The Wellington Files

  • Austrian Swifties Beside Themselves With Grief

    Maya Rudolph will be Kamala on SNL. She has already won an Emmy for doing so. But Steve Martin nixed a role as Walz. Too bad.

    After snapping their 21-game losing streak on Tuesday vs Oakland, the White Sox giddily entered the seventh inning last night, ahead 2-0. Oakland, we should note, had a 47-68 record, a dismal 21 games under .500. But Chicago was 28-88, an astounding 60 games under .500. Alas, Oakland came back to win 3-2. Is this the start of a new streak?

    Speaking of streaks, did you know that over the course of Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak in 1941 he struck out only 5 times? In all of 1941, he struck out only 13 times. By way of comparison, in 2022, Aaron Judge’s monster year (.311, 62 HR, 131 RBI), he struck out 175 times.

    DiMaggio’s streak started on May 15, 1941 and ended on July 17. But get this — over the duration of the streak Ted Williams out-hit Joe D, .412 to .408. After Joe D’s streak ended, he ran off another one for 16 games.

    Ever hear of Bill Dahlen? Me neither. In 1894, he hit safely in 70 out of 71 games. First he had a streak of 42. Then, after a hitless game, he had another streak of 28. In that hitless game he went 0 for 6 while his teammates cranked out 17 hits. D’oh! He played for 21 years and had just under 2,500 hits. A case could be made that he should be in the Hall.

    Ninety years ago yesterday, James Joyce’s Ulysses was ruled not obscene by the U.S. Court of Appeals. Writing the opinion, John Woolsey stated: “In respect of the recurrent emergence of the theme of sex in the minds of his characters, it must always be remembered that his locale was Celtic and his season Spring.”

    I never read it, even though it was assigned in a course I took at Brandeis (albeit Pass/Fail). My plan was to see the movie, but I didn’t even do that. Too fucking lazy to schlep in to Cambridge. The course was a seminar with a well-known prof: Yglesias. He was very good. It was me and maybe seven English-major types. What the hell was I thinking? I still remember some of the discussion on Don Quixote. And I remember there was a pretty girl in the class named Miriam. That’s a lot more than I remember from the rest of my classes. Brown hair and glasses.

    Some felt today’s puzzle fell on the easy side. Commenter Rich G. took exception to some folks boasting about how quickly they finished it. He wrote: “It took me 4 minutes but that was because I was busy collecting my Nobel Prize, after bench pressing six hundred pounds.”

    At 41A, the clue for COD was: “A carved one hangs in the chamber of the Massachusetts House of Representatives.” Rex’s guest blogger notes: “It’s known as the “Sacred Cod,” and the state Senate does them one better with (and I am not making this up) the Holy Mackerel.” Here’s the cod:

    The House originally met in the room the Senate now occupies. And when the House moved, it took its cod with it. The Senate then replaced it with the mackerel. (For you spelling nerds, note that mackerel ends in “el” and not “al.”)

    Carola noted the Wisconsin capitol features badgers.

    The puzzle also honors LOU Costello today, clued with “He asked Bud ‘Who’s on first?’” There’s a great statue of LC in Paterson, NJ, where he was born. It’s not far from a spectacular waterfall. Phil spent a day out there for us recently and took these shots before he started drinking. Careful on that ledge, Buddy!

    At 19A, the clue for WELD was “Fuse by heat.” Boo! I would have gone with Tuesday _______. Yow! — did you know she was married to Pinchas Zuckerman and Dudley Moore? It’s that breeze-in-the-hair effect. Few men can emerge whole.

    How many people were disappointed in Austria this week? 200,000. Two Islamic terrorists were arrested for planning to wreak havoc at Taylor Swift’s concerts, so the whole schmear was canceled for safety reasons. Three dates. Jeez Louise, that sucks. In related news, boyfriend Travis announced he’ll be hosting a new TV game show Are You Smarter Than A Celebrity?, an Amazon production starting in the fall.

    Meanwhile, Owl Chatter is putting out a warning that a Taylor Swift imposter has been appearing at various venues, posing as TS. Do not be fooled. Do not fall in love with her.

    I’m too upset to continue. What is wrong with the world?

  • Strozzapreti

    I’m generally not a conspiracy theorist, but when the handwriting is on the wall in capital f*cking letters. . . . It hit me today when I was enjoying the break in the heatwave: Global warming is an invention of the Jews!

    In my mother’s generation, when the Jews got old, they moved down to Miami Beach for the Florida weather. It’s a schlep — I remember my mother’s move. Well, with global warming the Jews worked it out so the Florida weather moves up to them! You can stay in New York and still go see the revivals of Fiddler.

    How are people not seeing this?? Open your eyes! We’ll be getting a Jew in the White House soon! Somebody has to stop them! Santos! — make some calls!

    The White Sox won last night, snapping their losing streak at 21, tying Baltimore’s AL record, but falling short of the MLB record of 23 set by the 1961 Philadelphians. There’s some interesting stuff on the 1988 O’s — their 21-loss streak opened the season: their record was 0-21 before they won on April 29th. And, get this — it’s not like they stunk — the opening day roster included Cal Ripken, Jr., Eddie Murray, and Freddie Lynn! Along with the losing streak, their owner died that year. Ouch!

    In the puzzle today, at 58A, “Corkscrew-shaped pasta” was FUSILLI. Here’s the famous New Yorker cartoon by Charles Barsotti:

    People also trotted out a scene from the classic ASSMAN episode of Seinfeld. Here’s a snippet:

    Commenter Joe R. said his favorite pasta is strozzapreti for two reasons. Its shape, of course, and because it means “priest strangler.” I’m not sure I’ve ever downed a priest strangler.

    It must be Linda Ronstadt week in the universe, because at 43D “Clothing colloquially” was THREADS. And so we get this: Ms. R belting one out in a sexy little-girl’s outfit. Could you plotz?

    “You can’t buy my love with money, ’cause I never was that kind.” We hear ya, girl.

    This week’s New Yorker has a story on Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. Here are two things I learned from just the first few pages. When his dad, Bobby Kennedy, was shot (after his victory speech for the California primary): “[RFK, Jr.’s] younger brother David, who was then thirteen, had travelled with his parents and stayed up late in the hotel room to watch his father’s speech; he saw the assassination unfold on live TV. Because of the chaos, it was several hours before anyone thought to check on him. He was discovered, with the television still on, unable to speak.”

    And this: “When Sirhan was recommended for parole, in 2021, Ethel and most of her children opposed his release, but Kennedy [RFK, Jr.] and his younger brother Douglas, a Fox News reporter, advocated for it.”

    The story is in the issue with this wonderful Roz Chast cover about ice cream:

    OMG, I can’t pick a favorite! Amnesia! Microchip Mint! Grandpa’s Tea! Placebo! Here’s what she said about it:

     “There are a lot of things I like about ice-cream stores aside from the ice cream itself. I like looking at the different colors and patterns of all the bins. I like comparing cones: wafer flat-bottom or pointy classic? And the names of the flavors: the more preposterous and baroque, the better.”

    I’ve never shared a poem from the New Yorker before. They’re all too hard for me. I need simple ones with barns and flowers, maybe a cloud. But I liked this one. It’s called “Italian Lesson” and it’s by Cynthia Zarin.

    the boy plays with the wooden horse       il ragazzo gioca con il cavallo di legno
    the seasons change       le stagioni cambiano
    I have never seen a volcano       non ho mai visto un vulcano
    we need wood for the fire       abbiamo bisogno di legno per il fuoco
    the wet wood is not good       il legno bagnato non è buono
    he saw smoke in the sky       ha visto fumo nel cielo
    then it is a volcano       allora è un vulcano
    there is sand in my shoes       c’è sabbia nelle mie scarpe
    the children build sandcastles       i bambini costruiscono i castelli di sabbia
    the clouds were getting darker       le nuvole stavano diventando più scure
    we could see nothing but fog       non vedevamo niente a parte la nebbia
    the fog is a cloud on the ground       la nebbia è una nuvola sulla terra
    the fog doesn’t let us see anything       la nebbia non ci lascia vedere nulla
    there is a flower on the bed       c’è un fiore sul letto
    there is a flower on the table       c’è un fiore sul tavolo
    we are in the forest       siamo nella foresta
    it is dangerous to swim in this lake       è pericoloso nuotare in questo lago
    I have only a small garden       ho solo un piccolo giardino
    we can hear the ocean from here       possiamo sentire l’oceano da qua
    where do you see the moon?       dove vedi la luna?
    she sees the sea       lei vede il mare
    the climate in the mountains is different       il clima nelle montagne è diverso
    it could rain this evening       potrebbe piovere stasera
    the rain follows me everywhere       la pioggia mi segue dappertutto
    he sees the sky       lui vede il cielo
    the region has many rivers       la regione ha molti fiumi
    are you lost? heaven is far from here       ti sei perso? il paradiso è lontano da qua
    which planet are you on?       su quale pianeta ti trovi?
    the sea is not blue today       il mare non è azzurro oggi
    the storm has passed       il temporale è passato
    in autumn the moon is beautiful       in autunno la luna è bella
    the snake waits under the rock       il serpente aspetta sotto la roccia
    the children play in the snow in December       i bambini giocano nella neve a dicembre
    the snow is beautiful       la neve è bellissima
    this morning we go to look at the sunrise       questa mattina andiamo a guardare l’alba
    there wasn’t a cloud in the sky       non c’era una nuvola nel cielo
    the sea, the hills, the little mountains       il mare, le colline, le piccole montagne
    yesterday I went fishing in the river       ieri sono andata a pescare nel fiume
    the sun this evening is not yellow it is orange       il sole stasera non è giallo è arancione
    how many stars do you see?       quante stelle vedi?

    there are many stars in the universe       ci sono molte stelle nell’universo

    If you go to the NYer website you can “play” the poem being read, and so hear the Italian. This might get you there:

    https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2024/08/12/italian-lesson-cynthia-zarin-poem

    I’m tired. See you tomorrow. Thanks for popping by.

  • Next Time

    If you play word association with a Jets fan and say SNELL, the L will still be ringing in the air when Matt gets tossed back at you. Matt Snell was the cannonball of a fullback who rushed the Jets to their only Super Bowl win behind Joe Namath. But it’s Blake Snell who’s in the news today. Not exactly a household name, he did win the Cy Young award last year, his second. And in 2018 he went 21-5 with a 1.89 ERA. Gibsonesque.

    He was also the subject of one of the more controversial takeouts when Rays manager Kevin Cash removed him with one out in sixth inning of Game 6 of the 2020 World Series. Snell was on fire but gave up a single and Cash didn’t want him facing Dodger threats Seager and Betts. So he pulled him, LA pounced on the bullpen and won the game and the Series. I was watching and it seemed crazy to me to pull Snell. He was having a game like he had Friday. Which brings us to why we’re talking about him: He tossed a brilliant no-hitter for the Jints against the Reds Friday night. And — amazingly — it was the first time in his 9-year career that he pitched into the ninth inning of a game.

    Haeley give your man a big kiss — you don’t pitch a no-hitter every day. Haeley (who bought one too many vowels, it seems to me) and Blake have been dating for two years and have a one-year-old son.

    She’s a model. (Better lose that hat, babe.)

    The Gnats snapped their 5-game losing streak yesterday, topping Milwaukee 6-4. I watched most of it and noticed the Brewers have a player named Brice Turang. His siblings are named Brianna, Carissa, Cabria, and Bailee. But never mind them, there’s been a rare Jew-sighting! Spencer Horwitz, who played for Israel in the 2023 Baseball World Classic, batted fifth and played 2B for the Blue Jays at Yankee Stadium in two games going 3 for 8 (.375) with three RBI and two runs scored. Mazel Tov Spence! Parents David and Laura back in Maryland are qvelling.

    There are other Jewish ballplayers in the majors, but Spence is new to me and is doing well, kinahora. And just look at that shayna punim — what a good boy!

    In other baseball news, has anyone been following the White Sox? They won only three games in all of July. They went 3-22 and are currently working on a 20-game losing streak. The longest streak in AL history is 21, by the 1988 Orioles. The longest in MLB history is 23: the 1961 Phils. The Sox play the also-very-bad Athletics in Oakland for three games to go for tying the record. They can break it next Friday at home against the hometown rival Cubs.

    Three answers in yesterday’s puzzle were SOBA (the noodle, often confused with UDON in puzzles), IN A STUPOR, and PHO (the Vietnamese soup). Here’s how egs played with them:

    After belting down a few Jack Daniels the other night I went to a local noodle shop.
    Egs: I’ll have some buckwheat noodles.
    Waiter: SOBA?
    Egs: A bit tipsy, but not IN A STUPOR. Now just give me the damn noodles or I’ll go to the Vietnamese place.
    Waiter: It’s always crowded there. You’ll probably find a big PHO queue.

    This piece by Estee Pierce is from yesterday’s Met Diary:

    Dear Diary:

    I was on my way to meet a high school friend for lunch on the Upper West Side and had walked from Midtown through Central Park.

    Leaving the park, I hustled in the direction of Amsterdam Avenue. I passed the schoolyard outside the Anderson School on the way. I saw some boys playing volleyball without a net, and I watched their ball fly over the very high chain-link fence and land at my feet.

    I looked at my watch. I had three minutes to get to lunch on time. I placed the ball at the base of the fence. A boy of about 13 locked eyes with me from the other side.

    “You’re going to have to come out and get this,” I said. I did not trust my throwing skills.

    He shook his head calmly.

    “Please,” he said. “Just try.”

    I tried to lob the ball over the fence but failed to make it even a third of the way to the top.

    By now, a medium-size crowd of middle schoolers had gathered to watch. I could not fail my audience.

    I looked at the boy again.

    “Try again,” he said, crouching into a deep squat with his arms extended. “Like this.”

    Using this new technique, I tried again. This time, I was just a few feet shy of the top. The crowd was cheering me on.

    I tried once more, this time with more force, and ball went over the fence.

    The crowd went wild. I turned and saw an older woman standing nearby who was also cheering.

    I waved farewell to my fans and hurried off to lunch. I was about 10 minutes late.

    Today’s New Yorker puzzle was by Natan Last, one of my favorite constructors. He wrote a story a while back in which he mentioned he sometimes plays with his last name. It made me envision this scene:

    Hi! Who are you?

    I’m Natan.

    Hi Natan — what’s your last name?

    Last.

    Yes, what’s your last name?

    Last.

    Right — that’s what I’m asking — your last name.

    Last.

    What is it — your last name?

    Last.

    I’m asking you for your last name, yes.

    Last.

    Third base!!

    This poem from today’s Writer’s Almanac is called “Next Time” and it’s by Joyce Sutphen.

    Next Time

    I’ll know the names of all of the birds
    and flowers, and not only that, I’ll
    tell you the name of the piano player
    I’m hearing right now on the kitchen
    radio, but I won’t be in the kitchen,

    I’ll be walking a street in
    New York or London, about
    to enter a coffee shop where people
    are reading or working on their
    laptops. They’ll look up and smile.

    Next time I won’t waste my heart
    on anger; I won’t care about
    being right. I’ll be willing to be
    wrong about everything and to
    concentrate on giving myself away.

    Next time, I’ll rush up to people I love,
    look into their eyes, and kiss them, quick.
    I’ll give everyone a poem I didn’t write,
    one specially chosen for that person.
    They’ll hold it up and see a new
    world. We’ll sing the morning in,

    and I will keep in touch with friends,
    writing long letters when I wake from
    a dream where they appear on the
    Orient Express. “Meet me in Istanbul,”
    I’ll say, and they will.

    Thanks for dropping in!

  • What Oceans Sing To

    An enormous amount of ingenuity and craft goes into the construction of a good puzzle. Yet for most of my puzzling life, I just pounded my way through puzzles, struggling to solve them, and if I succeeded I felt good and moved on. I credit Rex’s blog with making me not move on so fast. To appreciate the craft: the wordplay, the humor, the subtleties. When my kids were little I tried to make them see that words could be like toys — you can play with them: “wordplay.” Puzzles are the playgrounds.

    How about this for a great clue/answer yesterday: “Server’s question after a drink order.” Answer: IS PEPSI OKAY?

    Here’s Rex on it:

    I love that the boldest answer of the day is sitting dead center. “IS PEPSI OK?” feels risky, somehow. It’s so situation-specific, so on the edge of “is this a thing?” I’m glad she pulled the trigger on it, though, ’cause I think it’s great. Like, when I imagine the situation (someone ordering a Coke at a non-Coke-having restaurant), that response from the waitress (or waiter, server, whatever … in my head it’s a waitress) is dead-on. Perfect. Exactly what she would say. And then the customer either says “sure,” or sighs sadly and says “sure,” or else makes a disgusted face and says “god no” and orders a Sprite. Some people are Very particular about Coca-Cola, what can I say? I don’t get it, but I respect it.

    Commenter Wanderlust noted the poor fellow, above, is going to be disappointed again, because Sprite is owned by Coke, so they won’t have that either. D’oh!

    This dreadful thing was a Super Bowl ad. Shame on you Steve Carell.

    This poem by James Baldwin, Untitled, is from The Poetry Foundation.

    Lord,
                      when you send the rain
                  think about it, please,
                  a little?
          Do
                  not get carried away
                  by the sound of falling water,
                  the marvelous light
                     on the falling water.
              I
                      am beneath that water.
                      It falls with great force
                      and the light
    Blinds
                     me to the light.

    Baldwin was born 100 years ago yesterday in Harlem, the oldest of nine children. Back then, you weren’t allowed to have more than nine children.

    Busted flat in Baton Rouge. Who among us doesn’t know that great first line from “Me and Bobby McGee?” If it’s you, you can catch up with this performance by Sheryl Crow and Kris Kristofferson. But it’s not Baton Rouge we’re looking for — it’s SALINAS, from the second verse. The puzzle asked for “John Steinbeck’s hometown.” Amazingly, some little voice in the back of my head said, “I think it’s Salinas.” How the hell I knew that is a complete mystery, but I did.

    Kristofferson turned 88 recently and lives in Los Flores Canyon in Malibu CA with his wife of 41 years, Lisa. He has 8 children: 5 with Lisa, 1 from his previous wife, singer Rita Coolidge, and two from his first marriage. He would be allowed one more.

    He asked that, when the time comes, his tombstone contain the following lyrics from Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on the Wire.”

    Like a bird on the wire
    Like a drunk in a midnight choir
    I have tried in my way to be free

    Another good clue/answer was: “Testament to human nature?” Ans: I AM NOT A ROBOT.

    I was walking somewhere with Owl Chatter friend Norrie many years ago when she bent over to pick up a penny. Now, no one loves finding money on the street more than I do, believe me, but I said to her: “Nor, if it’s just a penny, I let it go. It’s just a penny. Not worth bending over for.” But she said: “No, it’s not the value — pennies are good luck.” Of course, she was right. So my approach to money on the street now is I pick up pennies if they are heads up. Tails up, some say, is bad luck. Don’t need that. I let those go. Nickels and up I pick up either way: that’s real money.

    I saved all the good luck pennies I found and brought them to the last class of my no-longer-existent CPA Review program, Park Avenue CPA Review. I explained to the students that I would be passing around a collection of pennies, all of which I personally found “heads up,” and so represented good luck. And I told them each to take one and bring it to the CPA exam with them. They each did so.

    One of the young women in the class wrote me an email about a month later to ask me a tax question. I answered it, wished her good luck, and asked when she was taking the exam. She wrote me back a short note with the date and saying that she hoped she was ready. Then, at the end, she wrote: “I have my penny.”

    Here’s a story by Matthew Angulo from tomorrow’s Met Diary:

    It was summer 2020, and my girlfriend and I had taken to meandering through Park Slope after work as a break from a feeling of claustrophobia from being stuck in our small apartment.

    As we strolled down President Street one evening, we passed an older man sitting on a stoop. He stopped us with an inviting “psst.”

    I turned back, thinking he might need help with something. But he simply motioned with his cane toward five quarters on the sidewalk. I scooped them up and started to walk over to the man, whom I took to be their owner.

    He shook his head and waved his arms gently.

    “For laundry,” he said.

    I smiled, pocketed the coins and continued along with my girlfriend.

    I loved today’s puzzle. It was very hard, but just gettable enough for me that I could get it, after a struggle. My favorite answer spanned the grid. The clue was “Virtually silently, in a classic poem,” and the answer was ON LITTLE CAT FEET. Rex had a guest blogger today, Eli, who included this photo for us:

    Even better, for ST TROPEZ, he explained: “I got a little bit of traction on ST. TROPEZ (31A: French resort town) entirely because of personal history. St. Tropez is the setting for the musical La Cage Aux Folles (which is also the basis of the movie The Birdcage), which I acted in after college. Drag performing was a unique experience for a cisgender straight man, but I had a blast. Drag is not a crime.” He then shared this picture of himself, with the caption, “Ever lift a grown man on to your shoulders in 3-inch heels? I have.”

    The puzzle today is by Rich Norris, who, commenter Lewis tells us, has constructed 120 Saturday NYT puzzles! No one comes close (second place is 69). Norris is the former editor of the LA Times XWs. Lewis goes on to describe his experience solving the puzzle, which is a good description of why and how many of us enjoy crosswords:

    “He [Norris] is as skilled and tricky as ever. This puzzle had a bounty of clues that could beget several or many answers, thus delaying fill-ins without crosses. I love puzzles like this, because when you do get one of those answers correctly, it comes with an ‘Ah!’ and sometimes even an ‘Aha!’

    “But it’s a delicate dance, making a puzzle like this, because you need just the right amount of toeholds. Too many, and the puzzle loses its Saturday toughness. Too few, and the puzzle becomes no-fun-frustrating.

    “For me, Rich and the editors nailed it. So many times, I went from being stalled, to having an answer ping out in my brain, which led to a mini-splat-fill, followed by another stall. As more filled in, the answering pace quickened, leading to a marvelous crescendo to the finish.

    “Just what I want on Saturday.

    “This puzzle was never boring. It brought me into the zone where the world disappears except for the box and I’m in that place I love, chipping away and uncovering – ECSTACY.” [Ecstacy, was an answer in the puzzle.]

    There was a second great clue/answer that spanned the grid and was very helpful to me when I cracked it. The clue was “Request for details” and the answer was CARE TO ELABORATE? Another winner was “Professional pitcher?” for PIANO TUNER. My favorite might have been “Sticks figure” for YOKEL. Also clever was “Drew using many lines?” for CAREY. (Get it?)

    I am going to leave today’s close to Leanne O’Sullivan, whose poem, “Waiting for My Clothes,” is from today’s Writer’s Almanac.

    The day the doctors and nurses are having
    their weekly patient interviews, I sit waiting
    my turn outside the office, my back to the wall,
    legs curled up under my chin, playing

    with the hem of my white hospital gown.
    They have taken everything they thought
    should be taken — my clothes, my books
    my music, as if being stripped of these

    were part of the cure, like removing the sheath
    from a blade that has slaughtered.
    They said, Wait a few days, and if you’re good
    you can have your things back. They’d taken

    my journal, my word made flesh, and I think
    of those doctors knowing me naked
    holding me by my spine, two fingers
    under my neck, the way you would hold a baby,

    taking my soul from between my ribs
    and leafing through the pages of my thoughts,
    as if they were reading my palms,
    and my name beneath them like a confession,

    owning this girl, claiming this world
    of blackness and lightness and death
    and birth. It lies in their hands like a life-line,
    and I feel myself fall open or apart.

    They hear my voice as they read
    and think, Who is this girl that is speaking?
    I know the end, she tells them.
    It is the last line, both source and closing.

    It is what oceans sing to, how the sun moves,
    a place for the map-maker to begin.
    Behind the door, nothing is said.
    Like dreams, my clothes come out of their boxes.

    See you tomorrow!

  • Taylor’s Ruffled Cream Zimmerman Dress

    I’ve never been to the Anne Frank House, or even to Amsterdam or the Netherlands. I stepped in to one of the train cars, though, that carried people to the camps. They have one at the Holocaust Museum in DC. It was less horrifying to me than I thought it would be, maybe because of the not unpleasant environment, or because I steeled myself for it. This poem is from today’s Poetry Foundation email. It’s called “Anne Frank Huis” and is by Andrew Motion.

    Even now, after twice her lifetime of grief
    and anger in the very place, whoever comes
    to climb these narrow stairs, discovers how
    the bookcase slides aside, then walks through
    shadow into sunlit rooms, can never help

    but break her secrecy again. Just listening
    is a kind of guilt: the Westerkirk repeats
    itself outside, as if all time worked round
    towards her fear, and made each stroke
    die down on guarded streets. Imagine it—

    four years of whispering, and loneliness,
    and plotting, day by day, the Allied line
    in Europe with a yellow chalk. What hope
    she had for ordinary love and interest
    survives her here, displayed above the bed

    as pictures of her family; some actors;
    fashions chosen by Princess Elizabeth.
    And those who stoop to see them find
    not only patience missing its reward,
    but one enduring wish for chances

    like my own: to leave as simply
    as I do, and walk at ease
    up dusty tree-lined avenues, or watch
    a silent barge come clear of bridges
    settling their reflections in the blue canal.

    One “rule” of crosswords that I wasn’t aware of before I started taking them more seriously, is the rule against “dupes,” or duplications. It says that the same word should not be used more than once in a puzzle, especially in answers, but even in clues/answers. So, e.g., if a puzzle had “growing up,” and “toss up” as two answers, it might be pointed out by Rex or in a comment as a flaw. But it so often occurs that the rule may be fading away. Dupes never bothered me. I don’t usually even notice them until someone complains.

    I enjoyed this back-and-forth from Tuesday. MAC (the computer) appeared in the clue at 1A, and the answer at 10D was IMAC. It led commenter Mike to post: “What about the horrible duplicate of Mac in the 1A clue and the answer to 10D??? Yeesh!”

    And this was Gary’s response:

    I suppose we all set the bar for what “horrible” means. Feels like some set it at family members dying, putting pets to sleep, war, famine, oppression, or anything to do with a political opinion of the opposition. Others find “horrible” when their hot dog falls on the ground at the fair, when the wind musses a highly orchestrated Dippity-Doo-ism, or when grampa expresses an opinion gleaned from his media savvy TV watching all day. Maybe the boy your daughter is dating is horrible. For us here on the blog, KIVA crossing KEG is horrible, ARSES magically vanishing when a new editor is promoted is horrible (for me), and for some, puzzles shaped like pizzas are horrible (or not). So when you ask, “What about the horrible dupe…” I guess I need to ask the circular question, “What about it?”

    And, BTW, Gary’s avatar is a photo of himself. He looks just like you’d think he looks, it seems to me.

    A story in the Style section of today’s NYT discusses London’s Victoria and Albert Museum, in particular, a new exhibit featuring clothing and other stuff of Taylor Swift’s, carefully placed among historical artwork and artifacts to which they relate thematically.

    The first two paragraphs tell the tale:

    “Disappointed Love,” painted in 1821 by the Irish artist Francis Danby, is a scene of eternal teenage wistfulness, its visual codes as readable now as they were back then. A young girl sits by a river, tearful and heartbroken, her head in her hands, her white dress pooling around her legs. In the water, pages of a torn letter float among the waterlilies. By her side are props of femininity: a straw bonnet, a bright red shawl and a miniature portrait of the man who wronged her.

    The work hangs in the collection of the Victoria and Albert Museum in London, in a red-walled gallery tightly packed with Georgian and Victorian paintings. As of recently, Danby’s weeping beauty has a new neighbor: a ruffled cream Zimmerman dress worn by Taylor Swift in the music video for “Willow,” from her 2020 album “Evermore.”

    Over a dozen items are strategically (and thematically) placed so that a Swiftie (or non-Swiftie, I suppose) will follow a trail through the museum to catch them all. Here’s another pairing:

    Kate Bailey, the curator, placed the red puff-sleeve Tadashi Shoji gown Ms. Swift wore in the video for “I Bet You Think About Me” next to a colossal velvet-draped four-poster bed, commissioned by the Earl of Melville in 1700 to convey status and political success.

    Well, duh — where the hell else would you put it?

    Of course, once our Phil caught wind of the show, he talked Taylor into sneaking in with him after hours so he could get a shot of her in the Zimmerman dress. They ended up getting chased by a 60-year-old museum guard who had trouble climbing stairs, so they made it out safely. Nice shot, Philly.

    Our Gnats have fallen on hard times. Not only did they lose Jesse Winker, as discussed a while back, but Lane Thomas is gone now too. We loved him. I’m not saying they can’t adjust, but since the departures of Wink and Lainie, they had a no-hitter thrown against them by the Padres, and lost to ‘Zona 17-0. Ouch. Double ouch.

    Let’s give Lucy Brown, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) the last word tonight. Here’s what she posted:

    “I have used the same hair towel for 30 years. It no longer has any colour to it, some parts are threadbare and it has started to lose the shape. I have tried to use different towels and I can’t.”

    Here are some comments:

    Your description of your hair towel matches my description of my hair.

    Have to ask this. What is a hair towel?

    It’s a towel made from hair. Like a hair shirt, it’s used by Penitents.

    I’m approaching 60 and am currently on my second hairbrush, I estimate this one has another 15-20 years in it.

    I have used the same hair for over 50 years.

    I use the tellytubby towel my son got when he was 4 months old. He’s 27 next week

    For the love of god get some bleach

    And, last, wisdom from Annette Wilkinson: Always know where your towel is.

    Hard to argue with that. See you tomorrow!

  • Cedar Poles Adzed Flat

    This poem makes me feel young. It also makes me feel what Owl Chatter maybe is all about. Are words magical, or what?

    On someone else’s estate
    running through it to avoid
    the outdoor wedding there is a grave
    in a little copse of trees
    so panting  we hide out there

    How beautiful to lie down
    not to be the dead ones there
    whose eye sockets are filled with dirt
    nothing is theirs anymore
    you pass me a crumpled joint

    swaying a little like a poem
    while black birds wail in the air
    and the commuter train wails
    all we have to do is make tacos
    tonight and be friends

    Matthew Rohrer, “Poem for Friends”

    You think you’re having a bad day?

    Yesterday, in 1890, Vincent van Gogh died. He had shot himself in the chest in a wheat field two days before, and managed to make it home to his own bed. His brother Theo rushed from Paris to Vincent’s bedside and reported that van Gogh’s last words were “The sadness will go on forever.”

    Ouch! Lighten up Vinnie. Not helpful!

    On the plus side (very plus), Owl Chatter’s style and culture director, ANA de Armas popped by the puzzle yesterday at 47D (“Actress de Armas”). Darling! So good to see you! Gorgeous as ever. George! — see if Phil left any of that hummus for us, with the pine nuts. And a cold Fresca! Sit, sit — how’ve you been? You like Harris?

    Yesterday’s puzzle? It is what it is. That is to say, it contains phrases that double back on themselves. ENOUGH IS ENOUGH, SORRY NOT SORRY, NEVER SAY NEVER, and LITTLE BY LITTLE. I like how each of the connecting words is different: is, not, say, and by.

    Rex was unimpressed: “Just a depressing offering, all around. The theme concept isn’t restrictive enough to be interesting in the first place. FIRST THINGS FIRST. HEART TO HEART. BLONDE ON BLONDE. GAME RECOGNIZE GAME. I’m not even trying yet and I can rattle off alternative themers no problem. For days. What are we doing here?” 

    Then he shared an Eddie Rabbitt song: “Step by Step.”

    Game recognize game? That’s new to me. Here’s what it means: It’s when someone who “has game” sees it in someone else. This is from the Urban Dictionary: “An esoteric catchphrase of the urban male pimp, playa, rapper or wannabe that carries the weighty implication that only someone who has their game tight can have the appropriate respect and admiration for someone else’s doubtlessly tight game.” But it has spread to have a wider application as an appreciation by anyone who has his sh*t together that someone else has theirs together too.

    – Person A: “I can’t believe how well Sarah handled that difficult customer.”
    – Person B: “No doubt, game recognize game. She knows how to handle any situation with grace and professionalism.”

    There were some cool folks in the puzzle, in addition to our ANA. SARAH was clued via “Comic Silverman,” and DANA via “Agent ___ Scully of “The X-Files.” I’m watching her in the creepy “The Fall” now. Still a knockout.

    But ENOS was clued from the bible instead of as ENOS Slaughter, baseball Hall of Famer who played for the Yankees in the 1950s, but mostly for the Cards. A ten-time All Star, he scored the winning run in Game 7 of the 1946 World Series for STL with a famous “mad dash,” and had a lifetime batting average of .300.

    “My Father As House Builder” is by Robert Peters. It’s from today’s Writer’s Almanac. I had an English professor (Josef Summers) who said that when poets get together they talk about sounds.

    Cedar poles skidded by horse
    from swamp to highland, stripped
    of bark, hauled to the house-site
    on a knoll near the county road.
    A pattern in the sand
    for two rooms and kitchen, drawn
    with a sapling and a string.
    Cedar poles adzed flat,
    other Poles notched for walls.
    We chinked logs with swamp moss
    secured by slats, then plastered.
    We puttied the windows.
    Scrap lumber for the roof and floors.
    A cellar hole in the living room,
    the sand fetched up by buckets
    and dumped in a marsh hole
    filled in for a garden plot.
    The upper story, hip-roofed, low,
    built without plumb lines.
    Tin smoke-pipe leaning north,
    tied by guy wires to the roof.
    We nagged Dad to finish the walls,
    but he never did.
    The studs, he said,
    were good for hanging pots and clothes.
    The walls we insulated
    with flattened cardboard boxes
    and decorated them with pictures
    cut from Hearst’s American Weekly Sunday News.

    In today’s puzzle, at 6D, ANNA was “Soprano Netrebko.” She’s an opera singer from Russia who was branded a traitor by Putin for a statement she made supporting Ukraine. She lives in Austria.

    Son Volt shared this neat old song with us, in her honor.

    The puzzle had one of the best clues of the year in it: “Use non-lead pipes?” The answer was SING BACKUP. Get it? Using your pipes is slang for singing. And if you’re not the lead singer, you’re backing up.

    VING RHAMES was also an answer (for “Actor who plays Luther Stickell in the ‘Mission: Impossible’ franchise”). He was great as Marcellus in Pulp Fiction. Here’s what Rex says about him in that role:

    “what I remember most about his performance in that movie is the back of his neck. The first time you see him, the camera is trained on the back of his very thick neck and bald head for a very long time, as he sits at a table in a bar. Makes him seem very cool and imposing. His neck has a band-aid on it, which apparently inspired a ton of fan theories (“the devil takes your soul from the back of your neck” “he cut himself shaving” etc.).”

    You must know these very important additional facts about him:

    His given name is Irving. I am not kidding. He studied acting at SUNY Purchase. It was fellow student Stanley Tucci who shortened it to “Ving.”

    He has appeared in a film in 34 out of the 38 years from 1986 to 2024.

    Now get ready for me to blow your mind: It’s his voice saying “We have the meats” in the Arby ads.

    Here’s my Pulp Fiction story:

    I saw Pulp Fiction late in its run, in a seedy theater near Times Square. I was alone and there were only about 8 of us in the place.

    At one point in the movie, Willis and Travolta meet in a bar and Willis says something that I just missed. I couldn’t hear it. There was no one near me I could ask. But Travolta says to Willis on the screen: “What did you say?”

    Great! What luck! He’s going to repeat it!

    But Willis just glared at Travolta and said: “You heard me.”

    D’oh!

    See you tomorrow!

  • Saving Nickels, Saving Dimes

    As you know, dear readers, one of my daily and favorite activities after completing the NYTXW is to read Rex Parker’s blog on it and the often wonderful comments it elicits. But it’s not everyone’s cup o’ tea. He often rates a puzzle “easy” after you’ve spent the morning tearing your hair out over it. And things you enjoy in it he may hate, and things that annoy you may amuse him. Thus, A. Nonny Mouse posted this note today:

    “I need to stop reading this blog because it just crushes my self-esteem. I found this to be challenging and frankly quite annoying. I had OLYMPIC RING instead of OLYMPIC FLAG and because I haven’t been studying my Chinese museum designers lately, I wasn’t able to figure out that section. I’m also not 80 years old so I don’t listen to Linda Ronstadt, and “range war” is not a thing.”

    Hey Mouse! No need to diss Linda!! There was a time when every man in America was hopelessly in love with her, head-over-heels-lessly in love. And most of us haven’t gotten over it yet. She appeared today via Blue BAYOU. Let’s give it a listen. And if it doesn’t still give you a jolt, you might want to have that looked into.

    The puzzle was by a wonderful young man I met once at a tournament: Paolo Pasco. Alright, I didn’t really meet him but we were both there at the same time. Fittingly, the puzzle is on the Olympic flag. It has five colored rings and the answers in those rings are color-dependent. So, e.g., for the clue “malevolent sorcery,” the answer is MAGIC, but it appears in the black ring, so you get “black magic.” Quite a feat of construction. Maybe a picture will help.

    Amusingly, at 81A the clue was “Supreme pizza topping” for OLIVE, which becomes “black olive,” revisiting the great topping controversy from earlier this week.

    And you can see now at 79A, the clue was “Signature hit for Linda Ronstadt” and the answer BAYOU in the blue ring, is thus Blue Bayou.

    Our photographer Phil spent a few years traveling with Linda back in the day, and has quite a few intimate shots of her. Good times.

    Here’s a tiny love story by Stephen Burns from today’s NYT. Brace yourself.

    It was the day my wife and I were going to meet, for the first time, the man who held parts of our daughter, who died at 16, inside him: her pancreas and her kidney. As we walked from our front door to the car, a hawk flew toward us and settled in the nearest tree. Maybe 30 feet away? The hawk just sat silently watching. In 15 years in our house, we had never seen a hawk in the yard. We waited, staring, and the hawk stared back. “Hello, Anna,” my wife said. The man is doing very well.

    We’re always delighted when the puzzle starts right out in our Dirty Old Man Dept. The clue at 1A was “Word following ‘push-up’ that anagrams to a word following ‘pull-up.’” (Three letters) Get it? It’s BRA, which anagrams to BAR.

    It led egs to comment: I guess we now know why the star of Funny Girl was nicknamed Pull up/push up Streisand.

    At 39D today the clue was “Rock climber’s handhold” and the answer was CRAG. A member of the American Nitpicker’s Association & League (ANAL) writes:

    As a rock climber, it’s always fun to see things referencing my hobby, but not so fun when the clue is just wrong! In rock climbing, the word “crag” refers to the area the cliffs are located, e.g. “yeah, I’m headed out to the crag this weekend,” not an individual climbing hold (e.g. crimp, jug, sloper, pinch).

    Okay, noted.

    This one really gets my goat. At 95D the clue was “Part of a woman’s anatomy named for Dr. Ernst Gräfenberg,” and the answer was G SPOT.

    And here’s a comment by Matt:  “It would be more appropriate to say ‘Part of a FEMALE’s anatomy…’ instead of ‘Part of a WOMAN’s anatomy…’ because we’re talking about biological sex here vs. gender, which is a sociological construct. In other words, not all people who identify as ‘woman’ would have ‘female’ genital structures.”

    Jeez Louise, you moron!! It’s a fucking crossword puzzle — not a scientific journal! Jesus H. Christ!

    [Okay. I’ve calmed myself down. George! — I could use a Diet Coke?]

    Gnats fans are very sorry to bid farewell to outfielder Jesse Winker, traded to the Mets last night for a good-looking pitching prospect. We loved the Buffalo-born 30-year-old who was a darn good hitter and excellent clubhouse presence. And he has a daughter named Wren!

    Happily, his last game with the Gnats was a 14-3 drubbing of the Cards, with Jesse going 2 for 3 with a ribbie. Knock ’em dead with the Mets, Wink! We enjoyed you while we could.

    This was posted in the Dull Men’s Club by Michael Henderson: “I’ve seen some strange implements for daily ablutions and having a daughter, sister, partner and mother, I usually ask the fairer sex what they’re for, and the answers are usually pretty dull. I lay in the bath wondering what this was for – the gold metal thing, not the yellow, organic, juicy thing.”

    Rosie Wren wrote: “Utterly disturbed at the idea of a juicy banana, couldn’t read the rest of the post.” And Tiffany Jerrell replied: “At least he didn’t say ‘moist.’” [Ha!]

    Rod Hay wrote: “It’s an eye socket reamer before you insert your false eye from the 1800s. It helps ’round’ the internal shape of the empty socket and avoids irritation.” And Cyrus Attoun asked Hay: “Is it terrifying living inside that brain?”

    Jenn Jenn states: When you find such items in the bathroom and you live with many females, the correct answer is not to ask any questions. Not a single one. You didn’t see it, it does not exist, there are no questions to be asked.

    Ross Craig: “A juicy banana? The hell is wrong with you, man?”

    But the consensus emerged: It’s for under the eyes. You dot some eye cream or serum and use the roller to absorb the cream/serum into the skin. 

    Of course! I think I need one. See you tomorrow!

  • It’s One For You, Nineteen For Me

    There was a Doberman in yesterday’s puzzle so Rex played a song called “I Mock Joggers” by Big Special because of the picture on it, see below.

    The clue for Doberman was “Breed once known as the ‘Tax Collector’s Dog,’” which was news to me. Here are the opening lyrics to the song:

    I mock joggers coz I’m insecure about me weight
    I should be out runnin but I’m always runnin away or runnin late.

    Here — have a listen.

    This explanation is from Wikipedia:

    Dobermanns were first bred in the 1880s by Karl Friedrich Louis Dobermann, a tax collector who ran a dog pound in Apolda, in Thuringia in central Germany. With access to dogs of many breeds, he got the idea to create a breed that would be ideal for protecting him from disgruntled taxpayers. He set out to breed a new type of dog that would exhibit impressive stamina, strength, and intelligence.

    Speaking of tax collectors, in the mid-1980s, Britain enacted a 95% “supertax” on some of its wealthiest citizens, including The Beatles. They responded with their song “Taxman” which includes the line: “Should 5% appear too small, be thankful I don’t take it all.” And “one for you, nineteen for me.”

    Recently, we discussed the position taken by the NYTXW that olives are a “divisive” pizza topping. Rex maintained anchovies were divisive, and Owl Chatter agrees, but questioned whether any other topping could be controversial enough to qualify as divisive.

    Commenter Mack posted this: OLIVES are absolutely divisive toppings on pizza. It’s one of those ingredients that oblivious people include on everything they order, assuming everyone eats them. Ditto mushrooms and pineapple. I once had a grandparent order about eight pizzas for a family party, all of which had mushrooms. She was confused when none of the children wanted to eat any. They’re kids! No kids like mushrooms.

    Several commenters opined that pineapple qualifies as divisive. I would agree with that, if they pass the hurdle of being considered a topping at all. They seem a little specialized to me. They are often accompanied by ham. This one looks good, I have to admit. An outstanding crust makes up for most deficiencies.

    And then there was this: EVERYTHING about pizza is divisive! Thin crust vs thick. NY vs Chicago (I prefer the square Detroit style from my childhood.) Haters gonna hate the frou frou Cali style with artichokes, and asparagus. There’s the never pineapple crowd, and those that can’t stand mushrooms. Whether you pick it up with your hands or eat with a fork and knife. And the dreaded sardine! I have a friend who makes it with brie, caramelized onions, and orange marmalade. So the clue could have really gone anywhere.

    Finally, Gill wrote: I don’t eat pizza and I found this crazy hard.

    Did you know that, according to the NYTXW, MOIST is the “adjective that’s been called ‘one of the most hated words in the English language?’” I had no idea. What’s so bad about it? Well, we took a look at this article: https://www.mentalfloss.com/article/64984/science-behind-why-people-hate-word-moist

    It says that when The New Yorker asked readers to nominate a word to scrub from the English language in 2012, the overwhelming consensus was to ditch moist. And a Buzzfeed post on the topic got over 4 million hits.

    Researchers found that around 20% of the population studied was averse to the word, but that it didn’t have anything to do with the way it sounds. Rather, it’s the association with bodily functions that seems to turn most people off. It seems to be associated with sex. It’s less hated when associated with food. Although a Rex commenter said that some food companies are starting to avoid the word, describing a cake, e.g., as “plush.”

    People magazine tried to rescue moist via a video in which their “sexiest men alive” say “moist” — trying to make it sound hot. It does not seem to have worked. On the other hand, it’s probably for the best that they didn’t try that stunt with sexy women — half the men in the country would have a stroke.

    And what the hell is this about?

    Yesterday, for the clue “Les _____,” the answer was MIZ. There was a bit of a flap over whether it should be MIS, not MIZ. One cheeky bloke ranted: It might be culturally correct in the US, but not in the rest of the world that knows how to spell… I’ve certainly never seen it spelled like that in the UK, and I’ve seen the show dozens of times as a close friend played Valjeans in the west end (albeit as understudy and in matinees). Terrible clue. Just wrong 🤷‍♂️

    But this fellow set him straight, IMO: The last time I checked, the US is not part of the UK. In THIS country LES MIZ is perfectly acceptable. Nothing wrong with the answer. Every country has its idiosyncrasies. By the same logic, the English pronunciation of valet , accent on the first syllable and the second syllable ending with a T sound is also wrong. That’s the way language is, especially when you borrow a word from another language.

    Hrrrumph!

    Here’z a very pretty mizz from the cazt.

    From the sublime to the disgusting. Here’s a note from the Owl Chatter You-Can’t-Make-This-Stuff-Up Department, Trump division.

    Speaking last night at an event hosted by the Christian organization Turning Point Action in Florida, Trump said, “Christians, get out and vote, just this time. You won’t have to do it anymore. Four more years, you know what, it will be fixed, it will be fine, you won’t have to vote anymore, my beautiful Christians.”

    “I love you Christians. I’m a Christian. I love you, get out, you gotta get out and vote. In four years, you don’t have to vote again, we’ll have it fixed so good you’re not going to have to vote,” Trump said.

    I can’t quite put my finger on it, but something about that seems a bit jarring, no?

    He also called Harris a bum and said she doesn’t like Jews. I am not kidding. Who’s briefing him? Has no one told him about the husband? Here he is wearing a yarmulke and lighting a menorah.

    For the clue “Letters of coverage,” the answer was SPF. One commenter said she never heard of it and received the reply: You’ve never heard of SPF? Do you only go outside at night?

    Here’s sunburnt Barbie.

    This is important: At 44A, the clue was “Birds that can emit a ‘teakettle, teakettle, teakettle’ call” and the answer was WRENS. But kitshef says: Most WRENS don’t sound anything like teakettle-teakettle-teakettle. It’s just Carolina wrens, and really they sound more like trubily-trubily-trubily.

    Here — you decide. It just sounds like birds to me.

    At 2D the clue was “Hung tough” and the answer was PERSISTED. I suggested a better clue would have been “What McConnell said Warren did.”

    Here’s Mitch now on the vice presidency.

    To honor the memory of Abdul “Duke” Fakir, the last member of the original Four Tops to pass away, here’s one of their classics. Fakir died in Detroit at the age of 88. He’s holding his lifetime achievement Grammy in this shot. Well-earned.

    He is survived by his wife, of 50 years; six of his children, a sister, and several grandchildren and great-grandchildren. He never tired of singing the old hits. He toured until late last year. Rest in peace.

    See you tomorrow!

  • You Need an Otter

    A special opening shout-out to Owl Chatter friend Pennsylvania Sandee, who is not at all blobby, but responded to our piece on this year’s Blobfest by noting she and hubby Jeff used to live near the Colonial Theater in Phoenixville. She recommends their backstage tour. (Phil! You hear that? Put it on your list.)

    At 63A today, the clue was “Divisive pizza topping” and the answer was OLIVES. I agree with Rex’s take: Hey, are OLIVEs really “divisive?” Anchovies, sure, that’s canon, but OLIVEs? More than other toppings? Weird. OLIVEs rule, though it’s true I rarely have them on pizza. If I found them on my pizza, however, I would not mind. “Divisive?” You folks are weird.

    Jeez Louise, this one looks good. We had excellent pizza at Nomad Pizza in Hopewell, NJ, last Saturday, especially the Pear and Gorgonzola pie.

    John Mayall died at age 90 on Monday, the godfather of the British blues, and mentor to Eric Clapton, Mick Taylor of the Stones, and many others. He’s in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in the “musical influence” category. Phil took this shot of him for us a few years ago when Mayall was performing in Seattle at age 85.

    And here’s some of his early sound.

    Mayall’s two marriages ended in divorce but he was married to his second wife for 30 years: a blues performer herself, Maggie Mayall, who helped manage John’s career. He had six kids and six grandchildren, all of whom, I would bet, are well-versed in the blues and probably play a pretty mean guitar. Rest in peace, John.

    This poem from today’s Writer’s Almanac by Dick Davis is called “A Monorhyme for the Shower.” It’s an intimate peek at a happy marriage that made me feel that I should maybe look away.

    Lifting her arms to soap her hair
    Her pretty breasts respond—and there
    The movement of that buoyant pair
    Is like a spell to make me swear
    Twenty-odd years have turned to air;
    Now she’s the girl I didn’t dare
    Approach, ask out, much less declare
    My love to, mired in young despair.

    Childbearing, rows, domestic care—
    All the prosaic wear and tear
    That constitute the life we share—
    Slip from her beautiful and bare
    Bright body as, made half aware
    Of my quick surreptitious stare,
    She wrings the water from her hair
    And turning smiles to see me there.

    So the wife steps out of the shower as the husband steps in and they hear the doorbell ring. The husband says, “Can you run down and see who it is?” so she wraps a big white towel around herself and goes down to see who’s at the door. It’s their neighbor, Bill. He takes one look at her and says, “I’ll give you $300 if you let that towel drop.” She thinks for a second and then, voila. He hands her the money, she wraps the towel around herself again, and goes back upstairs. The husband says, “Who was it?” and she says “Bill, from next door.” And he says, “Good. Did he say anything about the $300 he owes me?”

    Back to that Blobfest for a moment, Frank Bruni’s “For the love of sentences” feature includes this sentence from the NYT by Emmett Lindner:  “In Phoenixville, Pa., where much of ‘The Blob’ was shot, thousands of fans gathered at the 25th annual Blobfest over the weekend to celebrate with ooze and ahhs.”

    Also in the NYT, food critic Pete Wells wrote about his retiring and recalled a colleague’s caveat that every lofty Times job is rented formal wear, not permanent threads: “It’s time to return the tux. I’ve had the trousers let out a few inches, but a tailor can take them in again. As for the stain on the jacket, that’s just pork fat. I think it adds character.” 

    Hold on. D’oh! Can you just relax for a minute with Phil’s friend Larissa? I gotta go check on the soup. Larissa is from Brazil and is as talented as she is pretty.

    OK, thanks Larissa. I’m back. My brother and sister loved Jean Shepard. He told stories on the radio and infused my family with his personal style of off-beat humor. I’d be hard pressed to identify it among all the strands of nonsense here in Owl Chatter, but I’m sure it’s in there in good measure. He was born on this date in Chicago in 1925. The one story of his that was made into a movie was The Christmas Story (1983). It’s about a boy who wants a BB gun for Christmas, even though every adult in his life says he’ll shoot his eye out.

    For now, I’m just going to steal this material from The Writer’s Almanac. And I’ll see what George and I can dig up on him in the coming days.

    “The stories Shepherd told on-air were always improvised, but he later wrote them down and published them in collections like In God We Trust: All Others Pay Cash (1967) and Wanda Hickey’s Night of Golden Memories and Other Disasters (1972). He said: “Some men are Baptists, others Catholics. My father was an Oldsmobile man.”

    Happy birthday, Shepard.

    “Wrong window. I’m a sea lion. You need an otter.”

    Happy Anniversary, kids! Hard to believe it’s been a year already. Here’s a lesson on how to feel like you’re all alone with your babe while the eyes of the whole world are on you. Hold on tight.

    We’re going to let Larissa play us off tonight with Eric Clapton’s heart-wrenching song Tears in Heaven, about the death of his 4-year-old son Conor.

    See you tomorrow!

  • Horses Made of Sticks

    It was a bang-up puzzle today. Did you know that “Bang” is old-fashioned slang for an exclamation point? Me neither. According to Wikipedia:

    “In the 1950s, secretarial dictation and typesetting manuals in America referred to the mark as “bang,” perhaps from comic books – where the ! appeared in dialogue bubbles to represent a gun being fired – although the nickname probably emerged from letterpress printing. “

    So in the puzzle, at several places the across answer ended in an exclamation point which became the word “bang” (shmooshed into one square: a “rebus”) for the down answer. E.g., at 21A the answer was CHIPS AHOY!, and at 9D the ! becomes the end square for SHE[BANG].

    I had forgotten how sexy Ricky Martin is.

    The best one was at 61A: “Slogan in the 2016 Republican presidential primary.” The answer was JEB! This clip is hysterical.

    The down answer for Jeb’s exclamation point was “Rocks out to heavy metal, say” and the answer was HEAD[BANG]S.

    ONE TWO THREE FOUR! Turn it up!

    Alright, Nance — we’ll let you close out this segment.

    ANNE Hathaway was in the puzzle (“Oscar winning Hathaway”), and someone noted she was right next to BARD (“Teller of tales”). Since Anne Hathaway was also the name of Shakespeare’s wife, that’s a nice little touch.

    Here’s a shot of Anne Phil took on their vacation together a while back.

    Another potential combo featured ALOUETTE, clued by “Classic children’s song about a lark.” Did you know the song was about plucking the feathers from a lark? In the puzzle, it crossed Willa Cather’s book: O PIONEERS!, which was a theme answer because of the (!) bang at the end. And someone noted Cather also wrote a book called “Song of the Lark.” Whoa — it’s freaking me out.

    Remember when Trump was just starting out his political career? Before we knew nothing he did or said could hurt him, I thought he was finished when he dissed John McCain. And, for sure, the Access Hollywood tape. But the first time I thought he did himself in was when he so crassly made fun of a disabled reporter. Remember that? He impersonated the deformities. We all saw it, but months later I heard Trump simply deny that he ever did it. “C’mon,” he said. “You know I could never do something like that.”

    Anyway, that all came back to me when I read about a book that’s coming out by his nephew, Fred C. Trump III, who is 61. Here’s how the Times tells it:

    Fred Trump’s son was born with a rare medical condition that led to developmental and intellectual disabilities. After Trump was elected, Fred Trump wanted to use his connection to the White House for good. With the help of others, he was able to convene a group of advocates for a meeting with his uncle. The president “seemed engaged, especially when several people in our group spoke about the heart-wrenching and expensive efforts they’d made to care for their profoundly disabled family members,” he writes.

    After the meeting, his uncle pulled him aside and said, “maybe those kinds of people should just die,” given “the shape they’re in, all the expenses.”

    The remark wasn’t a one-off, according to Fred Trump. A couple of years later, when he called his uncle for help because the medical fund that paid for his son’s care was running out of money, Fred Trump claims his uncle said: “I don’t know. He doesn’t recognize you. Maybe you should just let him die and move down to Florida.”

    “Maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised to hear Donald say that,” he writes. “It wasn’t far off from what he’d said that day in the Oval Office after our meeting with the advocates. Only that time, it was other people’s children who should die. This time, it was my son.”

    Brian Drury of the Dull Men’s Club has called for help from the membership. Here’s his post:

    My neighbour has installed a ‘thing’ to the outside of his building and I wondered what it might be so have googled it with no success so far. Yes, I could and would simply ask him as we are good friends but I very rarely see him and thought it would be easy to determine what It is myself. Having failed so far I thought maybe I know a bunch of people who always rise to this sort of challenge so here it is.

    There have been 668 comments so far. [How could anyone not love this club??] Terry Horrocks says: “It’s a plastic box with a wire sticking out of it. Hope this helps.” A discussion then ensued as to whether the wire was running out of it or into it and about the color of the box: white, antique white, ivory, or grey. Remy Downer wants to know if we can really call it a “box,” since it has a rounded bottom.

    Richard Boaler said: “It’s a nosy neighbour deterrent. He’s obviously not switched it on yet.”

    A consensus was emerging that it’s a thermostat of some sort, but James Thomas said it was a toilet. And Ed Baldwin was fairly certain it’s a starling repellant.

    I could continue, but, . . . seriously.

    Let’s close with a few more nudie suits.

    See you tomorrow!