unnecessary deaths, including millions of children — which is exactly true. There are studies that say that there is both in the field evidence of widespread death as a result of the cancellation and, of course, reasonable health models. Because what do you think happens when you cut away tens of billions of dollars of aid to people who are living right on the edge? So of course it’s a reasonable thing to say.

    Musk, of course, responded not by saying, no, it’s not true or something like that. (He did say that not a single person has died because of those cuts, which is utterly implausible.) But he went on to say that he was going to sue Khanna, not even for saying that Musk killed people, but that there are studies that say that he killed people. It’s quite evil and so much for free speech.

    It’s not just that Musk more or less personally set out to destroy this aid agency, set out to cut off healthcare, nutritional assistance, just basic necessities of life for millions and millions of extremely desperate people. But he did so callously, carelessly, he even actually tweeted out, oh, “I just fed USAID to the wood chipper and I could have gone to some great parties instead.” What can you say? This is an extraordinarily evil act.

    This poem by Brendan Galvin will close up for us today on a gentler note. It’s called “Two Birds in the Evening,” and is from today’s Writer’s Almanac. It took me several readings to absorb it. But I’m thick.

    When that oriole whistled from the orchard
    it seemed to be frankly asking, You got
    a problem with that?     Its orange and black
    was brash as a high-school letter sweater.
    No problem, no problem, except it seemed
    like Saturday night under the old Rialto’s
    marquee again. At least until a rubythroat
    running a quality-control check
    on a trumpetvine drew nearer and I thought,
    This is what I’d like next time around,
    to be one of the air’s accomplices,
    too quick for boredom and
    acrobatic in love.

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for dropping by.