The Wellington Files

  • The Comfort Of Their Silence

    Have to give credit to commenter Andrew for this one: “Say what you want about Elon, but DOGE has successfully cut down time waste – anyone else notice the number of hours in the day have been slashed by 4%, virtually overnight!?”

    The puzzle yesterday was all about famous headlines from the past, e.g., NIXON RESIGNS, and TITANIC SINKS. One of them was when NYC was facing bankruptcy and President Ford was hesitating to provide assistance. The classic NY Daily News headline was FORD TO NY: DROP DEAD. If you watched the recent SNL anniversary special, you may recall they played with that on a banner that read: NY TO FORD: WHO’S DEAD NOW?

    But by historical consensus the all-time best headline was in the NY Post of 4/13/1983, which the constructor, Michael Schlossberg, wisely included. A decapitated body was found in a city tavern. The headline was: Headless Body in Topless Bar. Interestingly, Vinnie Musetto came up with it, but the Post refused to run it until they could confirm it was in fact a topless bar. The bar was closed and phone calls to it went unanswered. They tried calling neighbors, but none could confirm. Finally, they sent someone down. She reported back that it was closed and was told to look through the windows. In doing so, she saw a sign near a stage that said: Topless Dancers. Bingo!

    Musetta had several other notable headlines to his credit, including: “Khadafy Goes Daffy” and “Granny Executed In Her Pink Pajamas.” But headless/topless cemented his place in history.

    At 43D the clue was “They’re known to open with some jokes,” and the answer was APRILS. (Think April Fools Day.)

    There is a daily “wordplay” column in the NYT that I should read religiously, but don’t. Yesterday it led me to this wonderful video on, perhaps, the greatest April Fools joke of all time: BBC’s report on the spaghetti harvest.

    At 84A the clue was “Headwear that’s stereotypically red.” Seven letters. The answer was FIRE HAT, but several folks admitted to thinking MAGA HAT first, vomitously. Puh-leeeze.

    This poem is from today’s Writer’s Almanac. It’s by David Shumate and it’s called “Chinese Restaurant.”

    After an argument, my family always dined at the Chinese
    restaurant. Something about the Orient washed the bitterness
    away. Like a riverbank where you rest for awhile. The owner
    bowed as we entered. The face of one who had seen too much.
    A revolution. The torture of loved ones. Horrors he would never
    reveal. His wife ushered us to our table. Her steps smaller than
    ours. The younger daughter brought us tea. The older one took
    our orders in perfect English. Each year her beauty was more
    delicate than before. Sometimes we were the only customers
    and they smiled from afar as we ate duck and shrimp with our
    chopsticks. After dinner we sat in the comfort of their silence.
    My brother told a joke. My mother folded a napkin into the shape
    of a bird. My sister broke open our cookies and read our fortunes
    aloud. As we left, my father always shook the old man’s hand.

    Who names their kid Conan? Whatever. It’s Celtic and means “little wolf.” O’Brien was in a clue in the puzzle today and it led guest blogger Eli to share this clip with us. It reminded me of a restaurant in Las Vegas (the downtown, not the Strip), where we had a great breakfast. There were shelves all around holding many many hot sauce bottles from all over the country. One was enwrapped in a black velvet bag, so you couldn’t even see it. Too dangerous, we supposed. We called it the “hot sauce of death” and imagined it could only be used in “last meals.” Anyway, the clip:

    I like Conan’s “don’t worry” at the end.

    The clue at 22D today was “Small duck.” Now it’s Monday, so we should know that. Four letters, so ducklet is out. Duck can’t be part of the answer anyway. Small duck — lunch portion? Too many letters. No idea. You got it? SMEW. Yes, that’s the answer — not a typo.

    Here’s a cute one:

    Commenter Gary was just as lost as me, and he was moved to poetry:

    Only a few know SMEW
    what, pray tell, can you
    tell me of this SMEW
    he’s not a woodland caribou
    covered in powdery mildew
    he’s not a judicial review
    or a system of connective tissue
    does he crow cock-a-doodle do
    or is he an apple from Peru
    should I consult a wandering Jew
    or box a tree kangaroo
    to learn of this SMEW
    does SMEW like tiramisu
    or live on Park Avenue
    will I meet a SMEW out of the blue
    while eating mulligan stew in Mogadishu
    is SMEW a celebrated Japanese yew
    growing in Kalamazoo with great hullabaloo
    can a SMEW earn revenue
    from his skills on a digeridoo
    are many SMEWS well to do
    or often named Bartholomew
    has he tried a true vindaloo
    while fighting the French at Waterloo?
    A duck say you a duck a duck!
    OHO! SMEW’S a duck? What the ….

    Our favorite commenter, egsforbreakfast, was off in Europe for a while. There were a few hairy moments during the flight home. “I can see the headline now,” I said to Mrs. Egs. “Regular Rex Parker Blogger, 318 Others Perish In Frigid Atlantic.”

    When I typed MAGA HAT above, I asked Phil what sort of people wear them, beyond the low-IQ morons you see interviewed on TV. Look whom he came up with — this woman is Jewish, 29 years old, a supporter of Ukraine, active in fighting anti-Semitism. She’s also a model and the national spokesperson for the GOP. She was married at Mar-a-Lago. Elizabeth Pipko. Say it ain’t so, Babe! Open those smoky eyes.

    See you tomorrow!

  • Tea Dresses

    Today’s puzzle by Joe Deeney is an amazing feat of construction, IMO. (Not to be confused with feet of construction, below.)

    Each corner had a “stack” of four ten-letter answers. And each stack had another crossing ten-letter answer that met in the center. Twenty ten-letter answers all perfectly interlaced in a spiral design. Bravo.

    At 38A, for “Common component of ranch dressing?” I first thought of mayonnaise, which is impossible to spell. It’s ten letters. But it was a trick question. The answer was STETSON HAT. (Get it? — what you’d be dressed in on a ranch.)

    Another cute one was at 22A: “Private agreement?” (The cute ones tip their hand with a question mark at the end.) This answer was YES SIR. It’s a private in the army, of course.

    You ladies may know what TEA DRESSES are, but I didn’t. The clue was “Garden party outfits often with floral patterns.”

    Phil! Where did you drag that poor girl? Is that Ukraine? You couldn’t find a garden somewhere? Are we going to get calls about this?

    The puzzle included a shout-out to LGBTQ activist CECE McDonald, whom I had never heard of under my rock. Cece is 35, from Chicago, and is a trans woman. In June of 2011 Cece and some friends were assaulted outside a bar in Minneapolis. Cece’s face was slashed by a broken glass and required stitches. She took a pair of scissors out of her purse and stabbed one of the men and killed him. Fearing a 20-year sentence, she pled guilty to second-degree manslaughter taking a three-and-a-half-year sentence.

    According to the Bay Area Reporter, her conviction “sparked outrage, and was viewed by many as an act of transphobia and racism against a woman who defended herself.” Although a woman, McDonald was housed in two men’s prisons. An online petition “led to the state department of corrections administering the full regimen of hormones she needed.” Her story received international attention and she was released after serving a year and a half.

    Articles in Ebony and Rolling Stone were written about her and a documentary was produced, Free Cece.

    This poem is by Billy Collins and is from today’s Writer’s Almanac.

    Osprey

    Oh, large brown, thickly feathered creature
    with a distinctive white head,
    you, perched on the top branch
    of a tree near the lake shore,

    as soon as I guide this boat back to the dock
    and walk up the grassy path to the house,
    before I unzip my windbreaker
    and lift the binoculars from around my neck,

    before I wash the gasoline from my hands,
    before I tell anyone I’m back,
    and before I hang the ignition key on its nail,
    or pour myself a drink—

    I’m thinking a vodka soda with lemon—
    I will look you up in my
    illustrated guide to North American birds
    and I promise I will learn what you are called.

    Ed Sylvester, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK), posted this lovely note about his dad, with appropriate documentation, below.

    My Dad was the epitome of a Dull Man. He was on a mission to make the world a better place – writing letters to corporations highlighting their shortcomings.

    Just going through his stuff we’ve found this perfect example of dullness. The background is that he bought a pair of trousers from M&S, and discovered that the zip was shorter than he was used to – thus making the act of going for a wee a tiny bit more inconvenient.

    He wrote to them in early 2015, and received a suitably dull response confirming this was a ‘one off design fault’. You can see his delight in his notations on the letter ‘Yes, yes, yes, yes!’

    Emboldened by his victory, he then went back to the M&S store and discovered they were still selling the ‘faulty’ trousers. He wrote to M&S and demanded they take them off sale. They replied in June 2015 apologising and promising to look into it.

    Someone in his friendship group was also clearly traumatised by the issue, and it even made the news in the Daily Telegraph later that year.

    If there were no Dull Men holding these companies to account, we’d all be wearing trousers with zips too short. He’s not with us any more, but I hope his legacy lives on through other Dull Men.

    “This might come after the check” was a neat clue for MATE. But “Singer Dua” was pretty lame for LIPA. Did you know she is part British and part Albanian? Dua means love in Albanian. She was one of 186 signers of an open letter calling for a ceasefire in Gaza and an end to the killing of civilians. Israeli music duo Ness & Stilla released the single “Harbu Darbu,” which called for Lipa’s death.

    This song, Levitating, was a massive hit for Dua a few years ago. Very sexy, but does she seem to be mailing it in at all? She took some grief a while ago for lackluster stage performances. I’d concede she’s not as electric as Jagger, whom we posted performing Start Me Up two days ago. But who is?

    Okay. I’m going to levitate my fat tuchas out of here now. Thanks for stopping by.

  • Ovals

    Sophie Aldus, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK), asks this entirely theoretical question:

    If a person were to attempt a repair using superglue and get more superglue on their hand than on the object needing the repair, what might said entirely theoretical person do to remove it? For the purposes of this theoretical exercise, this person has misplaced their superglue remover and is currently unable to bend one of their fingers.

    Here are the dullest of the 82 comments:

    Neale Rumble: It will come off on its own.

    Ruth Hunt: The finger?

    Bob Lyons: A mate of mine had a similar issue when he tried to open a tube of superglue with his teeth.

    Stu Davies: Will the next question be “How does one remove superglue from a keyboard..?”

    Alison Ritchie: or how does one remove a keyboard from one’s hand?

    Rob Sancassani: Chainsaw.

    Vicky Gerard: They should, theoretically, entertain the masses by posting a video/photos of theoretically glued fingers…

    Bill Jeffs: Imagine (theoretically) being so benighted the first time you used super glue that you didn’t know you had to pierce the top, so you’ve got the object to be repaired in one hand and you (theoretically) keep squeezing the tube becoming impatient as no glue is forthcoming, so of course (theoretically) you squeeze more and harder…

    At some point the tube gives way, but not at the front of the tube: it (theoretically) makes a small hole at the back and is now jetting! over your (theoretical) self.

    Now imagine you have a big curious dog coming over wondering why you’re cursing and screaming and what those things are in your hands.

    (Theoretically) I had visions of rocking up to the ER trying to explain why I’ve a Weimaraner stuck to me…

    And then, theoretically, there’s this:

    Reuters reported this morning that Trump’s Department of Inhuman Affairs is preparing to deport the 240,000 Ukrainians who fled Russia’s attacks and have temporary legal status in the U.S. These people had to be completely financially independent, pay tax, pay all fees (around $2K) and have an affidavit from an American to even come here. “This has nothing to do with strategic necessity or geopolitics,” Russia specialist Tom Nichols posted. “This is just cruelty” Trump is inflicting on innocent people on Putin’s behalf. The NYT also states the State Department is making plans to close a dozen consulates, mostly in Western Europe. 

    I saw Zelensky being interviewed by a foreign journalist the other day. The journalist said: “I heard you told Trump that Putin is afraid of him. Did you tell him that?” There was a long pause before Z answered. He was hesitating to admit he said that because it’s a preposterous statement. Putin, of course, has nothing but contempt for Trump whom he correctly views as a dimwitted lackey. And yet Z did tell Trump that as part of the flattering nonsense Trump laps up from everyone he deals with. Finally, Zelensky answered and said “Yes.” Then there was another pause and he added with a smile: “So now he knows.”

    Today’s poem-a-day from poets.org is by Laura Read. It’s called “Love Poem With Staples.”

    After the nurse has taken all the staples
    out of Brad’s new scar, he asks me how many
    there were, and I regret not counting.
    This is the seventh surgery
    since his accident fifteen years ago,
    the hardest except for the first
    because the doctor had to rebreak
    the bone and start over.

    We can rebuild him, we have the technology
    is something Brad likes to say
    because before all this,
    he was a boy in the 1970s
    who watched The Six Million Dollar Man.
    The morning of the accident, our sons
    were at swim lessons.
    I was watching Matthew’s round head
    as he did his bobs, the water slicking
    his hair to his face so he looked like
    he was being born.
    I never saw him like that since I’d had
    c-sections and my own staples.
    One of my last memories of Brad’s brother
    happened at Staples.
    They were leaving to drive across the country,
    and we were saying goodbye, and it was late
    and dark, but they were still going
    to try to make it to Montana,
    and of course before they left,
    they needed to print something at the last minute
    because for them time was always something
    you could make more of.
    We said goodbye under the red sign
    that said Staples, and this stapled itself
    to the moment so now when I drive by Staples,
    I think of Terry bending down to hug me
    for one of the last times before he died.
    Brad walked into this room
    on the same crutches he’s been using
    since the original accident.
    The handles are wrapped in blue tape,
    and parts of the gray cushions are flecking off.
    They are the Velveteen Rabbit of crutches.
    There are many ways to be broken,
    and Brad is all of them.
    After she was dead too,
    I read in my mother-in-law’s journal
    how grateful she was for me
    so Brad would not be alone.
    I thought how prescient because now
    it’s just me here with him, and the nurse
    who is funny and kind and fills up
    the room and makes us feel
    like things will be all right
    but is also almost done with the staples
    and on her way out.

    Today’s puzzle is by Malaika Handa who subs for Rex once a month. So I sort of feel like I know her a little which gives the puzzle some personality.

    Here’s a great clue for the simple word OVALS: “Slices of hard-boiled eggs, for instance.”

    But it got on John H’s goat. He wrote: NO ONE slices eggs on the long axis (making ovals). Egg slices are circles. [Hrummmmph!]

    Anon I shot back: No way! Ovals are used for salads all the time. Makes for the best distribution of yolk in every slice.

    And Anon II chimed in with a little edge to it: My egg slicer pretty much requires slicing on the long axis. But make your declarations, John.

    Potatoes have eyes, right? But dates don’t. That’s why they’re called BLIND DATES. Actually, the clue was “Some romantic setups.”

    And if you’re planning to wear your SUNDRESS to that date (“Sleeveless summer attire”), you might want to go in for a BRA FITTING. Just sayin’. (“Service for someone who needs support?”) And don’t even think of a visit to the DONUT SHOP till it’s over (“Enterprise with many holes in its business plan?”), unless you don’t mind a lot of ALONE TIME in your future (“Introvert’s need”).

    Today’s visiting starlet: the lovely OLIVIA RODRIGO, “Pop star with the #1 albums ‘Sour’ and ‘Guts.’” She just turned 22 and is single. We’ll let her bed head and pretty eyes send us off tonight. Nice shot, Phil. See you tomorrow!

  • Start Me Up

    Let’s remember Crispus Attucks, Patrick Carr, Samuel Gray, Samuel Maverick, and Christopher Monk today. These were the five colonists killed in the Boston Massacre that took place this week, on March 5th, in 1770.

    British troops were quartered in Boston to protect the King’s tax collectors and tension was growing. Did you ever not pay for a haircut? Crazy, right? — they have those razors. Anyway, a barber’s apprentice claimed that a British officer failed to pay for his haircut. A fight broke out with the officer knocking the young haircutter down. A crowd gathered and soldiers came out. The crowd jeered the soldiers and threw “ice and oysters.” They dared the soldiers to shoot and they did! — killing the five named above. There’s no telling how many oysters were also slain. Five deaths is fairly skimpy for a “massacre,” but every life is precious, and the incident had legs, as they say, and helped stir the colonists towards revolution.

    The soldiers were placed on trial, by the way. No attorney would defend them, so John Adams took the case, in the belief that everyone was entitled to a defense. He argued that the British policy was to blame, not the individual soldiers, and all but two were acquitted.

    Here’s Crispus Attucks, the first to die in the massacre, and, actually, in the Revolution, although there is some dispute as to the latter point. Get this: He was African-American. (Are we still allowed to point that out under the new freedom of speech guidelines? We certainly can’t say if he was trans.)

    Headline from my brain:

    Opposing Thumbs Erupt In Thumb War

    The NYTXW has certain guidelines, e.g., you will never see Hitler in a puzzle, even if he were clued appropriately by something like “mustachioed monster of historic proportions.” And the famous (maybe) “breakfast test” holds that the puzzle will not include words that might disgust a NYT reader sipping his or her morning coffee. I’m not going to give you any examples because I am sipping my morning coffee at the moment. Anyway, apparently, the proscriptions don’t extend to EL CHAPO, who visited the grid today as “Onetime leader of the Sinaloa Cartel.” The former drug lord was a pretty bad dude, believed to be responsible for 34,000 deaths, pretty impressive by monster standards. I mean, if five can constitute a massacre . . . Do the math.

    Joaquín Archivaldo Guzmán Loera is his real name. He got the nickname El Chapo from his heavy use of Chapstick. (No he didn’t.) You may have not thought of the guy for a while, if ever, but he is still alive and living in Colorado! No need to cancel that Aspen trip, though, — he’s in federal prison. Of course, back in 2001 he escaped from a maximum security federal prison (bribes), so there’s that. He was caught in 2014, escaped again in 2015 (tunnel), and caught again in 2016.

    Here’s EC’s wife Emma, proof that quarterbacks and drug lords get all the pretty girls. She helped in one of his escapes. You’d do that for me, Linda, right? Linda? Hello?

    After we annex Greenland and Canada and take the Panama Canal back, we may have to go to war with Lesotho for its uppity response to Trump’s diss in his ridiculous speech this week. Making his idiotic case that foreign aid is wasteful, Trump said we gave $8 million to help gays in Lesotho “which nobody has ever heard of.” Of course, this outrageous insult to a sovereign state by our fat f*ck of a president garnered a hefty, sickening laugh from his toadies in Congress.

    When we do go to war with them, Lesotho will hold the high ground in every sense of the word. It is the highest country by altitude in the world — the only independent state entirely above 1,000 meters (3,281 feet). Its population is 2 million and its capital and largest city is Maseru. The government was deeply insulted by Trump’s moronic, gratuitous slur, and will lodge formal protests. Happily, these beautiful Basotho women couldn’t care less.

    It’s been a while since Owl Chatter has reported on faves Taylor and Travis, so let’s catch up. Well, Trav has decided not to retire from football. As he told his big bro Jason on their podcast, he loves the game too much to leave it quite yet. And he feels he let his team and fans down with his poor performance in the Superbowl and wants to make up for it. For his part, brother Jason seemed to choke up describing how hard it was to watch the debacle. These two are just big bushy teddy bears.

    As for Taylor, look for her on the silver screen along with vinyl in the coming days. Word is she’s thinking about acting — perhaps a superheroine role in a sci-fi film? Give Ana a holler, Babe — she’ll fill you in.

    If you live in Westport CT and happened to drop into the library yesterday you would have seen Governor Lamont awarding the first Connecticut Governor’s Award for Excellence to, what? who?— Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones? The very same.

    Keith is 81 now and has lived in CT for forty years. He wrote the acclaimed memoir Life in 2000, and 2014’s biographical Gus & Me: The Story of My Granddad and My First Guitar. His acceptance speech started out a bit clunky but adorable. “Without our books, without knowing things, without knowing their special meaning—this isn’t movies, this is not someone drawing you images. This is a book, and you have the movie in your head.” He then pushed back against book bans, saying “It’s very important that we keep our books unburnt.”

    Keith went on:

    “I’d like to say thank you to you all and thank you to the state of Connecticut. You kind of get lost for words with something like this around your neck,” he said, referring to the award he’d just received (see below). “I’ve been here for 40 years, and it’s been a great place for me. I brought the kids up here. I was interested when the kids were here, and I said I have to get the kids out of New York City so they could get some fresh air to breathe. And ever since, we’ve had a great life. I’m incredibly happy about everything, especially things like this, because you don’t get them every day.”

    The award was a custom-designed medallion crafted by State Trooper Danny Carvalho.

    OK – enough of that — turn it up!

    From The Onion:

    Area Dad Needs More Time With Museum Plaque

    In the puzzle today at 10D the clue was “Highlight of many a Jimi Hendrix concert,” and the answer was GUITAR SOLO.

    I shared this joke with the Commentariat.

    A young anthropologist made contact with a tribe in the deepest jungle that had never been studied before. She arranged to spend some time there learning about their culture. She trekked for days through the difficult terrain and finally reached the small village. Her contact in the tribe greeted her and showed her to her tent. He spoke a little English and was very pleasant and welcoming. But when she asked him about a constant drumming sound that she heard, he tensed up and just said: “Drums good; drums no stop.” She tried several times to find out if the drumming had some cultural or religious significance, but each time she tried, he just tensed up and repeated “drums good, etc.”

    As the days went on, she got used to the constant drumming and the visit went very well. It became a pleasant background noise. When it was time for her to go and she was packing up her gear, she noticed that the drumming had suddenly stopped. Its absence was eerie and troublesome. She ran to her guide to see what was up and found him with a terrified look on his face. She asked him, “What? What does it mean? What’s going to happen?” He just began weeping and said: GUITAR SOLO.

    There was no response — probably for the best.

    See you tomorrow Chatterheads!

  • Brilliant Magicians

    Two and half percent of Vermonters speak French at home as their primary language. Is that a lot or a little? Seems like a lot. Only fifty percent of Vermonters believe in God. That’s a little — for the country overall it’s seventy percent.

    It was an independent nation, the Vermont Republic, for 14 years (1777-1791). It had its own money, sovereign government, and a constitution that explicitly forbade slavery — almost a century before the U.S. did. It also required government taxes to support public schools. Here’s the money.

    Stella Quarta Decima, the language on the coin, means “the 14th star” reflecting Vermont’s desire to become a state: the 14th, after the original thirteen colonies. And on this date in 1791, March 4, Vermont became a state.

    Hanna Teter is from Vermont, the Olympic gold medal winner in snowboarding. She’ll be representing the state for Owl Chatter today, Phil told us, droolingly.

    So this family is sitting around the breakfast table: Mom, Dad, and two boys. Mom asks one of the boys what he’d like for breakfast and he says, “I’ll have the fucking pancakes.” Aghast, she slaps him, then she slaps him again, and the dad takes off his belt and starts beating him with it. The kid screams bloody murder as they both beat the crap out of him and send him to his room. Then the mom turns to the second boy and says, “What would you like for breakfast.” And he says, “Well I sure don’t want the fucking pancakes.”

    Have you ever seen an albino gorilla? Me neither. This poem is by Billy Collins. It was in today’s Writer’s Almanac and is called “Searching.”

    I recall someone once admitting
    that all he remembered of Anna Karenina
    was something about a picnic basket,

    and now, after consuming a book
    devoted to the subject of Barcelona—
    its people, its history, its complex architecture—

    all I remember is the mention
    of an albino gorilla, the inhabitant of a park
    where the Citadel of the Bourbons once stood.

    The sheer paleness of her looms over
    all the notable names and dates
    as the evening strollers stop before her

    and point to show their children.
    These locals called her Snowflake,
    and here she has been mentioned again in print

    in the hope of keeping her pallid flame alive
    and helping her, despite her name, to endure
    in this poem where she has found another cage.

    Oh, Snowflake,
    I had no interest in the capital of Catalonia—
    its people, its history, its complex architecture—

    no, you were the reason
    I kept my light on late into the night
    turning all those pages, searching for you everywhere.

    You talkin’ to me?

    The surgeon comes out of the OR and walks slowly over to the wife. He tells her, “I have bad news. It didn’t go well. Your husband is paralyzed from the neck down. You’re going to have to care for him like a baby. Wash him, dress him, get him into a wheelchair to take him out. He has no control over his bladder or bowel functions, so you’ll have to wipe him and change his diapers frequently.”

    The wife says, “Oh, no!” and the surgeon says: “I was just joking with you — he’s dead.”

    The best clue/answer in the puzzle today was at 60A and is brilliant, IMO: “Make two dos, say?” At first I was thinking about exchanging vows: I DO, so the answer might be WED? But it’s a nine-letter answer — yikes! The answer was TRANSLATE. Get it? Two is dos in Spanish. So to make two dos you’d translate it.

    At 45D, shades of my first car: “Beetles.” Answer VW BUGS.

    But Anony Mouse had a different notion:

    “Volkswagen Beetle?” you shrug.
    Nope. Instead, here’s a plug
    For the Velvet Water Bug.

    ‘Fore you can say “Ugh”…
    Down its hatch, chugalug,
    Goes a springtail. Glug, glug.

    Manmade poisons not needed,
    Carbamates superseded,
    It ingests unimpeded.

    A draw from the jug,
    Then a raise of my mug
    In toast to this thug

    The Velvet Water Bug

    The puzzle’s theme “revealer” today was way at the end at 65A: “This news has got me rattled!” The answer: I’M SHOOK! And the theme answers were all things that get shook — POMPOMS, TAMBOURINE, SPRAY PAINT, and POLAROID PICTURE. Remember that last one? After the photo emerges, it’s wet, so you shake it to hasten its drying. If you listen to this tune til the end, you’ll see what I mean. After that, I’m going to go with the Byrds instead of Dylan, if you don’t mind.

    The 2019 Nats, the team that won the World Series and won me over as a fan, had some great personalities. Max Scherzer, with one blue eye and one brown eye, was (and still is) insanely intense. Juan Soto was just starting to turn heads. Strasburg threw heat. Howie Kendrick swung a devastating slashing bat, and Trea Turner combined speed and power and looked like Peter Pan would if he could hit.

    Max and Trea were in the news this week, facing each other in a Spring Training game. Max is with Toronto now and Trea’s on the Phils. They are very good friends. As you may have heard, MLB is experimenting with an automated ball/strike system, supplementing the human umpires. It’s called ABS, the automated ball-strike challenge system. Under it, a batter, catcher, or pitcher can challenge the ump’s call on a pitch. He must do so immediately (without communication with the dugout), and a series of cameras located around the ballpark will analyze the pitch and make a determination. The system is set for a 17-inch-wide strike zone, the width of home plate (duh). And the height will depend on the height of each player, which is fed into the system earlier. Each team is allowed two challenges, but if a challenge is successful it does not count against the two allowances.

    Anyway, no shrinking violet, Scherzer railed against the system: “Can we just play baseball?” Scherzer asked. “We’re humans. Can we just be judged by humans? Do we really need to disrupt the game? I think humans are defined by humans.” (His first two challenges went against him.)

    Word of Max’s rant reached the Phillies and Trea knew what he had to do. He stepped into the batter’s box for the first pitch of the game. Max’s pitch was right down the center of the strike zone: a no-doubter. Trea backed out of the box and tapped his cap — he was challenging the call. Max almost never smiles on the mound, but he appreciated the gesture.

    It’s a two-poem day (three, if you count the water bug). This one is by Susan Brown and is called “Becoming a Poet.” It’s the poem-a-day from poets.org.

    I was five,
    lying facedown on my bed
    when someone stabbed me in the back, 
    all the way through to my heart. 
    I screamed & my parents came running,
    my father carrying me into the living room.
    We sat in the chair with the high sides 
    like wings. I kneeled on his lap, 
    my arms around his neck. 
    My mother sat across from us,
    saying, honey, it was just a bad dream.
    I looked over my father’s shoulder
    at the dark ocean of air,
    at the colorful, iridescent fish.
    I tried to explain what I saw. 
    It’s your imagination, said my father.
    The fish swam like brilliant magicians 
    toward the window. Then they were gone.
    My parents didn’t know death like I did. 
    Or the fish, their strange beauty
    my secret.

    I stuffed Caity’s state tax return into a regular-sized envelope and put a “forever” stamp on it. I knew it weighed more than an oz so I took it to the post office where I was absolutely stunned by what occurred. First, you should know I’m a stickler for correct postage. I do not want to send something off with too little postage, and I most certainly do not want to put too much postage on.

    I placed the envelope on the scale. The woman said I needed a second stamp. OK. “So do you want to buy one, it’s 73 cents?” I said, “But isn’t the second stamp less?” She misunderstood me and said, “It’s 1.7 ounce, you need another stamp.” She was expecting me to pay 73 cents for another forever stamp!! I said, “I understand that, but isn’t the second ounce less than the first? Don’t I just need an ‘additional ounce’ stamp? For around 28 cents?” (I wasn’t sure of the exact amount.) She said, “Yes, they are 28 cents, but we don’t have any — some man came in and bought 500.” I said “I have one at home,” and took the envelope back. I am still aghast – agog – that she wanted to charge me for a 73-cent stamp when I just needed one for 28 cents. Jesus Christ!! Is there no sane corner left?

    Thanks for popping in. See you tomorrow.

  • Who’s Gonna Drive You Home?

    The poet James Merrill was born in NYC on this date in 1926 and died at the age of 69 in Tucson AZ. Get this: his dad was the Merrill of Merrill Lynch. He had a privileged youth but lived modestly as an adult, and set up a fund to assist writers and artists. He and his siblings renounced a good portion of Merrill’s estate so it went to charity.

    This poem is by Cecilia Woloch. It’s called “On Faith” and appeared in today’s Writer’s Almanac.

    How do people stay true to each other?
    When I think of my parents all those years
    in the unmade bed of their marriage, not ever
    longing for anything else—or: no, they must
    have longed; there must have been flickerings,
    stray desires, nights she turned from him,
    sleepless, and wept, nights he rose silently,
    smoked in the dark, nights that nest of breath
    and tangled limbs must have seemed
    not enough. But it was. Or they just
    held on. A gift, perhaps, I’ve tossed out,
    having been always too willing to fly
    to the next love, the next and the next, certain
    nothing was really mine, certain nothing
    would ever last. So faith hits me late, if at all;
    faith that this latest love won’t end, or ends
    in the shapeless sleep of death. But faith is hard.
    When he turns his back to me now, I think:
    disappear. I think: not what I want. I think
    of my mother lying awake in those arms
    that could crush her. That could have. Did not.

    Cecilia is from Pittsburgh, 68, and may be a vampire. I say this because she went to college at Transylvania U. (It’s a private university in Lexington KY.)

    Our photographer Phil was afraid of her and said he would only photograph her eyes. (Is that a vampire thing? I learned long ago not to ask Phil questions.)

    Even those of us living under a rock are aware of Anora’s massive sweep at the Oscars last night: Best Picture, Director, Producer, and Actress. Four awards for one picture is a record. We are kvelling, especially since Director Sean Baker is a Jersey boy, born just up the road in Summit. And the beautiful Best Actress is a sistah! Mikey Madison’s last name is Rosberg and she’s Jewish. She’s also 26, vegan, single, and lives in LA. Phil described her as a Jewish Anne Hathaway. We can see it.

    Headline from The Onion

    Couple Forced To Sit Next To Dead Body On Plane For 4 Hours After Woman Dies Midflight

    Funny-sounding words are always welcome, amirite? So I was happy to learn from CNN that the dust storm sweeping across the Southwest is called an haboob. It’s not just any old dust or sand storm that merits the name — it has to be especially intense. The term originally applied to the serious-shit sand storms of the Sudan, which is apparently the major league of sand storms, but was adopted for the U.S. Southwest in 1971 when all hell broke loose in ‘Zona.

    Take a look. It’s like a tsunami, but with dust.

    BTW, our friend Donna knew someone who was caught in the Indian Ocean tsunami of 2004 that killed 230,000 people: one of the deadliest natural disasters in history. He was dragged out to sea but, incredibly, survived with only some damage to one arm. Several months later he was coming out to visit Donna and she asked us for ideas on what to get him as a gift. I suggested a hair dryer. (True story.)

    We’re going to let The Cars send us off tonight with their song “Drive.” It relates to the puzzle, the theme answers for which incorporated the words, PARK, REVERSE, NEUTRAL, DRIVE, and LOW in an assortment of phrases.

    “Who’s going to pay attention to your dreams?”

    See you tomorrow!

  • Check Mate

    Nina Rachel Gordon Shapiro is Jewish and has a degree in art history from Tufts. She’s 57 now, but back in the 90’s, using the name Nina Gordon, she joined Louise Post to form the alt-rock band Veruca Salt, named after the spoiled-rotten rich girl from the 1964 children’s book Charlie and the Chocolate Factory by Roald Dahl. Nina’s batting lead-off for us today because their first hit was called “Seether” and Rex shared it with us because he was reminded of it by TEETHER which was in the puzzle as the answer to “Something to chew on.” Like for a baby. Here’s Nina, and then the song. (The drummer is Nina’s brother Jim.) I think I missed that whole decade.

    Carl Ives, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) posted the following: I am the proud owner of a dehumidifier the use of which to dry clothes is far too exciting for this club. However, I was wondering is the water that collects a distilled water and drinkable or would it be tainted with the residue of the detergent used to wash the clothes?

    Some comments:

    Chris Bater: Try it and let us know what it’s like, if you live long enough.

    Stuart Kerr: I used to top up the goldfish tank with the water from the dehumidifier in the belief that it was pure water, the goldfish didn’t thank me.

    Rowan Diaper: I put some round my plants. They weren’t happy for a few weeks. I think it burnt the leaves.

    Scott Richardson: We have one in the chapel of our church. Being a typical church, the building gets very damp and the dehumidifier will collect a couple of litres of water every 2 days. So, because our diocese is striving for more eco-friendly buildings, we’re considering keeping the water for baptisms. This will reduce water consumption and hopefully our water bills.

    Mary Lucille Hindmarch: that should discourage the devil & all his works.

    Murray Atkinson: Have you checked the cost of water? You’ll be saving about 0.2p per day on water. Turn the de-humidifier off for 5 minutes to save more than that on electricity.

    Stephen Arthur: Yeah drink it, it will be fine – water is always fine – any clothing chemicals will just help the body absorb the microplastic from your food which we all know is good for everyone

    Jan Close: I think there’s a village looking for you.

    Former World Chess Champion Boris Spassky died on Thursday in Moscow, at the age of 88. Cause of death: Pawn to King’s 4. He was a very thoughtful and deliberate man. A close friend once remarked: “I love having lunch with Boris, but it takes him ten minutes to pass the salt.” As a toddler, he studied chess at his mother’s knee: they couldn’t afford a set.

    Spassky earned the title of “grandmaster” in 1956 at the of 19. He was best known for his match with Bobby Fischer in 1972. Fischer was portrayed as a lone gunslinger boldly taking on the might of the Soviet chess machine, with Spassky representing the repressive Soviet empire. But in reality Fischer was a spoiled 29-year-old man-child, often irascible and difficult, and Spassky, at 35, was urbane, laid back and good-natured. Fischer drove Spassky and the officials nuts with crazy demands and won 12.5 to 8.5.

    Spassky’s position in Russia was diminished after losing and he moved to France for a time via his marriage to Marina Stcherbatcheff, a beautiful woman whom he loved deeply despite never being able to spell her name. “She has me under her spell,” he often joked, though it never got a laugh and their friends found it tiresome. Here’s Marina S.

    In all, Spassky was married three times and all three ended in divorce. His second wife was pretty too: Larisa Zakharovna Solovyova. He used to joke that she was impressed with his “moves,” again to nobody’s amusement.

    Despite the bitterness of the 1972 match, Fischer and Spasskey became great friends later in life and staged a rematch which Fischer again won. Fischer said of him “Spassky sits at the board with the same dead expression whether he’s mating or being mated. He can blunder away a piece and you are never sure whether it’s a blunder or a fantastically deep sacrifice.”

    Here’s how the obit in the NYT ends:

    Mr. Spassky’s warm feelings for Mr. Fischer were genuine, as he showed in 2004, when Mr. Fischer was arrested in Japan for not having a valid passport and was threatened with deportation to the U.S. to face charges for violating the sanctions against Yugoslavia. Before Mr. Fischer was ultimately released and sent to Iceland, Mr. Spassky sent a letter to President Bush, asking for clemency.

    “Bobby and I committed the same crime,” he wrote. “Put sanctions against me also. Arrest me. And put me in the same cell with Bobby Fischer. And give us a chess set.”

    Spassky is survived by his son, three grandsons, a knight, and two bishops.

    Rest in peace, Grandmaster.

    At 15D, “Shape of the border between yin and yang,” was ESS. I was given the assignment to use that answer in sentences, along with AENEID, (Thomas) PAINE, and ERODED. Here’s what I came up with:

    AENEID to re-read Virgil like I need a hole in the head.

    Solving parts of the puzzle today was a real PAINE in the ESS.

    ‘ERODED ‘is ‘orse into town.

    At 39A, for the clue “Mafiosi,” the clue was MADE MEN. So it got me wondering: When the mafiosi go to war and “take to the mattresses,” are those “made beds?”

    [And you thought Spassky’s jokes were bad!]

    Enjoy the Oscars! See you tomorrow.

  • Charlie Hustle

    Headline from The Onion:

    Director Of Census Bureau Calls For Updated Population Report After Realizing He Forgot To Count Himself

    Trump ignited a furor with world-wide implications yesterday. I’m referring of course to his announcement that he is “pardoning” dead baseball great Pete Rose. He stopped short of saying he will bring him back to life. Rose, of course, was banned from baseball and barred from the Hall of Fame for gambling.

    “”Over the next few weeks I will be signing a complete pardon of Pete Rose, who shouldn’t have been gambling on baseball, but only bet on his team winning. He never betted (sic) against himself, or the other team. [What?] He had the most hits, by far, in baseball history, and won more games than anyone in sports history.”

    By Trumpian standards, it’s a pretty good post. The third-grade-level error making “betted” the past tense of bet is to be expected from Trump, who is barely literate. According to grammar-monster.com, “bet” is an irregular verb. (This means that “bet” does not form its simple past tense or its past participle by adding “-ed” or “-d” to the base form.)

    When Trump says something that is true, or correct, it is pure coincidence, of course. This occurred when he noted Rose is the all-time MLB hit leader, although I would quibble over the “by far.” Rose had 4,256, just 67 more than Ty Cobb’s 4,189. And Cobb had his in just 13,103 plate appearances, way less than Rose’s 15,890, btw.

    Further, when Trump says Rose “won more games than anyone in sports history” that is gibberish. Only pitchers are credited with wins. Cy Young had the most, by far, with 511. Walter Johnson comes next nearly 100 behind at 417. Wins by position players does not even exist as a statistic.

    Last, “pardoning” Rose makes no sense since he was never convicted of a crime. It surely has no effect on the MLB ban.

    Rose was a notorious philanderer. He was about to be honored with a spot on the Phillies’ Wall of Fame when it emerged in a civil suit that he had had sex with an underage girl. The ceremony was canceled. The age of consent was 16 where it happened and the girl was 14 or 15. Rose explained that he thought she was 16. Oh, okay. It gives a whole new twist to the phrase “spending time in the minors.”

    When his first wife divorced him he married a Playboy bunny, Carol Woliung, thus becoming one of the very few of us who lived two of every man’s dreams: major league ballplayer and sex with a Playboy bunny. When Carol and he separated, he dated (and got engaged to) a Playboy model 40 years younger than him, Kiana Kim. Dayenu! Pete and Kiana appear in this ad together that aired during Super Bowl XLVIII, in which Seattle dismantled the Broncos 43-8. (Ouch.)

    Here’s Pete with Wife II and their daughter Cara, who seems to be eyeing Phil a little warily and holding on to her bag tightly.

    Cara’s an actress and has been on Melrose Place and other soaps, with the stage name Chea Courtney.

    The NYC subway is its own world. Every New Yorker has a love/hate relationship with it. You can get a very accurate, if small, taste of it in this Met Diary story by Josh Schultz.

    Dear Diary:

    It was June 2016, and I was on my way to my first 9-to-5 job in Midtown. I boarded a crowded #1 train at 135th and Broadway and then gingerly made my way onto an even more crowded express at 96th Street.

    It was clear that no one really wanted to be on the train, but everyone was civil about it. People moved in where they could and put their backpacks on the floor to accommodate others.

    The air-conditioning was hardly working and we were all packed like sardines in silence. I held my right hand against the ceiling to balance myself on the way to the next stop, 72nd Street.

    When the train pulled in, a large crowd was waiting. Very few people got off and only a couple of people managed to get on. A well-dressed woman in a leopard-print dress stared into the car from the platform, looking for somewhere she could fit.

    “Guys, really?” she said. “Make room for me. Please.”

    No response.

    “I can clearly see enough space for three to four people in the car,” she said.

    As the doors began to close, a voice came from the other end of the car.

    “Yeah,” the rider said, “maybe in your house.”

    *************

    Yup — if that leopard-print won’t get you on the goddamn train you’re in for a long hard day.

    In the puzzle today “Emulate Arachne” was SPIN A WEB. Pretty classy. Commenter Barbara S. referred us to The Spinners by Velazquez, below, “thought to be a depiction of the weaving contest between Arachne (facing away from the viewer on the right) and the goddess Athena (disguised as an old woman at left). (Yes, this looks like spinning rather than weaving, but I guess the one is preparatory to the other.)”

    “Arachne was apparently a little too big for her britches and announced she was the greatest weaver in the world without giving Athena, the inventor of weaving, her due. So, there was a contest between the two, which Arachne won, producing a tapestry masterpiece that you can see in the scene in the background. Athena was so enraged at Arachne’s pride and the excellence of her work that she ripped it to shreds, causing Arachne to hang herself in despair. Athena then turned her into a spider so she and her descendants could spin and weave for all eternity.”

    Crossworld, at least my small part of it, split into two camps today. It all came about because the clue at 30A was ” ______ Aran, protagonist in Nintendo’s Metroid.” What the f*ck? Fortunately, the crosses were merciful and I was able to come up with the answer: SAMUS. Here’s Rex on it: What is that? Just the stupidest name I’ve ever seen in the grid (tapping the “Not All Debuts Are Good” sign, once again). I barely know what Metroid even is, and certainly never seen this “protagonist’s” “name” before. The Nintendification of puzzles has gone way too far. Feels lazy and sad. Is this what you want your generational contribution to crosswords to be? Apparently. It doesn’t even look like a name. I would have to guess at how to pronounce it. Just desperate, ugly fill. SAY-mus? SAM-us? SHAY-mus? … SAW Moose?

    I’m in that camp.

    But a whole bunch of folks responded with stuff like:

    I’m going to politely disagree with you on SAMUS. She is absolutely crossworthy, as she was one of the first big female protagonists in video games. It was a huge moment when you saw it was a woman inside her helmet, because almost all major protagonists before her had been men.

    Agree. I very often agree with Rex but I think his take on SAMUS is dead wrong. Character has been around since 1986, appeared in a litany of games and comics, and as you mention, was one of the first-ever female protagonists in a video game. Video games clearly aren’t Rex’s cup of tea and that’s fine, but SAMUS is crossworthy and to say otherwise is just silly.

    As a big fan of the Metroid series I won’t stand for this anti-SAMUS vituperation.

    As a non-Metroid fan, I still recognized Samus from the many hours of Smash Bros I played with my kids over the years.

    As a gamer, it’s insane to think somebody wouldn’t know Samus! It’s up there with Mario and Kirby in names I assume everybody knows.

    Same – this strikes me as classic “I don’t know this so I’m going to be angry at it and pretend no one knows it.” The series is almost 40 years old, there have been at least 15 games with this character … it’s fair game.

    There’s always a lot of video game hate here, and it’s never made sense to me. Video games can be just as much a medium for storytelling as books, tv, or movies, and their characters can be just as deep and developed. If we’re comfortable having characters from books, TV, and movies in the grid, we should have space for characters from video games too.

    Enough? Enough.

    Here she is.

    Picked nit of the week: The clue at 36A was “High-calorie burger toppings,” and the answer was BACON STRIPS. Kitshef: A bacon strip is 43 calories – is that ‘high’? The bun is typically three times that.

    I’m not going to express myself on what happened when Zelensky was in the Oval Office yesterday. Write your own outrage. This take by Carville is very funny though. And he was not trying to be funny.

    See you tomorrow!

  • Twenty-Seven Cents And Some Soul

    When I first read this beautiful love poem called “March” by Jessica Jiang, the Poem of the Day from the Poetry Foundation, I thought the poet was thinking back to when she was in college, because it refers to a dorm room. But Ms. Jiang is still in college, a senior at Williams. Any of you see her at the Tunnel Cafe last July 4? Maybe with Tiffany?

    March

    Tiffany,
    I’ve gotten used to sunlight with you,
    but no pressure! Just—
    spring doesn’t hurt as much anymore.
    Your softness,
    as the green seeps in.

    I’ve got only 27¢
    and some soul
    to spend on you.
    Sudden sunlight striking through,
    to find myself kneeling.
    My bones shattered
    then welded 
    into this sudden page 
    and you.

    In a dorm room,
    we make sin out of our bodies,
    such joy despite illegality.
    There is no shame in love
    like this: our mouths open,
    gasping white plumes,
    we send messages to the sky.

    Yesterday
    I opened my coat
    and your yellow hair flew out
    like a migrant bird.
    I watched the wind take it upward
    and I was beside you, flying.

    My beautiful daughter Caitlin sent me this photo of her (and our) Zoey. (Hey, are those PRIDE sox, Zo?) We moved a gorgeous dollhouse into Zoey’s room yesterday that had been in my office at Hunter for decades. Caity wanted to let me know that when she went up to check on Zo early this morning this is how she found her. (That’s a cello she’s holding in her hands, btw.)

    This is the conversation between Linda and me that ensued:

    Avi: That Zoey is so sweet.

    Linda: They all are.

    Avi: That’s right. They all are. We deserve some of the credit, don’t we?

    Linda: Yes. Most of it.

    Avi: Maybe all?

    An unvaccinated child died from the measles yesterday in Gaines County in West Texas. The county is home to thousands of Moronites, an insular Christian group that historically has had low vaccination rates. Oops, I’m sorry — it’s Mennonites, not Moronites. The county’s vax rate is 13% below what is needed to prevent outbreaks. Criticize the Jews all you want — who doesn’t? At least we don’t kill our own children out of idiocy. Jeez Louise.

    RFK, Jr., “downplayed” the death (that’s the word used by the NYT), noting it’s “not unusual.” That should be comforting to the parents. In The Measles Book, published in 2021, Kennedy wrote: “measles outbreaks have been fabricated to create fear,” leading government officials to “inflict unnecessary and risky vaccines on millions of children for the sole purpose of fattening industry profits.” The outbreak in West Texas has spread into New Mexico. Junior has blood on his hands. He’ll be knee deep in it soon.

    Miriam Webster’s “Word of the Day” is doff. I almost skipped reading about it thinking it was nothing special — that it just means to take off your hat out of respect. But I was wrong. First of all, it’s not limited to hats and is unrelated to shows of respect. It simply means to take off any article of clothing. Best to think of it as the opposite of don, which it is. It’s from “to do off,” as don is from “to do on.” Juliet used it in her “rose by any other name” speech: “Romeo, doff thy name; / And for that name, which is no part of thee, / Take all myself.” [Sigh.]

    True to form, our Phil broke into J’s bedroom (climbed through the famous window) for this shot. We normally berate Phil when he does that, but we can’t this time — she’s too beautiful. That’s Hailee Steinfeld, btw, engaged to marry NFL QB Josh Allen, who is apparently not deterred by her tragic death. “Nobody’s perfect,” he reasoned.

    The puzzle by David Steinberg was brilliant today. The theme was POCKETS. There were four across answers that were types of pants: TROUSERS, BLUE JEANS, CORDUROYS, and JODHPURS (look it up). Each of these, fortuitously, has the letter U in it. That U served as a “pocket” to hold something from the crossing down word. E.g., at 4 down the clue was “Shook one’s defender, in sports lingo.” The answer is GOT OPEN, but all you could fit into squares was GOTO and the “pen” fit into the U from TROUSERS, see below. Similarly, the “glove” at the end of BIG LOVE fit into the U of BLUE JEANS; the “phone” at the end of PERSEPHONE fit into the U of CORDUROYS; and the KEY at the end of MICKEY fit into the U of Jodhpurs. When you finished, these neat pictures appeared in your completed grid:

    Note there are no other Us in the entire grid, a nice touch.

    Too bad David didn’t put BRASS in one of the pockets.

    Commenter Egs noted: The items are the things, employed in the exact order, that I spend the bulk of my days looking for every time Mrs. Egs tries to embark on any outing……glove, pen, key, phone.

    Continuing with the pocket theme, a commenter suspiciously calling him or herself Mae W. wrote simply “No banana?” It recalls Ms. West’s famous line: “Is that a pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me? (The pistol is sometimes replaced by a banana.)

    The puzzle also asked us to know who the author of “Dubliners” is. JOYCE, of course, and it led Son Volt to share this song with us, that includes a reference to JJ.

    Rex’s write-up today (he loved the puzzle too) included a reference to Musk’s Nazi salute. It generated this back-and-forth by commenters:

    It started with Rachel, for the defense:

    As the granddaughter of a Survivor I am very sensitive about anyone who would make that salute and I don’t think Elon Musk did that. Here’s what I do know for a fact: Elon Musk visited Auschwitz-Birkenau on January 22, 2024. This private visit took place before he attended a conference on antisemitism organized by the European Jewish Association in Krakow, Poland. During the visit, he was accompanied by his young son, as well as by Rabbi Menachem Margolin, and Holocaust survivor Gidon Lev. Musk laid a wreath and participated in a memorial ceremony at the site, which was a former Nazi German concentration camp where over 1.1 million people, mostly Jews, were killed during World War II. Pretty sure he didn’t give a Nazi dog whistle salute a year after that visit. It was just an awkward gesticulation used as a desperate attempt by his political opponents to vilify him.

    Sir Hillary countered: Your last sentence seems to be the point you really wanted to make, which is of course your right. But how can anyone be “pretty sure” about what Musk thinks or does? Face it — none of us has any idea what’s going on in his head — “mercurial” doesn’t even begin to describe the way he rolls. If that’s why you like him, fine, but your argument in this case might be more convincing if he didn’t have [Germany’s right-wing] AfD leadership on speed-dial.

    Later in the day, Rachel took some heavier hits:

    Anony Mouse I wrote: You have no way of knowing his motivations for any of the above, but what we do know is how his supporters are interpreting his salute to validate and further their own racism. Being a descendent of a survivor doesn’t mean you get to justify harmful rhetoric as “he didn’t mean it.”

    Anony Mouse II: You’re just gaslighting yourself. There’s nothing awkward about it, he clearly planned it ahead of time, and he’s had every opportunity to apologize and clarify, but he’d rather court neo-Nazis.

    Anony Mouse III: You should be ashamed for defending this guy.

    Anony Mouse IV: What horrid propaganda. Guy is a neo-Nazi. Idiocy to pretend otherwise: https://www.npr.org/2025/01/27/nx-s1-5276084/elon-musk-german-far-right-afd-holocaust

    Frank Bruni’s “For The Love Of Sentences” feature was on fire this week. First, our sports consultant Sarah was delighted with this description of a hockey game in The New Yorker by Louisa Thomas: “Skaters turned and arced, arced and turned, their jerseys, bright against the white ice, reorganizing like a kaleidoscope.”

    Sticking with sports, in The Athletic, Brendan Quinn and Brendan Marks visited with the young Duke basketballer Cooper Flagg and his parents: “Mom has a tendency to dominate chats, cutting in like an 18-wheeler changing lanes with no signal. Cooper is said to get his basketball moxie from her.” 

    Last, this hysterical quote in The Atlantic by Gary Shteyngart appraising his own body (or, rather, his punishing self-image of it): “When I finally found people to have sex with me — I had to attend Oberlin to complete the task — my expression upon disrobing resembled that of a dog looking up at his mistress after a bowel movement of hazmat proportions.”

    It reminded me of Rodney Dangerfield’s comments on his own looks: “When I was born, the doctor slapped my mother.”

    Enough. See you tomorrow.

  • Mrs. Kennedy and Mr. Hill

    Let’s open today with a pretty face. At 59D the clue was “Band with the 1984 hit ’99 Luftballons.’” Yikes, was it really over 40 years ago? NENA.

    It’s such a good song. Turn it up!

    George Harrison was born on this date in 1943. In Liverpool (duh). He passed away in 2001. Did you know he was only 14 when he joined the Beatles? There was some grumbling about his always being treated as “the little brother,” although that’s what I was and it never bothered me. To the contrary, I always felt loved. But where was I? Oh, yeah, George. So he was only allocated two songs per album and when the band broke up and he went solo he had a huge backlog to draw from.

    Here’s a tune of his I like, below. It’s a love song George wrote for his then-wife Pattie Boyd. Pattie went on to marry Eric Clapton after she and George divorced. Pattie and George were married for eleven years and remained close after splitting. George called Clapton his husband-in-law. Pattie is still living and is 80. George is still dead. You know Clapton’s song Layla? Sure you do. Pattie is Layla. It was the world’s loss that neither marriage resulted in children, though they all tried. Pattie was a model whose look helped define the era. It’s easy to see how all the boys fell for her. She said if a biopic is ever made on her life, she’d like Taylor Swift to play her. (I’m requesting Tom Cruise for mine, BTW. Just sayin’.)

    At his death, Paul said of George: “He was a lovely guy, and a very brave man and had a wonderful sense of humor. He is really just my baby brother.”

    The limo in which John F. and Jackie were riding on that fateful day in 1963 is on display in the Henry Ford Museum in Dearborn, MI. We saw it; it’s chilling. Amazingly, it was fixed up and still used for a time in motorcades after the assassination. Anyway, if you recall that day, you will recall the image of Jackie, terrified, climbing out of her seat. The car was speeding to the hospital and if Jackie had fallen out and onto the road, she would likely have been run over and killed. The Secret Service agent who climbed onto the trunk and pushed her back in is thus credited with saving her life. That agent was Clint Hill. He died last Friday at the age of 93.

    Hill was chosen to protect Jackie because he was close in age to her, and Jackie and he grew to be very close friends, although he always called her Mrs. Kennedy and she called him Mr. Hill. He stayed by her side for four days after the shooting. Thirteen days after it, in a ceremony attended by Jackie, Hill received the highest award bestowed on Secret Service agents, for “extraordinary courage and heroic effort in the face of maximum danger.” He remained the protection for Jackie and the kids for a year.

    Despite being considered a hero by others, Hill was tortured for years by the belief he could have saved JFK had he only reacted better once the shooting began. He told Mike Wallace in an interview “Had I turned in a different direction, I’d have made it. It’s my fault. I have a great deal of guilt about that.”

    He sank into a terrible depression and alcoholism and retired at the age of 43. He only made peace with himself when he visited the scene, and went into the building where the shots came from. He concluded nothing he could have done would have saved the president. In time, he snapped out of his depression.

    Hill married his second wife in 2021, Lisa McCubbin, the journalist/author with whom he wrote his memoir “Mrs. Kennedy and Me” in 2012, and she survives him, as do his two sons from his earlier marriage to Gwendolyn Brown, a college classmate; five grandchildren; two step-grandsons; and all the rest of us, in this poor beaten-up country, who are grateful for our time with Jackie Kennedy, whose beauty and grace kept the glow of those years alive for all those extra years thanks to Clint Hill.

    Rest in peace, Agent Hill.

    This was just reported: Sen. Kevin Cramer (R-ND) took a hard fall in his home state after slipping on ice Sunday, suffering “a severe concussion, a seizure, and a slight brain bleed,” and is taking it “day to day” before returning to his congressional duties.

    He’s a Republican Senator — what congressional duties?

    Here’s a shot of him going down.

    Oy.

    Speaking of falling on your ass, you may recall commenter Gary had trouble with the puzzle yesterday since he was prepping for a procedure (no doubt a colonoscopy). Here’s what he wrote today:

    “Solved this under the lingering effects of fentanyl after my procedure. So as you can imagine, I found this puzzle quite pleasant.”

    At 54A the clue was “Wide-eyed with wonder,” and the answer was AGOG. At 18A the clue was “Not very approachable,” and the answer was ALOOF.

    Can you use both in a sentence? A gog and a loof walk into a bar . . .

    Barry McMahon posted the following for the Dull Men’s Club (UK), but, for those of us who care deeply, it’s hardly a dull topic:

    “Me and the wife have been having a silent battle for years now. She always puts the toilet roll on the holder with the end hanging down the back. Every time I use the toilet I will switch it to the “correct” way, end hanging down the front. Neither of us has acknowledged the fact, but we both know it’s happening…………… Unless she just couldn’t care less and doesn’t notice.”

    Did you know there are names for each way: hanging down the front (the correct way) is called a beard. Hanging down the back is a mullet.

    Here are some of the 43 comments:

    Murray Atkinson: Every time I visited my mum I would turn it round. It was always turned back immediately.

    Jim Robertson: The only reason to have the roll hanging at the back, is if you have a toddler or cat who likes to unroll the entire roll for fun.

    Alan Hunt: Why don’t you put it your way, over, when you use it and then put it back ,under, when you leave…. She will then think she has won, but you will have more than one ‘over’ her….. see what I did there? …. I’ll get my coat 

    Gilly B: We have a bathroom each. As a consequence I have no idea how he hangs his.

    Chris Fitzgerald: I use the Daily Mail

    Liz Webster Goddard: Install a second roll holder.

    Rose Kocher: The correct way is whatever way she likes it.

    Dominic Hill: Divorce is the only option if she can’t accept she’s wrong

    Marc Hurd: My wife is a rare woman. After we married I explained the correct way to hang a toilet roll and she, being able to see the logic, accepted it without question. She has made mistakes from time to time over the last 45 years when she has her head in the clouds but it’s unusual so I quietly forgive her, correct the problem and administer no lectures or punishments. 

    Paula Adams: I couldn’t care less which way it goes, but I do change them round in other people’s toilets for a giggle

    Thanks for stopping by. See you tomorrow!