The Wellington Files

  • Replacement Blonde

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  • A Bashful Lady

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

    Would you take advice from this woman?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Oy.

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

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

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

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

    (Middle shelf is high usage).

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

    Now these two have turned up!!

    Sandra Davies: Just the one mug cupboard? Amateurs!

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

    Mark Allender: Stackability…. Stop it!

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

    Roger: Coffee pods.

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

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

    Roger: Are you a survivalist..??

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

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

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

  • Mets Swat Gnats

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

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

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

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

    Drunk, announcing his arrival: SOTHERE

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

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

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

    Rest in peace, Tommy.

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

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

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

    Yup. He was released. They got that right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Conductor: The next station is Orange.

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

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

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

    Okay — here we go —

    TEXAS TWO STEP: Detain, deport.

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

    Some people CARP just for the halibut.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    (Steve Carlton. Carlton Fisk.)

  • Gammel Dansk

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

    Sometimes still
    like light I catch
    the mermaids’ singing

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

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

    Snow on the inconsolable shore.

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

    Or would, were there words

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

    I changed my face

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

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

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

    Ba da boom.

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

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

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

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

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

    Can I speak to Bernstein please?

    I’m sorry he’s in court today.

    OK, then how about Bernstein?  Is he available?

    He’s with a client right now.

    Hmm.  Is Bernstein there?

    No, he’s on vacation until the fifteenth.

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

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

    OK, in that case can I talk to Bernstein?

    Speaking.

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

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

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

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

    Okay. Smart.

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

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

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

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

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

    Perfect! Will do.

    How will you protect the reporters from getting blown up?

    What?

    How will you protect the reporters from getting blown up?

    What? The connection has gone bad.

    How will you protect the reporters from getting blown up?

    I can’t hear you.

    How will you protect the reporters from getting blown up?

    Gotta run. Later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    (OY, indeed. I let it go.)

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

    ELMO: El Cid’s goofy sidekick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    OMG — it couldn’t possibly be any better!

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for dropping in.

  • Avocados

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

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

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

    Trump: Fine. Wassup?

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

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

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

    And God Bless America!

    Historian Heather Cox Richardson:

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

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

    AYKM? Puh-leeze.

    June Torrance submitted the following to the NYT Metropolitan Diary.

    Dear Diary:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    “Communicate through a disagreement” was HAVE THINGS OUT.

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

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

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

    Sad memo heading at SNL: For LORNE.

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

    Recent trend at the NYTXW: MORASS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for popping by.

  • Caber Rattling

    J. Richison posted this on our neighborhood newsletter:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Weaponize tootsie rolls: ARMCANDY.

    What an IPO does: Makes NYSE.

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

    A fine puzzle: not the least bit dal.

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

    Thanks Philly — you nelled it!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Well, I liked it.

    See you tomorrow!

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Check out this tune:

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

    Here’s my brilliant work on them:

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

    All-male college: MENU

    Profligate consommé: WANTON soup.

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

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

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

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

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

    Good luck Luis.

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

    See you tomorrow!

  • A Brett Of Fresh Air

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

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

    Okay, thanks Buddy! Hi Olivia!

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

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

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

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

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

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

    The morons are running loose folks. Take cover.

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

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

    What’s that unusual scent?

    Patchouli.

    Gezundheit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Lolita and her mom: HAZES

    Instructions for the repair of a leaking OULI: PATCHOULI

    They precede swine: PEARLS

    Former kname: KNEE

    Former clave: EXCLAVE

    Digitized emperor: ENERO

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

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

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

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

    Good show, Baltimore! Never in doubt.

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

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

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

    Thanks for dropping in.

  • 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!