The Wellington Files

  • Fear the Wurst!

    Happy Anniversary Don Larsen! On this date in 1956, Larsen pitched his perfect game against Brooklyn in the World Series. It was the first perfect game pitched since 1922. Only 24 have been pitched in all of baseball history.

    Larry Napp was umping at third base for Larsen’s game, and twelve years later when Catfish Hunter pitched his perfect game, Napp was umping at first. Ed Runge was umping in right field for Larsen’s game, and 56 years later (in 2012) when both Philip Humber and Matt Cain pitched perfect games, Runge’s grandson Brian umped in both.

    The puzzle was very clever today. The theme was “Make Ends Meat.” Meat! The theme answers all used meat homonyms. E.g., at 17A the clue was “Beware of this sausage!”? and the answer was FEAR THE WURST. At 45A the clue was “Charlotte’s first draft for ‘Some Pig’?” And the answer was WHAT A BOAR.

    Rex wrote briefly on the topic of boars and pigs and, apparently, betrayed his ignorance. Because a commenter who called himself Anyone/Everyone who lives in Iowa schooled us with the following:

    “Sir, your ignorance of swine is astonishing.

    “Naming based on Age / Sex:
    Piglet – a baby pig of any sex. Called such until weaned
    Barrow: A male when castrated before sexual maturity
    Stag: A male castrated post puberty.
    Gilt: A female who hasn’t had a litter.
    Sow: A female who has had a litter.
    Boar: An intact, adult male.

    “Based on Size:
    Weaner: Any sex, but weaned an not ready for market.
    Porker: up 120lbs, ready for market as meat
    Cutter: 120 – 160lbs, also for meat, and
    Baconer: 160lbs+ – Produce good bacon, lesser quality meat otherwise.

    “You probably haven’t eaten boar pork in your life, as boars exist solely for breeding purposes, and one boar can take care of hundreds (thousand with assistance of technology) and no one wants to have to handle a boar if it’s not necessary.”

    I know what you are all wondering. No, that won’t be on the midterm. Hi Wilbur!

    In Monday’s puzzle, a clue was  “Boxer who lit the cauldron in the 1996 Olympics” and it was, of course, ALI. It opened a little door to a wonderful memory for commenter Tom T and he shared it with us:

    “In 1996, my wife and I took summer jobs in Europe before a planned move with our two young sons from Louisiana to South Florida in the fall. The jobs in Europe turned out to be a bust and, with the Olympics about to get underway in Atlanta, we had to scramble to get flights to Atlanta from Europe. We ended up with my older son and me flying through LaGuardia while my wife and younger son reached Atlanta via Cincinnati.

    “As she waited with my son at their gate in Cincinnati, my wife thought that the lone man who arrived on an airport motorized cart might be Mohammed Ali, even though it seemed really odd that he would travel without an entourage. It was indeed Ali and she got a great picture of our son with the legendary boxer.

    “Two nights later, sitting on the living room floor of our new house in Florida with my son in my lap, we watched the opening ceremony of the 1996 Olympics. And as the torch passed from one famous person to another, it dawned on me that the last person to hold that torch, the one to light the cauldron, would be Ali. I shared that thought with my son, and when the big moment came, he said, ‘That’s him, Dad!’”

    “Ali’s low profile travel arrangement was clearly part of a plan to keep his torch-bearing a secret. It led to a great memory for my family.”

    Gotta get to bed early tonight — the owls and we are taking the show on the road tomorrow with a stop in Pittsburgh and then on to see Sam, Sarah, Morris, and Worthington in Bloomfield Hills MI. Broadcasting may be a bit spotty until our return next Tuesday. But we’ll see.

    Thanks for stopping in!

  • Vandy! We’re F*cking Turnt!

    There are surprises in sports, there are upsets and shocking upsets. And then there is Vanderbilt beating Alabama Saturday 40-35. Is there a descriptor for that? Bama was fresh off its win over powerhouse Georgia and ranked #1. They owned Vandy. They had beaten them 23 consecutive times, more than any Alabama victim. They were 22.5-point favorites. Vandy had never beaten a top-five team. Ever. Sh*t, are they even a real team? — they’re called the Commodores. What the hell is that? A bar-mitzvah band? And Bama of course is the Crimson Tide, a red tsunami. But when it was all over, the scoreboard read Vandy 40, Alabama 35. QB Pavia summed things up in his on-field interview after the game:

    That interview was conducted by Alyssa Lang and it wasn’t easy for her to get a hold of him. The NYT said Lang was the only one who stopped him all day.

    Later, of course, in front of the press, Pavia was much calmer and gave a lot of the credit to God for the win. These players who credit God — assuming arguendo that God exists — do they really think God favored them over their opponent? Does it take deep reflection to realize how absurd that is? Back in 2010, Buffalo Bills wide receiver Stevie Johnson blamed God for his (Johnson’s) dropping a game-winning touchdown pass. (“I praise you 24/7, and this how you do me!!”) I’m sorry to go off on this God tangent and distract from Vandy’s historic win — but you started it Pavia.

    Crack Owl Chatter photographer Phil was at the game, but only got this one shot for us before passing out. Thanks, Philly! Good work.

    Just a short note now to let you know that my old ass is wonderful.

    Wait, what?

    Oh, no — let me restate that: The movie “My Old Ass” with Aubrey Plaza and no one else I heard of is wonderful. Even though it takes place on a cranberry farm in Canada, it never gets bogged down. (Hi Carl!)

    The male lead, Percy Hynes White, has an electric charm. It’s the first role for Maisy Stella, the young actress who plays the lead character with the sexy name of Elliott, and she’s good too. Let’s have a look at them, below. Then, when you all go to see it, 92% of you will like it, according to Rotten Tomatoes. It’s about what it means to be young. In case you forgot.

    This “Tiny Love Story” is from yesterday’s NYT. It’s by Phyllis Sheerin Ross.

    Earl and I were introduced in January 1961. As we sat in a darkened movie theater in April watching a rescreening of “An American in Paris,” he leaned forward and whispered, “I think I love you.” I replied, “Please let me know when you do.” He did, and we married in October. Over the next 46 happy years until Earl passed, he would occasionally lean forward and whisper, “I think I love you.” And yes, I would then lean forward and whisper, “Please let me know when you do.”

    A black-and-white photograph of the author, Phyllis Sheerin Ross, and her husband standing outside a house. He has his arm around her, and they are both smiling.

    A local TV station in Texas (WFAA) keeps “a running list” of pastors in their heavily-churched area who have been involved in scandals, mostly sex scandals, we are happy to note. There are 17 so far this year, including five that include criminal charges. It’s enough to earn a front-page story in the Times. “It’s like the unbuckling of the Bible Belt,” said one church founder. [OC note: Wish I had come up with that.]

    We all have our favorites, of course, and mine is Robert Morris, the founder of the Gateway Church, one of the largest in the area. Morris was also a “faith advisor” in the Trump administration. This man of God engaged in the sexual abuse of a girl dozens and dozens of times over a four-year period. I know what you’re thinking — a pastor sexually abusing a child — why is that even news anymore? It would be more newsworthy to find one who hasn’t. [Have I shared this joke? A cop stops a car with two priests in it. “We’re looking for a child molester,” the cop says. One of the priest answers: “We can do it.”]

    In the case of Robert Morris, it was his defense that caught my eye. Let’s have a look. First, here’s Cindy Clemishire. It was she who was abused by Morris when she was 12 and finally went public.

    Morris was 21 when it started, married with a child. He traveled the country spreading the word of Jesus. As NBC News put it, “Clemishire was 12, dressed in flowery pink pajamas, and still liked to play with Barbie dolls. It was Christmas, 1982, and Morris was staying with the Clemishires. He told Cindy to come see him in his room before bed, and she was the type of girl who listened to instructions from trusted adults. He molested her repeatedly.”

    It took a while, but 25 years later, Clemishire hired an attorney and advised Morris she was suing him for the abuse. Now comes my favorite part. Morris retained a sharp lawyer. Well, let me rephrase that — he retained a lawyer named Sharpe.

    “It was your client,” wrote Sharpe, referring to Clemishire at age 12, “who initiated inappropriate behavior by coming into my client’s bedroom and getting in bed with him.”

    Aha! The “She started it!” defense!

    It reminded me of the Seinfeld episode in which Kramer got into a fight with a monkey at the zoo. (They were throwing things at each other through the bars.) When he was called into the zookeeper’s office and upbraided for his actions, Kramer said, “Well, he started it!”

    Sharpe denied knowing Clemishire was only 12, but when offered to see the correspondence that clearly stated the fact he said he did not have time to read it. Fair enough. Busy is busy.

    Clemishire said the abuse lasted for years and involved over 100 incidents far more intimate and abusive than the “kissing and petting” Morris admitted. Morris also said the number was only a “fraction” of the number of times she claimed. He did not make it clear what size fraction should be considered okay.

    Clemishire’s father found out about the abuse in 1987 and called the senior pastor in a rage demanding Morris be removed from the Church.

    This part’s good too.

    Clemishire remembers getting a call from Morris’ wife, Debbie, a few days later.  Debbie told her, “I forgive you.”

    “I’ll never forget that,” Clemishire said. “They wanted me to believe that I — me, the child — was responsible for what happened. And they’ve never stopped trying to make me believe that.”

    I like to think there’s a special place in Hell for these schmucks, but I doubt there’s enough room down there for them all.

    Yuck. Those stories make me feel like I need a shower. Either a shower OR! a visit to the Dull Men’s Club (UK).

    Member Andy Spragg shared the following: This morning I made three slices of toast for my breakfast, from a loaf type we don’t usually buy (Jasons Sourdough 400gm; it was a reduced bargain at Tesco Express). Imagine my dull delight when I realised how nicely they conformed to the outline of the fish plate when suitably arranged.

    Mike Woodward-Gregg asked: How did you manage to corale the upper left dollop of chilli crisp into the shape of a cockerel?

    I know what he meant to ask — that upper left dollop of jelly (or whatever) looks like a cockerel. But what does “corale” mean? I inquired but have yet to receive a response.

    Elaine Dixon noted it was her favorite bread. And Clarissa Vincent had this story for us: I buy two Jason’s at once because I get through a loaf quickly. Yesterday the huge Tesco was heaving and in the busyness the teller only charged me £2. I thought it was BOGOF but on my receipt only one had been charged.

    I like to participate when I can, so I chimed in with: “I live for when things like that happen.”

    Then things got a bit ugly. Karen Bearns-Donnelly asked: Why can’t you spread to the edges?

    Spragg replied: it’s crunchy peanut butter; it’s not infinitely spreadable. Why is it a big deal?

    Karen: I didn’t say it was a big deal. Just don’t see the point of having naked toast.

    Spragg: you didn’t say it was a big deal, but you did say “can’t” rather than “don’t,” like it was some fundamental disability on my part rather than just a conscious choice.

    Karen: Jaysus

    Spragg: Why can’t you spell Jesus properly?

    Karen: if I’d meant Jesus that’s what I’d have put.

    [It seems to have ended there. Could you plotz?]

    See you tomorrow Chatterheads!

  • Pickle?

    The puzzle today was by one of my favorite constructors: Natan Last. Readers with a young man’s memory may recall I did a bit on his “last” name a while ago. The more puzzles I do (I still consider myself a noob), the more I appreciate the ones that are fresh and wide-ranging. Here are three consecutive down clues/answers that hit us right away today at 2, 3, and 4 down. “Imbecile!” (YOU FOOL); Don (MOB BOSS); and Given name of the first Countess Mountbatten (EDWINA). How’s that for freshness and range?

    And there were so many other good ones sprinkled around the grid. Rex’s favorite was “Pitches low and inside?” That’s a brilliant example of a type of clue called a “misdirect.” It has you thinking baseball, but the answer is SUBWAY ADS. (Get it?)

    Distinguished guests to the grid include BAYARD RUSTIN (“Political activist who organized 1963’s March on Washington”), and Mercedes SOSA, icon of Argentine folk music. How classy is that? “Gertrude, for one” was the clue for DANE. It’s Hamlet’s mom!

    For YOU FOOL! (see above), Rex had the impeccable taste to share a tune by the exquisite McGarrigle sisters with us. These are the same babes whose beautiful song “Heart Like A Wheel” was featured at Welly’s and Wilma’s wedding! Please sit back for a few minutes and enjoy both of these songs (the latter with Linda Ronstadt).

    Some time after the wedding, I asked Wilma and Welly what led them to choose that song. It is, after all, a pretty sad song. They said they were touched by the refrain “It’s only love.” The wedding was in the woods in the Berkshires and was very beautiful. Many of our friends were in attendance. Lianna pushed Wilma up the aisle in her stroller. She was the most beautiful bride, and remains just as beautiful today if not more so, says Welly.

    From tomorrow’s Met Diary:

    Dear Diary:

    I was on an uptown #1 train coming home from my job at a SoHo restaurant.

    As I sat there with my backpack and big black headphones, a man sitting nearby took a jar of pickles out of a plastic shopping bag. He opened the jar, ate two or three pickles and then extended the jar to me.

    “Pickle?” he said.

    I thanked him but declined, gesturing to the meal in my own plastic bag I was bringing home from work.

    He shrugged and continued to eat pickles and sip the juice.

    ABOUT THE PICKLE FESTIVAL:
    Rosendale International Pickle Festival is held once a year, on the 3rd Sunday of October. We host over 100 vendors who sell pickles, groceries, hot food, baked goods, crafts, fashion, jewelry, and more. There’s a home pickling contest and the Pickle Triathlon offers a pickle eating contest, pickle juice drinking and a pickle toss. Up to 5,000 people visit the Pickle Festival every year. All proceeds are donated back into the Rosendale community.

    Ulster County Fairgrounds
    249 Libertyville Rd, New Paltz, NY 12561

    Here’s what the pickle eating contest looks like:

    Back to the puzzle, at 22A the clue was “Midday assignation,” and the answer was NOONER. I knoo it but it was noo to several others. It lead commenter Greg to note:

    “A NOONER is absolutely a thing. Probably goes back to when workmen would go home for lunch and have a quickie with the missus. Nowadays the word usually implies a lunchtime affair with a coworker or side piece.”

    Side piece! Now, that’s new to me.

    At 30A, the clue was “What shells can be filled with,” and the answer was CREW TEAMS.

    It led commenter “I. Scull” to post this irate note:

    CREW TEAM is redundant – the crew IS the team. You may use Crew. You may use Rowing Team. But not Crew Team. This error recurs in the New York Times puzzle, and there is no excuse for it. So there! [Hrrrrumph!]

    But Anony Mouse disagreed. He says “Crew is a specific sport” so CREW TEAM is not redundant.

    This pretty crew team is from South Jersey. Go get ’em girls!

    Headline in The Onion: Scientists Let Defrosted Neanderthal Run Around Shrieking Before Refreezing Him

    Neil Hancox of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) writes: I went to a well-known DIY store to buy some hinges. They didn’t have the right ones, which shocked me a little.

    Here are a couple of the 39 comments it inspired:

    Sandra Davies: So you became unhinged?

    Bernard Shaw: I’ll never forget where I was when I heard this news.

    Steve Craig: You should have got the left ones then, and just flipped them over.

    Richard Hobson: Hope you find closure.

    Tom Hamilton: Did they have candles? I need four.

    Lori Smith: Fork handles.

    Miguel Vanrail: You shouldn’t get so hung up on it mate.

    I wasn’t going to use any more material from the DMC (UK) today, but I can’t resist this quickie:

    Mark Timms posted (just a few hours ago): Bought some frozen roast potatoes and one looks like a chicken drumstick.

    There’s only one comment so far. Nicholas Crosby: You certainly know how to live life to the full.

    I’m going to close with a bit of personal history, unearthed by Natan Last’s puzzle. At 36D the clue was “Post-Trebek ‘Jeopardy!’ host,” and the answer was BIALIK. It’s Mayim BIALIK.

    It’s a great name. Mayim is the Hebrew word for water. And Bialik (Chaim) was a well-known poet, considered a pioneer of modern Hebrew poetry. He died in 1934. The Flatbush Jewish Center in Brooklyn established a Hebrew/English day school in 1946, called The Bialik School. My dad was one of the founders, and the school office was named in his honor after he died. It was the first school I attended, from kindergarten through second grade. I have very little memory of it, but I recall seeing the sign with my dad’s name on it over the school office. The Bialik School closed around 1990.

    Thanks for stopping in. See you tomorrow!

  • Let’s Go Mets!

    Things were looking bad for the Mets last night. Quintana was masterful on the mound, shutting out the Brewers through six innings, but the bats were moribund. It seemed like one of those games in which the first team to score would hold on with their strong bullpen and pull out the squeaker. Diaz was strong in the Mets pen and could go two innings. Milwaukee was even stronger: Devin Williams is essentially unhittable. And Milwaukee was showing more swagger. Their pitchers were roaring off the mound and making ape-like muscle poses heading towards their dugout. I was beginning to hate them.

    And when Quintana was removed after his brilliant six and Butto took the mound, my fears were realized. First, Jake Bauers homered, a Yankee discard. And then, oh no!, Sal Frelick followed with another one! Back-to-back daggers — we’d be going into the eighth down at least 2-0. Ouch!

    At this point the question arose: Is Sal Frelick Jewish? Needless to say, that would put an interesting spin on things: I’ve been rooting for Atlanta these last few years because of Max Fried. But an intensive search by Owl Chatter’s research division concludes that he is not. He is not listed among the Jewish ballplayers catalogued by Wikipedia, and he played for Italy in the last World Baseball Classic. I’m going to go out on a limb and say he’s Italian. (Duh.)

    So, where were we? Oh, yeah, the Mets game. At this point I fell asleep. I was tired from two hours of driving Lianna around earlier (not complaining: we cherish every moment with her), plus I’m too f*cking old to be staying up so late. So I missed Diaz coming in to quell the revolt in the seventh and keep things quiet in the eighth. The Mets went down 1-2-3 in their eighth. Oy. Now it’s the ninth, and still 2-0. Williams is on the mound. He’s scary good, but Lindor draws a walk. Hope stirs. But Vientos strikes out. Rats! Then, Nimmo somehow puts a solid bat on a pitch and drives it to right for a single, Lindor racing to third. The Mets are in business! Up next was Alonso, the Mets slugger. But he was having such a bad season and such a bad series. He just didn’t look like his old self — the one that hit over 50 homers one year. And then he did. Williams pitched, Alonso swung, and the ball carried to right — an opposite field shot, with just enough on it to make it over the fence cleanly. OMG — the Mets were suddenly up 3-2!

    Williams’ signature pitch is his “airbender” change-up. He threw it 176 times during the season and never gave up a home run with it. Until this one. As Hinch said yesterday: Isn’t baseball great?

    Along with Lindor’s homer on Monday, this was historic. A reporter referenced Alonso’s recent troubles after the game: were your struggles a factor as you approached the plate? And he explained he takes a “next pitch” approach. Block everything in the past out: focus solely on the next pitch. [Easy enough to say.]

    The Mets would still have to shut the Brewers out in their half of the ninth. But ex-Gnat and ex-Brewer Jesse Winker (“Wink”) gave us an insurance run. He was playing angry all week. After a big triple in Game 1 he jawed at shortstop Adames, who shouted right back. We later learned Adames actually went out to the parking lot after the game “to settle things.” But Winker did not attend the meeting.

    Anyway, after Alonso’s blast, Wink was plunked by a pitch and then stole second. A sweet single by darling Starling Marte sent Wink racing around third, and scoring safely ahead of the throw. He then slammed his helmet down on the plate in a furious celebration, breaking the helmet. We got the message fella — good job.

    Peterson, normally a starter, was called on to close. He’s a lefty and good, but he’s never pitched in relief before and the first batter — that goy Frelick again – singled to left center leading off the inning. Oy. After Ortiz struck out (yay) things were still a little dicey. Bryce Turang, who is very speedy and had been having a very good series was up. Even scarier, Chourio was on deck — the kid who hit two homers the night before. Peterson pitched. Turang swung and hit the ball sharply, but right to Lindor at short. Francisco took what seemed like a hundred steps, but reached second in time to step on the base and fire the ball to first for the game-ending double play.

    Sweet. Here’s Alonso, watching his historic shot clear the fence. The Phillies are up next. Tomorrow.

    Speaking of Petes, my Pete Rose autograph arrived. Gorgeous.

    The puzzle knocked me for a loop today. That’s okay. It happens on the odd Friday or Saturday. Of course, I could have done without Rex calling it not only “easy,” but “extremely easy.” Ouch. I missed on LANAI as “Onetime home of the world’s largest pineapple plantation,” forgot the last two letters of LGBTQIA, and, worst of all, had – – – LIANHERO for “Long lunch?” but just couldn’t see ITALIAN HERO. Ridiculous. Also whiffed on GEN Y for “Demo for many parents of Alphas.” (WTF?) Here’s Rex on GEN Y: ugh no one calls it that. Only crosswords call Millennials “GEN Y.” It goes Boomers, Gen X, Millennials, Gen Z, and, I guess, Alphas (a default reset so we could start over at the beginning of the (Greek) alphabet??). But GENY? GENY? 

    At 43A “Once, for one,” was a very hard clue. You had to realize that “once” is Spanish for the number eleven. So once = a number, and in Spanish the word for number is NUMERO. (I just got that from the crosses.) Here’s a Tommy Tutone song about a number Rex shared and the owls wanted me to re-share because it references their special friend Newton Jenny (Hi Jelly!).

    At 5A, “Tablet that’s impossible to swallow?” was IPAD.

    But egs begged to differ: Check out this guy. Michel Lotito, known as ‘Monsieur Mangetout,’ was born on June 15, 1950, in Grenoble, France. He was famous for deliberately eating indigestible objects.

    Lotito began eating unusual material at age 9 and performed publicly beginning in 1966, around the age of 16. He had an eating disorder known as pica, which is characterized by an appetite for substances that are largely non-nutritive. Doctors determined that he also had a thick lining in his stomach and intestines which allowed his consumption of sharp metal without suffering injury. Lotito also had digestive juices that were unusually powerful, meaning that he could digest the unusual materials. However, it also meant that soft foods, such as bananas and hard-boiled eggs, made him sick.

    Lotito’s performances involved the consumption of metal, glass, rubber and other materials. He disassembled, cut up, and consumed items such as bicycles, shopping carts, televisions, beds and a Cessna 150. It took him roughly two years, from 1978 to 1980, to eat the Cessna 150. He drank a lot of mineral oil and water to help things go down. Between 1959 and 1997, he ate around nine tons of metal. OK egs — we get it — he could swallow an IPAD.

    He was awarded a brass plaque by the Guinness Book of Records. He ate the award. [Not kidding.]

    Let’s finish up tonight with OC fave Larissa Liveir playing Johnny B. Goode. She’s from Brazil.

    See you tomorrow Chatterheads!

  • A Rolling Donut

    My dear friend and colleague Toshi taught an accounting course at Hunter for a few years that was supposed to have an ethics component. He has a doctorate in Accounting and was of the laughable, absurd opinion that ethics belongs more to the legal field. So, in exchange for taking me to lunch, he asked me to cover that session for him. I could better teach Yiddish than ethics (and I don’t speak Yiddish), but a free lunch is a free lunch, so there I was in front of the students. My theme was that everyone knows what the ethical thing to do is — the issue is, can you find the fortitude to do it? If I have access to the right equipment, I play Al Pacino’s Oscar-winning scene from Scent of a Woman as part of the class. The relevant lines for my presentation come when Pacino grows a little subdued and says:

    Now, I have come to the crossroads in my life. I always knew what the right path was — without exception I knew. But I never took it. You know why? It was too damn hard.

    In keeping with that thought, it’s Emily Post’s birthday today. She was born in Baltimore in 1873. You know, — the etiquette lady. This nice quote of hers was in The Writer’s Almanac today: “Manners are a sensitive awareness of the feelings of others. If you have that awareness, you have good manners, no matter what fork you use.”

    In the puzzle today at 6A the clue was “Animal cry that sounds like a Greek letter,” and the answer was MEW, the Greek letter being MU. And it is a diphthong, i.e., MU is pronounced ME-YOU.

    It prompted a commenter to share this great math joke: As opposed to Mu, the Greek letter Nu is not a diphthong (it’s pronounced NEW), letting people hilariously respond to the inquiry “What’s new?” with the rakish answer, “C over lambda.” [I know — hysterical, right?]

    (Explanation: the equation for converting between the frequency, nu, and the wavelength, lambda, of a wave traveling at the speed of light, which is “c,” is c = lambda times nu. So, dividing each side by lambda gives you Nu = c/lambda.)

    Even Al Pacino thought it was funny.

    Stuart Davidson of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) writes:

    Every thing I buy I do the maths to see how long I need to own and use the item to bring the cost down below £1 per month. £30 pair of jeans must last 30 months or more to be value for money.

    Our TV cost £389 on an Amazon deal 9 years 2 months ago. It’s cost me £3.53 per month to date. I need to continue using it for another 279 months or just over 23 years to be “value for money.”

    I am now developing a spreadsheet with all items in my house, date purchased and cost to show visually when an item can be replaced.

    Now obviously food, cleaning supplies other disposable items are not included. [Obviously.]

    I have another 5 days before I return to work. I should be able to complete this task before then.

    Jamie Lee chimed in:

    I always do cost effectiveness / value for money, but nowhere near this extent, and personally feel aiming for £1 a month is a bit low, especially due to inflation, and some items need a different scale altogether, such as a car or bike, hiking boots for instance are generally a lot more expensive than trainers, yet used less, but wear quicker per mile, as is the design, so items may need their own categories to correctly scale them, but I like it, and hope you get it all done in time.

    Neill Birch: Can’t wait to see the spreadsheet!

    Jonathan James Guscott: I truly am impressed by the abhorrently dull nature of this post. I take my rather dull tweed flat cap off to you (bought from M&S ( already below £1 per wear)).

    Pauline Fleming: Your poor wife!!

    Clem Williams: I’ve been noting date of purchase on some items for a while now – petrol and diesel in storage containers, elementary footwear (double pluggers in Australian terminology), shaving gel, and other aerosol products. Car servicing records need such data anyway, I don’t see anything odd about this practice. Besides, I’ve reached an age where I really don’t care what anybody thinks of what I do, they can all go take a running (&@$ at a rolling donut.

    You tell ’em Clem!!

    See you tomorrow!

  • Not In My House!

    How could anyone not love Dikembe Mutombo Mpolondo Mukamba Jean-Jacques Wamutombo? He was Congolese and came to the U.S. to play basketball at Georgetown before his Hall of Fame NBA career. He is recognized as one of the greatest defensive players and shot blockers of all time. He passed away on Monday from a brain tumor. He was only 58.

    Dikembe became a U.S. citizen in 2006. We could not begin to do justice to the scope and depth of his extraordinary humanitarian work. The Biamba Marie Mutombo Hospital sits on a 12-acre site on the outskirts of Kinshasa. It’s named in honor of his mother. He provided $15 million of the $29 million needed to bring it into existence.

    Dikembe and his wife Rose lived in Atlanta. They had three children and adopted four more from Rose’s deceased brothers.

    A very good man. Rest in peace.

    The puzzle was pretty amazing today. Running down the center was ANIMAL CROSSING, clued by “Nintendo video game series.” And then every answer that crossed it (14) was a different animal. They included a TREE FROG (“Jungle peeper”), an ANTEATER, and a NEMATODE (“Worm found in every ecosystem on Earth, even the deepest oceans”).

    I also learned a new funny-sounding word: TEASEL. It’s a “spiny plant.”

    Kirk Daniels of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) asked for ideas on how to stop a toddler from climbing the bannister:

    Rick Bedford: Adoption.

    Sean Turnbull, barbed wire.

    Sam Graves, goose fat

    Emma Devey, electric fence.

    Matthew Rose, Superglue

    Davis Fernsby:

    Matt Gilley: “Amputation worked with mine.”

    Claire Hutch: Sniper towers.

    Anita Bushnell Bartlett: tape

    Ever hear of this stuff? It was also recommended.

    Anti-climb paint is thick and oily in consistency, similar to petroleum jelly, designed to make walls, fences and other surfaces slippery and hard to climb. The anti climb paint will form a thin skin helping to prevent leaves and the like from sticking to it but because it is thixotropic any pressure applied to it will make it return to liquid making it difficult for an intruder to gain a hand or foot hold.

    Sh*t! I’ve got this crap all over my hands now. Phil!! Put the stupid camera down and get some towels!!

    That’s Jamie McGregor, CEO of McGregor Metal Company in Springfield, Ohio. Looks like a pretty big operation. The company employs 330. McGregor is a real mensch. We’ve got a spot for him in the Owl Chatter Hall of Fame.

    A few years ago he had trouble finding people to hire. So he drew on the Haitian community and has about 35 Haitians working for him now. He was interviewed by the NYT and PBS and praised his workers. He said they helped revitalize the town. “They come to work every day. They don’t cause drama. They’re on time. They are drug-free. I wish I had 30 more.”

    Jamie is a dyed-in-the-wool Republican and voted for Trump twice. His family has been in Springfield for five generations. But none of that prevented the sh*t from hitting the fan. Big time.

    A flood of threats was directed at him, his family, and his business. They came by the hundreds — phone calls, emails and letters from white supremacists, neo-Nazis and others.

    “The owner of McGregor Metal can take a bullet to the skull and that would be 100 percent justified,” said one message. “Why are you importing Third World savages who eat animals and giving them jobs over U.S. citizens?” another asked. [OC note: Don’t most of us eat animals? Just sayin’.]

    McGregor’s children and his 80-year-old mother began receiving hateful calls. The FBI visited and said some of the threats were credible. They advised locking the lobby doors at McGregor Metal along with other safety protocols.

    Security experts also sat the family down. Vary your driving routes to work, school and other places, they advised. Don gloves and use tongs when handling and opening mail. Keep the blinds drawn at your house. They were also advised to install cameras, motion sensors and alarms, and start parking rear-first in the garage, keeping the car in drive until the door is all the way down. They acquired firearms. They picked up anti-climb paint. [No they didn’t.]

    “I can’t imagine living my whole life like this,” Ms. McGregor said. “You know, it’s got to end. It’s got to stop — hopefully after the election.’’

    McGregor said he will not be voting for Trump again.

    You see? — People can change their minds. Didn’t take much.

    Let’s end on a lighter note.

    The Tigers just swept their way into the next round of the playoffs! Woo-hoo! Manager A.J. Hinch was asked if it was particularly satisfying to beat Houston — for whom he managed before and who fired him after the sign-stealing scandal. You know the canned answer: “No, that wasn’t a factor at all; I’m just glad for the players that we won.” But that wasn’t what he said. His eyes lit up and he smiled. He said: “Isn’t baseball great?”

    See you tomorrow!

  • A Home Run for the Ages

    In the puzzle yesterday, at 49A the clue for BUFFALO BILL was “Football player in upstate NY.” It opened a can of worms. Here’s Rex:

    “No Buffalonian (I think that’s what they’re called?) (just kidding, folks), I say no resident of Buffalo would ever say they live in ‘upstate New York.’ That is some provincial NYC crap right there. I know, I know, anything north of 96th is ‘upstate’ to you all, but Buffalo is decidedly ‘western New York.’ It’s nowhere near, say, Poughkeepsie (also, don’t tell people from Poughkeepsie that they live ‘upstate,’ they hate it … well, my students from there hate it, anyway). I generally think ‘upstate’ is fine for most of non-NYC New York (including where I live, which is technically Central New York, or, more specifically, the Southern Tier), but Buffalo really is an entirely different ecosystem. It’s the heart of western New York. Just ask any Buffaloer (I think that’s what they’re called).”

    First of all, commenters chimed in noting that folks from Buffalo are indeed called Buffalonians. The Urban Dictionary agrees. Several also took the position that all parts of the state, no matter how distant from NYC, constitute “upstate.” They maintained that breaking “western NY” off from “upstate” is a johnny-come-lately maneuver. Excuse me, personeuver.

    According to Wikipedia, “Upstate New York is a geographic region of NY that lies north and northwest of the NYC metropolitan area. Upstate includes the middle and upper Hudson Valley, the Capital District, the Mohawk Valley region, Central NY, the Southern Tier, the Finger Lakes region, Western NY, and the North Country. Major cities across upstate NY from east to west include Albany, Utica, Binghamton, Syracuse, Rochester, and Buffalo.”

    We’ll also check with Owl Chatter friend Riverdale Joe on the matter and report back to you.

    Here’s a Tiny Love Story by Julianne Reid from yesterday’s NYT.

    Until the spring of sixth grade, my daily routine included brushing my teeth and reminding my disabled younger sister that she and her all-consuming disease ruined my life: my parents’ limited attention, the missed trips, the way others stared. Then one day, the seizures wouldn’t stop and Olivia went into a coma. On nights in the I.C.U., I tried but couldn’t remember the last time I told her I loved her. Weeks passed until, one day, she woke up. And I had a second chance. I wonder how many sisters out there are given that. 

    The first Mets game yesterday was historic. It was game one of a doubleheader and the Mets had to win at least one to make it into the playoffs. But the Atlanta pitcher, a mouthful — Spencer Schwellenbach, whose name barely fit on his jersey, stymied them for 7 innings and it was 3-0 Braves going into the 8th. But suddenly the dead woke up and rallied for six big runs — amazing! They were up 6-3!

    They called on their closer, Edwin Diaz, to shut the Braves down for the last two innings, so that should be that. But the roller coaster took another deep dive. Inexplicably, Diaz forgot to cover first on a grounder to the right side and the Braves were in business. Visibly rattled, Diaz yielded hit after hit until the lead was gone. The Mets limped into the ninth shocked and demoralized and down by a run.

    The first batter flew out weakly to left. But Starling Marte hit a sharp grounder past the shortstop for a single. Gary Cohen remarked that it was Atlanta’s back-up shortstop, but Keith Hernandez said it would have been a hit no matter who was playing short. It was key because Francisco Lindor came up next and lofted a ball to deep right. It didn’t seem all that powerful a shot but you could watch the fielders drifting back, and then the ball sailed over the fence. With Marte on first, it was good for two runs and the Mets got the lead back.

    With Diaz having imploded in the 8th, the Mets had another reliever, Stanek, warm. But they kept Diaz in. They later showed Diaz in the dugout after his bad inning. He was devastated. Nearly in tears. But once they got the lead back, he was determined to finish the job. He was raving that he was going back out on the mound no matter what anyone said. He was right. Mendoza left him in. He had regained his composure and finished up nicely.

    Lindor’s HR earned him an indelible place in Mets history, no question.

    Taylor showed up in the puzzle today. At 62A, the clue was “Word repeated four times in the chorus of Taylor Swift’s ‘Shake It Off.’” C’mon Swifties — that’s a gimme, right? It’s HATE. But doesn’t the word appear 5 times in the song? Is the clue wrong? Not at all — the clue says it’s “repeated” 4 times, not that it’s “said” 4 times. So calm down everybody.

    Well, we don’t have Pete Rose to kick around anymore. He died yesterday at the age of 83. Was there ever a more controversial ballplayer? In Bruce Weber’s obit in the NYT, he writes: “Had Shakespeare written about baseball, he might well have seized on the case of Rose.”

    Rose finished with 4,256 hits — the most ever in baseball history. His 4,192nd put him past Ty Cobb. (It was off of Eric Show of the Padres, if you’re a trivia buff. And did you know Cobb’s total was later reduced to 4,189?) He also got on base more often (5,929 times), played in more big-league games (3,852) and came to bat more times (15,890) than anyone else. DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak is unsurpassed, of course, but Rose’s 44-game streak is the second-longest.

    Rose came out of the womb ready to stroke a single to right. Get this — he was born on April 14, 1941 — Opening Day of the 1941 season. 

    As a rookie, Rose didn’t kowtow to the older players as was the custom back then. It rubbed people the wrong way and he was not liked by his teammates. Except for the Blacks — they knew what it meant to be shunned and took him in. Rose had many negative qualities — he was a terrible husband, and his gambling addiction led to his downfall. But he was never a racist. He felt there was nothing dumber than to care about what color a person is — what the hell difference does that make?

    Despite his place in baseball history, his autograph is not very valuable because he signed often to make money at autograph shows. But I do have a ball signed by him, and I just picked up a nice item on eBay to honor his memory. It only cost $20. I’ll share it with you when it comes in.

    Rest in peace, Rose.

    See you tomorrow.

  • The Hard Knuckle of the Year

    On gloomy days like today, we take it upon ourselves at Owl Chatter to bring sunshine into your lives. Here’s a Tiny Love Story by Christine Chernikoff from today’s NYT:

    She twirls the rings on my fingers as we snuggle in bed. Newly 4 and full of questions, my daughter seeks to know the world. “Mommy, why do you wear these rings?” We move effortlessly through her birthstone, my engagement and wedding rings. But how to explain the other three gold bands? Each is a marker of a pregnancy lost, embryos that didn’t grow. These are the siblings I dreamed for you, the babies I longed to hold. Someday we’ll grapple with loss, but today, I share a simple truth: These rings, my darling girl, they are all about love.

    This poem by Barbara Crooker is called “Ordinary Life.” It’s from today’s Writer’s Almanac.

    This was a day when nothing happened,
    the children went off to school
    without a murmur, remembering
    their books, lunches, gloves.
    All morning, the baby and I built block stacks
    in the squares of light on the floor.
    And lunch blended into naptime,
    I cleaned out kitchen cupboards,
    one of those jobs that never gets done,
    then sat in a circle of sunlight
    and drank ginger tea,
    watched the birds at the feeder
    jostle over lunch’s little scraps.
    A pheasant strutted from the hedgerow,
    preened and flashed his jeweled head.
    Now a chicken roasts in the pan,
    and the children return,
    the murmur of their stories dappling the air.
    I peel carrots and potatoes without paring my thumb.
    We listen together for your wheels on the drive.
    Grace before bread.
    And at the table, actual conversation,
    no bickering or pokes.
    And then, the drift into homework.
    The baby goes to his cars, drives them
    along the sofa’s ridges and hills.
    Leaning by the counter, we steal a long slow kiss,
    tasting of coffee and cream.
    The chicken’s diminished to skin & skeleton,
    the moon to a comma, a sliver of white,
    but this has been a day of grace
    in the dead of winter,
    the hard knuckle of the year,
    a day that unwrapped itself
    like an unexpected gift,
    and the stars turn on,
    order themselves
    into the winter night.

    Have you heard of, or tasted, Marmite? Me neither. It’s British: a sticky, dark brown paste with a distinctive, salty, powerful flavor and heady aroma. The distinctive taste is represented in the marketing slogan: “Love it or hate it.” Such is its prominence in British popular culture that Marmite is often used as a metaphor for something that is an acquired taste or polarizes opinion.

    It came up because Steve Craig of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) posted: “Just tried beans on toast but with Marmite instead of butter.” He called it a “game changer.”

    Here’s Steve. (Looks a little like Adam Schiff, no?)

    Well, you can imagine the commotion Steve’s post caused in the Club. Well over 100 comments. Tim Davis started things off with “I’d still have butter — and grated cheese too,” and Alex Bostock concurred: “Who doesn’t put cheese on beans?”

    Vernon Maldoom went off on a bit of a tangent with: “I think we are witnessing the demise of personal pronouns.”

    But Gareth Llewellyn Armstrong wrote: “Nonsense. The start of this sentence has been accepted English for decades – especially in informal journal-style sentences. What’s the point of using the pronoun here when it’s obvious who is talking?”

    Maldoom was having none of it: “Your proposal is clunky, clumsy and lazy.”

    Ouch!

    Sunday Simmons agreed with Gareth: “No, this is a completely acceptable sentence when used informally.”

    Getting back to the matter at hand, Adrian Scott suggested adding a couple of fried eggs. [OC note: We’ve noticed fried eggs getting added to sandwiches and burgers lately. On a hot dog once, even. We’re in favor of it!]

    It brought up a painful memory for Jess CB who posted: “And to think I had my post deleted when I used normal Bisto [gravy] for a chicken-based meal. You’re walking a thin line there Marmite Boy.”

    [Marmite Boy!]

    Andrew Turner, clearly not a fan, wrote: “It might be game-changing, but it’s changing the game to something terrible like monopoly.”

    I’m going to let Carlo DeCianti have the last word: “What kind of lunatic doesn’t put butter on his toast?”

    In the puzzle today, 1A started us off wonderfully. The clue was “Establishment where you might eat a muffin while petting a ragamuffin,” and the answer was CAT CAFE. The Ragamuffin is a breed of cat notable for a friendly personality and thick fur. Ragamuffin kittens are usually born white and develop a color pattern as they mature. Every color and pattern is allowable, with or without white.

    SALADS was clued by letting us know McDonalds stopped offering them in 2020. The puzzle was otherwise not very noteworthy, except that our style and culture consultant, Ana, sent this very nice shot in for our Dirty Old Man Dept to address 125A: NYLONS. Thanks, Babe! You’re too much!

    Taylor passed up the Chiefs game this week. At halftime, the Jim-Harbaugh-led Chargers were up 10-7. Travis has been active, catching 5 of 6 passes thrown his way, for 74 yards. The Jets suffered an excruciating last-minute loss. Oy, don’t ask. Too painful.

    See you tomorrow, kids.

  • Horchata

    Tarik Skubal is not the name of a spicy Moroccan stew, at least not that I’m aware of. He’s a pitcher for Detroit and pretty much the only Tiger I’ve heard of — I haven’t been following them — my bad. Skubal is a leading candidate for this year’s AL Cy Young award. His record is 18-4 with an ERA of 2.39 and he struck out 228 batters in 192 innings. He will be opening for Detroit in the playoffs on Tuesday — either in Baltimore or Houston.

    When the MLB trading deadline approaches in July, teams have to decide if they are buyers or sellers. If you believe you have a good chance to make the playoffs, you try to acquire good established players to help, and you grudgingly trade away prospects to get them. If you have abandoned all hope of making the playoffs, you toss your better players overboard (what the hell good were they?) and pick up some hot prospects. The Gnats, for example, are well-stocked with young phenoms, after going through several hopeless (but fun) seasons. This year, Detroit was a seller. That is, at the trading deadline they were under .500 and looking to the future. They dumped a few of their established players. And then something happened. They started winning games and kept on winning games until, yesterday, they improbably clinched a playoff spot. Wow. First time in ten years. As it happens, they clinched by beating the White Sox. And it was the 121st loss for Chicago — thus breaking the single-season loss record held since 1962 by the Mets.

    Here’s Tarik. Is that a real baseball? It looks so tiny.

    Tarik has three brothers named Treyvor, Tyler, and Trent. He went to the University of Seattle. Here’s his pretty wife, Jessica — she has a Masters degree in Taxation and works as a tax accountant. They were high school sweethearts and have one dependent, their son Kasen Tyler Skubal. He’s turning one in October.

    This poem is by David Citino and is called “Hair.” It’s from today’s Writer’s Almanac.

    One by one the children,
    large cartoon eyes shining,
    push away from the table,
    rise and walk away from us
    into their rooms. Doors slam
    hard. Loud music, the bass
    throbbing deep in our teeth,
    dark rooms of the heart.
    Oooo Baby … Oooo Baby …
    Years pass, time enough
    for something grand,
    something terrible to happen.
    When they come out, our sons
    have wild, unearthly voices.
    Our daughter has budded, mastered
    the art of embarrassment.
    She won’t look us in the eye.
    Oh, Daddy, she says, corners
    of her mouth turning down,
    Oh, Daddy. And everywhere
    there is hair. Such hair.

    Well, the puzzle today gave me a good workout, appropriate for a Saturday. How hard? Well at 26A the clue was “Drink made with rice milk and cinnamon.” 8 letters. When the crossing answers gave me HORCHATA, I figured something had to be wrong. But it’s HORCHATA. D’oh!

    28D was no picnic either. (What’s the opposite of a picnic? I think the opposite of a picnic is also a picnic — it’s just a different picnic.) The clue was “First name for the third second-in-command.” WTF? Translation: I needed to know who the third Vice President (like, of the U.S.) was, and I had to know his first name. Turned out to be Burr — AARON Burr. That’s a Saturday clue alright. On a Monday we’d have gotten “Slugger Hank.”

    A member of the American Nitpickers Assn & League (ANAL) posted the following:

    The Vice President of the United States is not second in command. She has no command authority; the Constitution gives her no command authority. None. Zero. As Vice President, she is: first in line of succession to the presidency; and President of the Senate with authority to cast a deciding vote in case of a tie. That’s it. There is nothing else. Any “authority” the president may personally and contingently give to her is political and not bound by any law and is not in anyway inherent in her office as Vice President.

    At the end of his post he added: “I should know,” and I noticed he posted under the name “Henry Wilson.” That was a sly joke. Henry Wilson was the VP from 1873 until his death in 1875. (U.S. Grant was Prez at the time.) (Bit o’ trivia: seven VPs have died in office.)

    I’m turning 24A over to our math department. Judy — this make any sense to you? — “Variable in Euler’s polyhedron formula (V − E + F = 2).” (From the crosses, it turned out to be EDGES. (Of course! How could I not see that immediately? “Polyhedron” was the giveaway.))

    It was nice to see that Detroit made it into a clue, given the Tigers’ clinching a playoff spot (see above). It was at 16A: “Military leader who helped capture Detroit in 1812.” The answer: TECUMSEH.

    Son Volt shared this very pretty but sad song by Townes Van Zandt with us, called “Tecumseh Valley.” It opens and closes with:

    The name she gave was Caroline
    The daughter of a miner
    And her ways were free
    And it seemed to me
    The sunshine walked beside her.

    At 44D, “Brand of vegetable oil” was WESSON, and at 50D, “One of the Seven Sisters” was SMITH. Smith & Wesson? Coincidence? Hmmmmm.

    At 11D, “Intercessor for the frequently forgetful” was STANTHONY. Several commenters thought stanthony was just some fakakte word like horchata. But it’s just St. Anthony. (Rex was miffed there was no “abbr” indicator in the clue, since ST is an abbreviation. He thinks on Saturdays they just throw “basic decorum” like that out the window.)

    Best clue ever (at 33A) for MOE: “Tucker who played drums for the Velvet Underground.” Moe (Maureen) is in the Rock and Roll HOF as a member of the VU and was one of the few female drummers of her era. She played standing up and used mallets instead of drumsticks. Critic Robert Christgau said of her: “Mo was a great drummer in a minimalist, limited, autodidactic way that I think changed musical history. She is where the punk notion of how the beat works begins.”

    Moe just turned 80, was born in Queens, and lives in Georgia. She has five kids. Her politics are pretty extreme-right. On the Tea Party website she posted that she believed Obama’s plan was to destroy the U.S. from within.

    Whew. Thank goodness he was stopped!

    Special thanks to Chatter-friend Chris whose magic guitar fingers entertained us with the East Branch Revival Band at the Mohican Outdoor Center’s Fall Festival today.

    You just drive up the road a bit after passing this sign. The trees are barely a teensy bit starting to think about their fall colors.

    Thanks for popping in. See you tomorrow!

  • Three Simchas

    Sometimes a reputable news source like The Onion hits a matter of grave national importance so squarely on the head that we feel compelled to lead off our Owl Chatter post with it. Clearly, this is not one of those times. Here are two of today’s Onion headlines:

    Judge Rules White Girl Will Be Tried As Black Adult

    Trump Forced To Play Glockenspiel At Rally After Every Artist Bars Use Of Songs

    This short item was in the NYT today.

    As part of the annual festival Jivitputrika Vrat, celebrated mostly in northern India and some parts of Nepal, women fast for 24 hours and offer special prayers for the long life and good health of their children. Mothers travel to rivers and ponds to bathe, sometimes accompanied by their children.

    Across northern India during the festival, the authorities typically deploy police and divers to monitor devotees as they go into the water. Deadly stampedes during religious festivals are common in India, but widespread drownings are not. It was unclear on Thursday what safety measures were taken in Bihar.

    At least 46 people drowned in Bihar as millions of Hindu devotees celebrated the three-day festival for the well-being of children, officials said on Thursday. Thirty-seven of those who died were children.

    C’mon guys — Seriously?

    The Times also reported on an interview Fox News conducted with Trump’s wife Melatonin, in connection with the upcoming publication of her memoir “Melanie.” When asked how she felt about Trump’s running for office again, Magnolia made it clear she supported him. On the topic of the recent assassination attempts, Magnetite shared her husband’s view that hateful rhetoric spewed by the Democrats played a role. When the search the FBI conducted of her home came up, Mifepristone’s personal side came out:

    “I saw unpleasant stuff that nobody wants to see it. And you get angry because, you know, nobody should be putting up with that kind of stuff. Some person — I don’t even know who or how many people — they, you know, they went through my stuff.”

    Yup. Can’t be fun. Still lookin’ good, though, Babe.

    At 9D today, the puzzle refers to EGO death, a concept associated with LSD trips. Rex made it his “word of the day” and included the following: “In descriptions of drugs, the term is used synonymously with ego-loss to refer to (temporary) loss of one’s sense of self due to the use of drugs. The term was used as such by Timothy Leary et al. to describe the death of the ego in the first phase of an LSD trip, in which a ‘complete transcendence’ of the self occurs.”

    It led to this exchange between two commenters:

    First, Anony Mouse wrote:

    I’m not comfortable with the NYT puzzles constantly normalizing the use of LSD. You wanna go trip on acid, enjoy. But it feels like the Times is trying to normalize its use. I’ve had more than one person in my life ruin their life from continued use. It is generally illegal, and wisely so, although there is some medical research being done to use it to treat certain psychological conditions. But it’s extremely dangerous unregulated stuff that shouldn’t be normalized in something as accessible as a puzzle. IMO, of course.

    Commenter Kenny replied:

    Your moralizing is out of place. I am a recovering alcoholic who has had life changing experiences using LSD, and am among the many people who have been helped by its effects on negative thought processes. Alcohol, on the other hand, nearly ruined my life (and here again I’m far from alone) by leading me into deep debt and deep depression, but is cheerfully promoted by puzzles on a near daily basis.

    Commenter Nancy lamented that she is simply unable to remember how ATTILA is spelled, no matter how many times he pops into the puzzle. She asked us to come up with a mnemonic for her. I couldn’t, but I wrote this short recollection, which I love:

    On tricks to remember things — My wife and I (both in our 70s) were driving our granddaughter Lianna (14) to her first day of 8th grade. I asked her who her homeroom teacher was. She said “Mrs. Mackey.” I said, “Okay, to remember that, you can think of a Mack truck.” And my wife added “and then a key, like to unlock a door.” And Lianna looked at us funny and said “Why don’t I just remember Mackey?” Oh, to be young.

    Rex has had three major simchas (joys) in his life just this week: His daughter’s 24th birthday; the 18th anniversary of his blog; and he and his wife’s wedding anniversary which he announced as follows:  Happy [counts on fingers … runs out of fingers … twice] 21st anniversary to my beautiful wife, Penelope, without whom … well, I don’t like to think about it. It’s not pretty. Love you, honey.

    It moved me to share two of my favorite marital tips with the gang. I posted the following:

    Happy Anniversary RP!

    My wife and I celebrated our 40th in June. When we were getting married we read an article that said that what causes problems for couples are decisions. Disagreements over decisions can be very stressful. So we agreed early on that I’d be in charge of all the major, important decisions, and my wife would make all the smaller, minor ones. For example, she decides minor issues like where should we live? what schools should the kids go to? And I’m in charge of important matters like should we invade Iraq? Should we cut the defense budget? It’s worked out well for us.

    We also agreed early on that no matter how stressful our lives became — with work, with the kids, etc. — no matter what — we would go out once a week for a romantic, candlelight dinner. It’s been great — she goes on Tuesdays and I go on Fridays.

    It was very well received — four nice notes, thanking me for the laughs.

    Hey — almost forgot — Scarlett Johansson popped in (for her role in HER). It’s her first visit to Owl Chatter and, we hope, not her last. Don’t be a stranger, S! We’re running low with Georgie gone for so long, but I think I can still dig up a cold Fresca for you. Sit down — take a load off.

    See you tomorrow!