The Wellington Files

  • Merry Christmas, Snowflakes

    Yesterday’s big (Sunday) puzzle had a Broadway theme. It was called Off Broadway Musicals. The clues were musicals, and the answers played off their literal meanings. So for “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying,” the answer was NEPOTISM. “The Wiz” was EINSTEIN. “The Producers” was PROLETARIAT. And “Mean Girls” was AVERAGE JANES, the counterpart to average Joes, with mean meaning average.

    The grid contained the following answers: PLATH (as in Sylvia), PROSTRATE, AROSE, NASTY, CUSPS, and LISPS. So here’s what I came up with:

    Sylvia’s parents always felt her agreeable brother Warren was the PLATH of least resistance.

    Police Sergeant: Was the body PROSTRATE when you arrived?
    Witness: No. Quite the converse. It was antistrate.
    Sergeant: Okay. Then I’ll amend my officer’s report to have his PROSTRATE taken out.

    Don’t invite Shakespeare and Stein to dinner together.
    Will: AROSE (9D) by any other name . . .
    Gertrude: Nonsense! AROSE is AROSE is AROSE.

    It theems a little NATHTY (71D) for the conthtructor to place CUTHPS (52D) so close to LITHPS (63D).

    Here’s Sylvia.

    Our Phil spent his time off for Christmas hanging with Tay and Travis at the Chiefs game in KC last week. It was a little sad because KC lost, is out of the playoffs, and it might have been Trav’s last home game (if he retires). Phil says it’s not just an act, Kelce is truly undecided on whether to call it quits.

    Yikes. She looks so tiny next to him in that shot. Should we worry? It’s not as pronounced below. I’m not going to worry.

    Eugene Niemand of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) asks a reasonable question:

    Can someone please explain why this board was not placed 1/2 mile back or forward to avoid all the 1/2 miles on the distances?

    Paul Clark: Because it was easier than moving the towns nearer the junction.

    [What?]

    Jane Knuth: And why all the parentheses?

    Andrew Jackson: The parentheses mean the town is not located directly on the road you are on.

    Kenneth Harwood: This is the only sign of its kind that I know of.

    Eugene: Really? To be honest it’s first one I’ve seen since creating this post but surely there must be more.

    Kenneth: I was a Lorry driver, drove all over the UK and I have never seen another with 1/2 miles.

    John Heaton: Oddly, there is nowhere on the A347 within 34.5 miles of the sign, as is indicated for Winchester.

    Eugene: I know. I did a measurement from where this sign is and in a straight line it overshoots everywhere by about 2-4 miles except Ringwood. 

    Gord Lynch:  I don’t suppose the roads are straight lines though.

    Debbie Vogel: The sign was placed near an intersection.

    Eugene: Does anyone know where they measure to, like a council building, library, courthouse, etc.?

    Andrew Harper: Normally to the main post office in the town.

    Eugene: This is getting more interesting.

    Avi Liveson: Not really.

    The PWHL (Pro Women’s Hockey League) was mentioned approvingly in a call to the afternoon sports talk show on WFAN in NY today. The caller noted that the PWHL has a draft system that does not reward losses (or “tanking”). It’s a big problem (IMO) for the NFL.

    Take a look at the Jets. (Sorry. Just for a second.) They stink beyond all reasonable standards of stinkdom. So they need a good draft in April. And draft picks are assigned in the order of how bad your record is. So there’s an incentive for the Jets (and the other weaker teams) to lose games in order to score a more favorable draft position. It’s called “tanking” and goes against everything competitive sports stands for.

    Well, the PWHL came up with a solution. Once it’s mathematically impossible for a team to make the playoffs, its draft position is higher the better it does for the rest of the season. Brilliant.

    Look at these beautiful and remarkable women. They make me proud to be a sports fan.

    At the opposite end of the brilliance spectrum, we have Chris Garten, a moron of the highest order. On Christmas Day, Garten, a Republican Indiana state senator, posted images of himself punching, kicking, and body-slamming Santa Claus in front of the state capitol. His explanation was that he was reacting to the “fact” that “the North Pole is trying to bring more bureaucratic overreach & unfunded mandates down the chimney disguised as ‘Christmas cheer.’” “We The People run Indiana, not the bureaucrats,” he wrote. “Take it back to the North Pole big guy.”

    Garten called outrage over the posts “fake” and “a stark reminder of how overly sensitive society has become.”

    [Wait. If it was fake how could it be a reminder of anything? It didn’t happen. Gotta pick one CG. It’s an either/or.]

    He later blasted the “intolerance, swearing, and outrage” over the images and said: “Some of you clowns are just insufferable…. Merry Christmas, snowflakes!”

    Ho-Ho-Ouch!

    Frank Bruni ended the year with a collection of the best “For the love of sentences” sentences. I didn’t remember this one:

    In The BMJ (formerly the British Medical Journal), Kamran Abassi composed a eulogy for honest, factual information. “We live in a world of lies, damned lies, and A.I. hallucinations,” he wrote. “A lie, they say, travels halfway around the world before the truth gets its boots on. Today, a lie travels so fast that the truth might as well stay in bed.”

    Our trip to Michigan was terrific. New grandbaby Harold Barney is a knockout. Big brown eyes and gorgeous pouty lips. How a slob like me could have anything genetic to do with that punim is one of the great mysteries. Great eats, as always, including kasha this time.

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for popping by.

  • Real Hardcover Books

    Welcome to Owl Chatter Post #950, not to be confused with the VFW Post of that number. Congratulations on wasting hours and hours of your life with this nonsense! What the hell is wrong with you!!

    From The Onion:

    Wooden Spoon Only Thing In Man’s Life Not Giving Him Cancer

    Also From The Onion:

    Religious Cousin Ruins Family’s Christmas

    MONTOURSVILLE, PA–The arrival of devout Christian cousin Barb Krueger has “for all practical purposes ruined” the Langan family’s chances of having an enjoyable holiday season, sources reported Monday.

    “Christmas Day is something our whole family greatly looks forward to, drinking egg nog, opening presents, sitting around the family room in our pajamas and robes, and sipping hot cocoa throughout the day,” said Marv Langan, 51. “Well, you can forget about that this year, with Barb hovering over us with her Bible.”

    “Jesus is the reason for the season,” Krueger said.

    Holiday-cheer-killing activities foisted upon the family include daily “devotionals” involving candle-lighting and scripture readings, formal prayers before all meals, and longwinded harangues explaining why Jesus wants the Langans to reject such “blasphemously secular” holiday TV specials as Frosty The Snowman and Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer.

    “I hope she never comes back here again,” said one of the Langan girls. “I hope she gets run over by a bus and goes to Heaven. That way, she could spend the holidays with her best friend Jesus.”

    At 35D in the puzzle today, “Historical region of southwestern France,” was AQUITAINE.

    With a play on Accutane, I posted the following on Rex’s site: AQUITAINE is a popular acne remedy. The Times really blew it on that one.

    Anony Mouse wrote: Never heard of it. Whereas Eleanor of AQUITAINE is famous. The Times didn’t blow it at all.

    And tht replied: Anonymous, I take it you’re new around here. It’s a safe bet he was kidding.

    [Yup.]

    Thursday’s puzzle had a laughing theme. It inserted Jingle Bell lyrics, leading up to “LAUGHING all the way,” and inserted laughs into long answers, e.g., BROUHAHA. David Byrne must have approved.

    Broadcasting today from Bloomfield Hills MI. The drive out was fine despite predictions of dire ice storms. And here’s a holiday treat for us with a special accent, courtesy of the Roches.

    Yesterday was the birthday of David Sedaris, 69, born in Johnson City NY. He is one of the great humorists of our age. He also wrote this:

    “Their house had real hardcover books in it, and you often saw them lying open on the sofa, still warm from being read.”

    Let’s close on that. See you next time!

  • Mr. Noodle

    In the puzzle today, the answer at 27D was ILL ADVISED (“Unwise”). It reminded me of this:

    Driving through the backroads of heavily treed Oregon years ago, we passed many side roads with the sign “Truckers Not Advised.” After several hours of seeing them, Linda and I had this brief conversation:

    Me: What does that even mean?
    Linda: It’s telling truckers not to use that side road.
    Me: It’s advising them to avoid the road?
    Linda: Yes.
    Me: So the truckers are advised.
    Linda: Yes.
    Me: But it says Truckers Not Advised.
    Linda: Don’t do that.

    It’s a verbal Escher painting.

    Here are belated Happy Hanukkah wishes from the late Tom Lehrer, alav hashalom.

    Tom Lehrer passed away last June in Cambridge MA (“our fair city”) at the age of 97. Amazingly, until yesterday, I had not heard this song of his. Tom never married and had no children. So who’s Betsy? IDK. A sister?

    The theme today was FAKE IDs. Answers used the initials I and D and had something fake about them. ITALIAN DRESSING is actually from America and is rarely consumed in Italy. ISAK DINESEN is the author of “Out of Africa” who is actually named Karen Christentze von Blixen-Finecke. And INDEPENDENCE DAY is an “observance celebrating a decision actually made on July 2 — the date when John Adams predicted it would be celebrated.”

    John Adams wasn’t the only wild guy in the puzzle today. At 6D for the clue “Silly character on the Sesame Street segment ‘Elmo’s World,’” the answer was MR NOODLE. Nice ‘stache, Mr. N.

    We’re closing the store early today. Xmas eve festivities, then it’s off to Michigan in the morning. Broadcasting may be spotty for a few days.

    Happy Holidays from all of us at Owl Chatter. Maybe next year will be better! (Just kidding — we’re f*cked.)

  • One Wish

    Good morning readers! (It’s morning here.) Before we go any further, we have an addendum to an item from the Dull Men’s Club (UK) that appeared in our previous post. It was the note about DMC(UK) member Andy Spragg’s bottle of Gravy Browning that was finally finished after a long period of devoted service.

    Since our report, the following back-and-forth appeared:

    Kenneth Harwood: Your troubles are over!! You can get it on eBay. Here’s an item number 235423495375. Mind you not for 40p.

    Andy: I probably can’t overemphasize the importance of the 40p-ness TBH.

    OC Note: It’s an interesting item. It only colors whatever it’s added to. It does not flavor it (other than adding salt). I haven’t seen it on the shelves here in the U.S.

    Meet Foxglove. Opening yesterday in Rex’s holiday pet pix feature. Hi Foxie!

    Here’s a holiday love song, courtesy of Son Volt. Thanks SV!

    Carat, karat, caret, or carrot? Even people adept at karate can have trouble distinguishing carat from karat. I know, who kares, right? Well, when you are talking about the weight of a diamond, that’s in carats. The “fineness” of gold is karat. Pure gold is 24 karat. If it’s only 14/24 gold, that’s 14 karat. And caret is the little arrow symbol you use to add material to text (^). It has nothing to do with jewelry.

    Phil had us add carrot to the list so he could try to hit on Bernadette here. It didn’t go well. You’ll get ’em next time, Buddy! Her loss.

    Here are some items from Frank Bruni’s “For the love of sentences” feature:

    In Wired, David Ferry, on people with Parkinson’s disease wrote: “Amy Lindberg spent 26 years in the Navy and she still walked like it — with intention, like her chin had someplace to be. But around 2017, her right foot stopped following orders.”

    In The New Yorker, Helen Rosner named the filet o’tofu sandwich at Mommy Pai’s in Manhattan as a 2025 restaurant highlight: “As the name of this sandwich suggests, it bears some structural similarities to a McDonald’s Filet-O-Fish, but only in the sense that we human beings share more than half our DNA with a banana.”

    In The Wall Street Journal, Jason Gay wrote about the phenomenon football fans experience when a catch is being reviewed. Of course it was a catch. Wait a minute — did it touch the ground? Did he have “control?” What’s “control?” Here’s Gay: “It’s the affliction of overthinking: If it walks like a duck, and talks like a duck, wait, hold on, it must be a chandelier. It’s further evidence humans can ruin the spirit of anything, if given the time and technology.”

    Gay also marveled at the return of the quarterback Philip Rivers, 44, a grandfather, who’d retired and was coaching high school football, to replace an injured starter for the Colts: “He moved like a man trying to make a sandwich in the dark.”

    Last, in The Times, Glenn Thrush and Alan Feuer mused about Trump’s failed efforts to prosecute his perceived enemies: “Revenge, it turns out, is a dish best served with evidence.”

    If you SHORT CHANGE someone, you “cheat” them, according to Suzanne Oliver, the constructor of yesterday’s NYTXW. But it had another meaning in the four theme answers yesterday too. In JAZZ QUARTET, we had a quarter “short” of the R. In JEDI MASTERS, we had a dime “short” of the E. In OPEN NOTES, we had a penny “short” of the Y. And in PERSNICKETY, we had a nickel “short” of the L. So “short” change — get it?

    Commenter Lewis came up with this poem:

    First we lose the mighty PENN
    A coin once stubborn as a JENN
    Next to go will be the NICKE
    Which has slowed down to a TRICKE
    Followed by the mighty DIM
    Certainly, it’s past its PRIM
    Sadly, next will be the QUARTE
    I’ll drown my sorrows in a PORTE
    I guess I find it very STRANG
    To have to say goodbye to CHANG

    Miriam Webster’s word of the day today is “bespoke,” and I’m glad it is because I always wonder what it means when I see it but have been too lazy to look it up. It means “custom-made.” I’ve heard of bespoke suits so that makes sense but it’s not limited to clothing. I googled “bespoke ice cream” and this came up among the photos. That’s the most drooling I’ve done since the last Sydney Sweeney photo.

    Today’s puzzle was one for the C-SUITE. Normally that’s where the CEOs hang out, but today it revealed the theme of “sweets” that had two C words, viz., CHOCOLATE COIN (you know, for Chanukah), CUPCAKE, CANDY CORN, and CHRISTMAS COOKIE.

    In general, you want to keep your theme clean. That is, there should be no other (non-theme) answers with two C words in the grid. Rex had some cat fun with that at 2D. The clue was “Go off a ski jump, say,” and the answer was CATCH AIR. Here’s Rex:

    I’m not really sure what a CAT CHAIR is (is it sweet?), but I want one for my cats now. Actually, scratch that. They have plenty of chairs. All the chairs in this house are CAT CHAIRs. Hell, every rectangular-shaped surface in the house is a CAT CHAIR. This crossword puzzle was on the counter for all of ten seconds before it became … CAT CHAIR!

    Follow-up notes to CAT CHAIR:

    Bob M: I’ll have to check with a Bronte expert, but did Rochester ever CATCH EYRE?

    Jnlzbth: First line, last chapter: “Reader, I married him.”

    KBF: A cat chair need not be rectangular. If there’s a sock on the floor, Tasha will sit on it.

    Anony Mouse: Is a dog chair a “bark-o-lounger?”

    “Maybe we should take our mouse ears off.”

    The Mariners and Gnats traded . . . actors? The Gnats picked up Harrison Ford in exchange for Jose Ferrer. Remember Jose?

    So. What the hell am I talking about? It was a real trade. Harry Ford (first name Harrison) is a minor league catcher and top prospect, and Jose A. Ferrer is a solid relief pitcher. Here are the nonactors:

    May the force be with you, Gnats! Harry is a rare-for-baseball dual British-American citizen. He was born in Atlanta, but both his parents are British. He has played for British teams in international baseball competitions. Jose is Dominican and a good left arm out of the bullpen. The Gnats will miss him.

    Clever clue/answer in a recent LA Times puzzle: “Subject of some air battles?” Answer: ARMREST.

    Nooooo! Not that!

    “B . . . twelve! You have a B-twelve deficiency.”

    Let’s close today with this poem from Winter Morning Walks by Ted Kooser. One of my favorites.

    A little snap at one side of the room,
    and an answering snap at the other:
    Stiff from the cold and idleness, the old house
    is cracking its knuckles. Then the great yawn
    of the furnace. Even the lampshade is drowsy,
    its belly full of a warm yellow light.

    Out under the moon, though, there is at least
    one wish against this winter sleep: A road
    leads into the new year, deliberate as a bride
    in her sparkling white dress of new snow.

    See you tomorrow Chatterheads. Thanks for popping in!

  • Tetrominos and Porcupine Fish

    Some baseball people will say the record least likely to ever be broken is Johnny Vander Meer’s consecutive no-hitters. To break it, you’d have to pitch three consecutive no-hitters. Pitchers can barely pitch complete games these days.

    JVM accomplished his feat for Cincy on June 11 and 15 in 1938. The first was against the Boston Bees and the second against the Brooklyn Dodgers. Amazingly, the game against Brooklyn was the first ever night game at Ebbets Field. How cool is that? He may not have been at the top of his game that night — he walked seven batters and was helped out by some spectacular fielding plays. Still. No hits.

    Vander Meer came to mind today because of another unbreakable record of sorts set by a 51-year-old Florida woman named Susan Avalon, who is being charged with killing two ex-husbands on the same day. The previous record was one.

    I know what you’re thinking, readers — Does this look like the face of a killer? Well, yeah, sorta.

    The fateful and fatal day was last Wednesday, December 17. Police in Bradenton FL responded to a call and found a man who had been shot. Before he died, he told them his ex-wife Susan shot him. (Note: He would not have been able to tell them after he died.)

    That evening, 125 miles away in Citrus County FL, Susan grabbed a Panera soup from a nearby store, without paying for it, and showed up at the second victim’s door. The authorities state that it is not clear at this time whether it was Autumn Squash or Broccoli Cheddar. Both are quite good, if a little salty. The victim’s daughter’s statement led them to Susan, his ex-wife. The police found her at her home, cleaning her car with bleach. (Not kidding.) When they approached her and said they wanted to talk to her about her ex-husband, she responded: “Which one?” (Still, not kidding.)

    That story is from People magazine, as recounted by AOL, so you know it has to be true.

    Andy Spragg, one of my brothers in the Dull Men’s Club (UK) posted the following, with the photo:

    “Farewell then, old friend. You were approaching your best before date when we bought you for 40p from a little delicatessen in Rothbury several years ago, and you’ve given us quiet ongoing service, adding the colour brown to myriad dishes, ever since. Until last night, when you finally ejected your last aliquot. The hole you have left in our fridge door will take big boots to fill.”

    Sarah Jenkin-Green: I’m in shock at the Lea and Perrins in the fridge, it doesn’t need refrigerating.

    Heather Hughson: I just put some mint sauce in my peas, said to expire Sept 2023. Still a few more good years to come!

    Brian Taylor:

    Avi Liveson: There are labs in the U.S. growing tomatoes with “Best By” dates emblazoned on them. (It’s possible I only dreamt that. Hard to tell since hitting 75.)

    The big (Sunday) puzzle today was a classic. Brilliant, IMO. It was by David Kwong a professional magician and was called “Present Time.” The “presents” were Xmas presents under the tree. There were six. So, we needed six trees. For these there were six rebuses, one tree each. E.g., CLAREN[CE DAR]ROW gave us the CEDAR, all squooshed into one square. It was crossed by DAN[CED AR]OUND. We got an oak via I’M S[OAK]ED, crossed by PRELUDE TO A KISS (Duke Ellington song). Four other crossings similarly gave us ELM, PINE, ASH, and PALM rebuses. OK, take a breath.

    Then, the square under each “tree-rebus” was circled, representing the present “under the tree.” So you had six presents: six circled squares. Reading the letters in those squares left-to-right gave you two more trees: FIR and YEW. And, finally, since the presents spelled out FIR + YEW, you should read it as “FOR YOU.” Hope you were able to follow.

    At 94A, “Kind of cipher in which A becomes B, B becomes C, e.g.,” was CAESAR. It’s referring to a code in which you just bump each letter up by one. So, CHEESE becomes DIFFTF. It’s called Caesar because that’s the code he used when communicating. And that’s why you often hear of his exasperated friends saying, “C’mon, Julie, what the fuck are you getting at?” It could also be why they stabbed him. It was annoying as hell.

    Also learned about the TETROMINO. It’s like a domino but with four squares instead of two. “Game piece made of four squares.” They are the pieces used in Tetris.

    Also learned about the PORCUPINE FISH today. They are exactly what you’d think they are.

    This story in today’s Met Diary is by Naomi Malka and is called “Taste Test.”

    Dear Diary:

    The day after Thanksgiving, a question arose: What does one eat next?

    For a family ranging in age from 8 to 80, keeping a festive mood through the weekend required a new idea. Someone suggested a blind taste test of Upper West Side pizzas.

    Soon, ballots were printed and categories debated: sauce, crust, mouth feel, overall taste. Three pies lined the kitchen counter.

    When the votes were tallied, the winner came from a spot near 105th Street and Broadway. There were leftovers, and the three youngest members of the group and their aunt carried one box back to their apartment.

    At West End Avenue and 70th Street, they were stopped by a sanitation truck. The driver got out and smiled.

    “What’s the best pizza around here?” he asked.

    “We actually just decided,” one of the kids said.

    They explained their ranking system and even offered the man a slice.

    He shook his head, laughing.

    “We see a lot of different pizza boxes in the garbage,” he said. “We were hoping for a local opinion. Middle of the shift, we get hungry out here.”

    He climbed back into the truck, waved and drove off.

    We’ll let this pretty song close for us tonight. The band is Hem (from Brooklyn!), and that’s Sally Ellyson’s voice.

    It’s colder than hell
    This time of the year
    The moon is bright
    The night is clear
    And I’m out on a road
    The homes that I see
    They’re all safe and warm
    But they’re not for me

    All I know is I want to be with you for Christmas

    See you tomorrow!

  • Dogsbody

    Cliff Rose of the Dull Men’s Club (UK) posts:

    I spend more time than I ought to wondering what selection criteria people use when choosing a parking space. Will it be far away from other cars in the row ? Or as close as possible, even if there are loads of empty spaces ?

    Here we have a picture of the car park by a lake where my doggy gets his morning walk. When we arrived today the car park was empty and I selected the first convenient space on the left.

    When doggy and I returned from our walk around the lake there were three more cars in the car park. One had taken a space in the opposite row and away from mine. One had taken a space in the row on the same side and again well away from mine.

    But one had taken the very next space to mine, and not only that, made sure we both had to struggle to use our drivers’ door……

    WHY DO PEOPLE DO THIS 🤨🤨 ??

    Phil Goodchild: Now this is a pet peeve, it has happened to me on a few occasions, just why the eff does some twerp decide to park in the space next to where I have parked in an empty car park. I feel they must have issues.

    Andy Sutherland: Infuriating!

    Avi Liveson: I have no idea, but if it’s a gent, try to find out which urinal he uses in public restrooms.

    Cliff replied: Actually I’m pretty sure it was a lady, which, thinking about it, probably explains why ladies go in twos to the ladies.

    Neil Stewart: There are a number of drivers who can only park if they can align their vehicle alongside another one. Genuinely. I have no idea what they do if they find a completely empty car park. Try to find a wall to line up with I suppose. Maybe it’s an anxiety thing, maybe they just want to make sure they’re doing the right thing, perhaps they’re in Narcotics Anonymous and white lines are triggering for them. Some people might say “these drivers shouldn’t be on the road, then” and such people would get a “well no, no they shouldn’t, should they” from me, and perhaps a mince pie. 

    This was the Poetry Foundation’s poem of the day today. It’s called “son/daughter” and is by Kai Conradi. (The spacing may be a bit screwy if you read this on your phone or a small screen.)

    In a dream my dad fell

        from the top of a steep       white       mountain

              down       into a blue       crevasse
              like the space between       two waves
              where the light       shines through       just enough
              to tell you
              you will miss this life dearly.

                The falling took years.

                I could hear him moving through air       and then finally nothing.

    In another dream       my dad was an angel

        his see-through body dangling in the air

                floating above me       face shimmery like tinfoil

                       and I cried and cried when he told me

    I can’t come back to earth now       not ever.

                                                                 When my dad told me

    You will always be my daughter

                                                                            maybe it was like that.

                                                         Will I be allowed to come back to earth

                                                         and be your son?

    From The Onion:

    Student Who’s Been In 3 School Shootings Starting To Think This Might Be About Him

    This is Joey. Merry Xmas. (From Rex’s pet pix) Or, to use the vernacular: woof, woof.

    Speaking of Joey, the clue at 7D today was “Dogsbody.” It’s a British term. It started out as the term for pea soup that sailors got tired of eating every day at sea, but ended up meaning “poor slob who does all the dirty work.” In the puzzle, the answer was ERRAND BOY.

    For the clue “Extremely rare, facetiously,” the answer was STILL MOOING. Get it? You order your steak rare and when it comes you complain that it’s not rare enough and the waiter says, “If it were any rarer, it would still be mooing.” I was first made aware of the quip by a friend in Rochester who told the story of a waiter in England meeting such a complaint with “Sir, I’ve seen cows cooked longer than that and live.”

    I think my favorite clue today was at 45A: “[womp, womp].” Answer: SAD TROMBONE.

    That’s my grandniece Maeven on the right. She’s saying: “The Epstein files? Not in our lifetimes.”

    Let’s close with a pretty face. The clue at 42D was “Day at the movies.” Answer: DORIS, of course. Doris Day’s name at birth was Doris Kappelhoff. Born in Cincy, she died at the age of 97 in California. She had one child, a son, Terry Melcher, who died at the age of 62 in 2004, fifteen years before Doris passed. Terry was a music producer who worked a bit with the Beach Boys but was best known for producing the Byrds’ two big first albums: Mr. Tambourine Man, and Turn! Turn! Turn! It was he who made the decision to go with three “Turns!” rather than two or four. (No it wasn’t.)

    Before we go on to chat a bit about Melcher, here’s a nice shot Phil got for us of Doris Day.

    Wait. Phil, you sure that’s Doris?

    Anyway, Melcher’s girlfriend was the actress Candice Bergen (yes, that one) when he met Charles Manson (yes, that one) via Brian Wilson of the Beach Boys. Manson was an aspiring musician before he was a homicidal maniac. Two of his songs were recorded by the Beach Boys. Melcher auditioned Manson but decided not to work with him. After Melcher and Bergen moved to a new home, Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate moved in to their old home and it was there that the Manson murders took place. Manson may have been motivated in part by anger at being rejected by Melcher, but he should have known Melcher had moved so the connection is unclear.

    Melcher continued a successful career and later co-wrote the Beach Boys hit Kokomo. He stayed close with his mom his whole life. He co-produced the cable show Doris Day’s Best Friends, and worked as the director of the Doris Day Animal Foundation. Woof woof.

    Sharon Tate was only 26 when she was murdered. Looks a little like Pam Bondi, no?

    See you tomorrow Chatterheads!

  • The Silent Dominion of Starlight

    The Times was wise to assign the movie “The Housemaid” to Alissa Wilkinson to review. Sydney Sweeney is in it so any hetero male who reviewed it would just come up with blubbering and drooling.

    It’s a favorable review, especially for most of the cast, including Syd. She (the reviewer) urges us to see it in the theater. “That’s where I saw it, with a full house of ordinary moviegoers who seemed to be having a blast. They chuckled, they clapped, they occasionally warned the characters to watch out. When a guy in the middle of the theater made a joke at the very end, the whole crowd burst out laughing, and we all left in a good mood. In line for the bathroom afterward, I listened as people talked about how much they enjoyed that movie.”

    BTW, you may have heard that Musk came under fire for creepy remarks he made about Sweeney’s physical endowments. Implying her ample chest must put a strain on her back, he opined “It can’t be easy.” What an idiot.

    Phil and she hit it off, we were happy to hear (see S’s smile, below). She promised to stop by for a Diet Coke the next time she’s in Jersey. Which, let’s see, should probably be around . . . never. D’oh!

    Apologies are in order to all of you who wrote in complaining about our skimpy coverage of the Sirens game Weds nite, asking for more details. As we noted, the Sirens played a good aggressive game, but were thwarted at every turn by the Fleet goalie, Aerin Frankel. The decisive goal was scored early in the second period by Ella Huber, Boston’s 23-year-old forward from Northfield IL. Ella played college hockey for UMinny and reps the US in international play. Sorry fellas — she’s dating Matt Knies, who also plays pro hockey, up in Toronto for the Maple Leaves. I’d keep my distance unless you have excellent dental insurance.

    Here are Ella and Matt in front of historic Scotiabank Arena in Toronto, where the Maple Leaves play.

    From The Onion:

    Trump Assures Struggling Nation He Has Plenty Of Money

    Twas the Friday before Xmas . . . and here’s a holiday song for us bluegrass fans with Molly Tuttle. She’s new to me — thanks Son Volt!

    Let’s share a yard of ale and toast the future. In the puzzle today, at 6D the clue was “Yard sale?” and the answer was ALE.

    It should hold about 48 oz. Burp!

    Probably best not to walk around barefoot after drinking one. At 3D, the clue was “They may recently have been in a jam,” and the answer was STUBBED TOES.

    There is apparently a category of cartoons called “arthritis cartoons” (not kidding), within which this is funny. Maybe.

    Here are some more:

    Back to the puzzle, 38A was a little sobering: “Suddenly kicks the bucket.” Answer: DROPS DEAD. Yikes! Rex said it was his favorite answer. It is fairly fresh, for Crossworld.

    I’ll be the first to admit I have no understanding of an enormous number of pro football rules. Stuff like what’s an illegal formation, the requirements for linemen lining up, and the like. But I get the basic stuff and could thus appreciate the play everyone is talking about from last night’s excellent Seahawks-Rams game.

    Seattle was going for a two-point conversion to tie the game at 30-all in the fourth quarter. Sam Darnold threw a screen pass to Zach Charbonnet (a running back; not a dry French wine), that was knocked down by Jared Verse, a Ram defender (and the brother of Uni, Blank, and Per). Incomplete pass, play over, right? Not so fast!

    Astute officials noticed it was a backwards pass — not a forward pass. That makes it a live ball when knocked down, not an incomplete pass. Charbonnet picked it up in the end zone for the score. Replays show it was definitely a backward pass. But some argue that even if that were the case, the whistle blew so it was a dead ball and not a score. Al Michaels said the whistle did not blow, but the question persists in some minds. The game turned on the play. And the season may turn on the game, given its effect on playoff positioning.

    https://www.youtube.com/shorts/2qlfCBX0jdY

    Here’s Sam Darnold when he was with the Jets. Note the “why me, Lord?” look. Sam gained some notoriety as a Jet for his remark after a game in which his offensive line gave him little-to-no protection. “I’m seeing ghosts out there,” he said. He speaks of his days with the Jets like tortured Iraqis speak of their time in Saddam Hussain’s prisons.

    It seems like it’s been forever since we’ve read a poem by Ted Kooser together. This one is from Winter Morning Walks, dated “february 19, Thirty-five degrees and drizzling.”

    When I switched on a light in the barn loft
    late last night, I frightened four flickers
    hanging inside, peering out through their holes.
    Confused by the light, they began to fly
    wildly from one end to the other,
    their yellow wings slapping the tin sheets
    of the roof, striking the walls, scrabbling
    and falling. I cut the light
    and stumbled down and out the door and stood
    in the silent dominion of starlight
    till all five of our hearts settled down.

    I hope it didn’t take too long. Thanks for stopping in. See you tomorrow!

  • Plump Old Women

    You are all already suitably horrified by Trump’s reaction to the Reiner killings, I’m sure. Even some of his supporters were impressed, negatively, I mean. Here’s some of what David Remnick of The New Yorker wrote on it.

    “After a decade of constant presence on the political stage, Trump no longer seems capable of shocking anyone with the brutality of his language or the heedlessness of his behavior. And yet the President really did seem to break through to a new level of degradation this week.

    “. . . And so it is worth asking, do you know anyone quite as malevolent? At your place of work? On your campus? A colleague? A teacher? Much less someone whose impulses and furies in no small measure dictate the direction, fate, and temper of the country? Have you ever in your life encountered a character as wretched as Donald Trump?”

    “He says such horrible things. You have to wonder how he sleeps at televised afternoon meetings.”

    This poem is called “Cardinals.” It’s by John L. Stanizzi. It’s from yesterday’s Writer’s Almanac.

    for Carol

    I had seen them in the tree,
    and heard they mate for life,
    so I hung a bird feeder
    and waited.
    By the third day,
    sparrows and purple finches
    hovered and jockeyed
    like a swarm of bees
    fighting over one flower.
    So I hung another feeder,
    but the squabbling continued
    and the seed spilled
    like a shower
    of tiny meteors
    onto the ground
    where starlings
    had congregated,
    and blue jays,
    annoyed at the world,
    disrupted everyone
    except the mourning doves,
    who ambled around
    like plump old women
    poking for the firmest
    head of lettuce.

    Then early one evening
    they came,
    the only ones—
    she stood
    on the periphery
    of the small galaxy of seed;
    he hopped
    among the nuggets,
    calmly chose
    one seed at a time,
    carried it to her,
    placed it in her beak;
    she, head tilted,
    accepted it.
    Then they fluffed,
    hopped together,
    did it all over again.

    And filled with love,
    I phoned to tell you,
    over and over,
    about each time
    he celebrated
    being there,
    all alone,
    with her.

    “Did you say you needed a six-pin-to-eight-pin FireWire for a 2006 MacBook?”

    In the puzzle today, at 33D the clue was “Knockoff version of a bejeweled Imperial egg, e.g.” and the answer was FAUXBERGE. Get it? A cute portmanteau.

    I thought 43A would raise a few eyebrows for awkwardness. The clue was “Botch,” and the answer MISDO. Commenter MichGirl asked: “Are we not going to talk about MISDO?,” and I replied: “I’d rather we MISDON’T.”

    BRETT was in the puzzle, clued via her role in “The Sun Also Rises,” which Rex, surprisingly for an English prof, said he never read. I posted the following on it:

    In an episode of Cheers, Diane mentions “The Sun Also Rises,” and Sam says “Well, that’s profound.” Actually, Diane purchased a first edition for a pretty penny and lent it to Sam. Sam being Sam, he took it to read in the bathtub and dropped it in. Brought it back all bloated.

    Remember that one, anybody? Ava Gardner played Brett in the movie, totally on fleek. Hubba hubba.

    JEN Tulloch was in the grid too, clued with her role in Severance. I saw a few episodes but didn’t get hooked. Don’t recall seeing Jen. She’s from Kentucky, 42, and gay. Here she is. Phil couldn’t fit all the hair in one shot.

    Have to go back to you-know-whom. Sorry, but the plaques are simply beyond hysterical. I will tell you up front I am not making this up, but you may still not believe me. Trump has f*cked with the presidential portraits in the White House. He took a Sharpie and drew a moustache and glasses on Obama. No, he didn’t do that, but the rest of this is true: He has rewritten the plaques under them. First, he replaced Biden’s portrait with a photo of an autopen. (See, I told you you wouldn’t believe me. See below.) Under it, the new plaque he made up starts: “Sleepy Joe Biden was, by far, the worst President in American History. Taking office as a result of the most corrupt Election ever seen in the United States, Biden oversaw a series of unprecedented disasters that brought our Nation to the brink of destruction….”

    Obama’s new plaque says he “was one of the most divisive political figures in American History,” who “passed the highly ineffective ‘Unaffordable’ Care Act.”

    The plaque for Ronald Reagan claims he was “a fan of President Donald J. Trump long before President Trump’s Historic run for the White House.”

    You can imagine the bloviating in the ones he wrote for himself. Stuff like “”the Greatest Economy in the History of the World.”

    White House press secretary Karoline Leavitt said the plaques feature “eloquently written descriptions of each President and the legacy they left behind,” adding that “many were written directly by the President himself.”

    No kidding.

    OMG, there is nothing sexier than KL in full Trump mode. Amirite, fellas? Definitely hotter with the cross.

    Had a blast at the Sirens game last night, but, alas, our good-luck streak ended at two. The Boston Fleet took it to us 2-0. It felt like we outplayed them on the ice — and we did have more shots on goal than they did (33-21), but their goalie, Aerin Frankel, was a rock. It was a tough order: Boston is 5-0 now (and the Sirens fell to 2-4), but we battled every inch of the way. Next time, girls!

    See you tomorrow, Chatterheads. Thanks for popping in!

  • Walkin’ the Floor

    We were bigger fans of his dad, Carl Reiner, but how could you not love Rob too. Carl and Mel Brooks’ Two-Thousand-Year-Old Man, and then the great Dick Van Dyck Show were two humor benchmarks of our youth through high school. And Rob gave us the single funniest moment in the history of the cinema in When Harry. Rest in peace Michele and Rob. Here are Carl and Rob.

    This poem by Yahya Frederickson is called “News.” It’s today’s Poets.org Poem-A-Day.

    Before breakfast, we drive into town  
    to buy a Star Tribune for my father,  
    who usually rides along, but today sleeps late.  
    From the passenger seat, you stuff 
    my mouth with a saucer peach. For energy, 

    you say, my fog before food well-known.  
    The beige flesh tastes like jasmine.  
    Honey. A Persian fairy tale.  
    In his La-Z-Boy near the big window,  
    my father will read a section, nod off, 

    wake, read another, all afternoon.  
    You and I no longer bother—every day  
    the same: people killing, being killed.  
    Instead, we cook, clean. We look  
    after my father, keep our kids busy. 

    At the One-Stop, I take a copy 
    off the dwindling stack, set my father’s exact  
    change into the cashier’s tattooed hand—  
    my daily deadline met. Heading home,  
    you spot it first, uphill, in a birch, 

    glowing, a blue pilot light. A flaming  
    blue arrow shooting toward us. I can’t  
    stop, can’t swerve, it strikes our windshield.  
    I see it in the rearview mirror glance  
    onto the shoulder. Maybe it’s still alive, 

    you pray. Maybe we can put it in a box  
    until it’s well. So I reverse, hope it flies away.  
    Could I mercy-kill it under a wheel? 
    Standing by, we watch a wing flail once,  
    an eye shut, the end. Even a little death 

    sucks out our air. Where it hit gravel,  
    one feather sticks up. Such color!  
    Lapis-and-turquoise filigree.  
    We kick a shallow grave with our heels,  
    and deliver my father the news.

    Before we let go of yesterday, we need to say hi to Ernest TUBB, who visited at 38D with “Ernest in the Country Music Hall of Fame.” One of those little doors that the puzzle can open for us led commenter CDilly52 to share this story.

    My wonderful husband, a brilliant man, superb musician (percussionist), adoring father, and as near perfect as a human can be, had his oddities – two of them to be specific. He loved “The Beverly Hillbillies” and “The Grand Old Opry.” He taught me so much about the history of country music and I have an intellectual appreciation for its place in American music and American history. At least the older country music.

    Ernest Tubb was one of the earliest country super stars. If memory serves, he was a Texan, born sometime before 1920. I’m fairly sure that his most famous song was “Walkin’ the Floor Over You.” Why I know that particular song and its author is because it featured prominently in my labor and delivery.

    Had medicine believed that women could in fact have Ankylosing Spondylitis back in 1978, I would have had the cesarean the OB nurses snd docs were begging my husband to convince me to have. But “Real Women” in those halcyon days of the Women’s Movement had natural childbirth. Period. Back then, we were downright rabid about it. After all, pioneer women took a break from spinning and weaving and threshing and cooking and cleaning and sewing and farming and milking and boiling the laundry and making the soap and . . . you get it. If they were in the fields when in late stage labor , they just walked over to the nearest tree, gave birth, ripped their petticoat, swaddled baby and went back to work, right? Anyway, I refused.

    My poor husband hung in there for almost 40 hours of brutal transition labor trying to do all the things he learned in our childbirth class in between begging me to have the caesarean. He was frustrated. Hell, he was mad at my stubbornness. I was mad at everybody. So he started pacing and humming in between the doc or a nurse dropping by to check that there wasn’t any emergency brewing so they could override my pigheadedness.

    I finally yelled at my pacing, humming husband, and asked “What the !$#* are you doing?!” The answer was in song, “I’m walking the floor over you/ I can’t sleep a wink, that is true/I’m hopin’ and I’m prayin’ as my heart breaks right in two/Walkin’ the floor over you.”

    Right about then the baby’s BP started to drop and someone yelled “Get me an OR NOW!” Simultaneously, Mother Nature let me know that she was in charge and we were doing this thing. As the hoard of people started racing my bed down a hallway presumably toward the OR, everyone yelling “DON’T PUSH,” I was yelling STOPSTOPSTOPSTOP!! We never got to the OR and our daughter was mostly born in the hallway at Oklahoma University Hospital. We made it to a delivery room to finish the job, cut the cord etc.

    Our daughter, Katherine has a stubborn streak. Occasionally when it would become parentally frustrating, Dad would say something to her (so I could hear) like “Ernest, there’s more than one way to skin this cat.” She would just roll her eyes and say, “Dad, I’m doing it my way.” That’s why I know some stuff about Ernest TUBB.

    Some cute cluing today.

    “One in a box at the theater?” Answer: RAISINET.

    “You might heave a big one.” Answer: SIGH

    “Person in hot pants?” Answer: LIAR

    At 11D for “Easily found on the internet, say,” the answer was GOOGLEABLE. Egs made a slight adjustment at the end to give us this biblical exchange:

    God: Where’s your brother?

    Cain: GOOGLE ABEL.

    At 38A, “Words of communal support” was WE CARE. Son Volt linked it to this Clash lyric for us:

    There ain’t no German girl outside
    But who cares when it’s warm inside?

    Breaking news from The Onion:

    Merriam-Webster Accused Of Bias After “Dictionary” Named Word Of The Year

    [OC Note: Actually, SLOP was the word of the year. Not kidding.]

    Finally, this is Romy Reiner, 28. She found them. Hard to imagine.

    See you tomorrow.

  • Fittin’ To Get Crunk

    Among the morons who comprise the Republican GOP Senatorial roster, Ron Johnson stands out. And that’s saying something. You’d think he’d be a son of Alabama, Mississippi, or Arkansas — you know, states with no interest in education, but he’s from a real state: Wisconsin. Go figure. Anyway, Johnson is supporting a discredited doctor’s claims that chlorine dioxide, a chemical used for disinfecting and bleaching (think swimming pools), can help treat autism, COVID, cancer and a host of other ailments. Needless to say, he also parrots RFK Jr. in dissing the measles vaccine. How this buffoon can dress himself in the morning, let alone get elected to the Senate is one of life’s great mysteries.

    Here he is, trying to clap his hands, a skill most of us master before turning one. You can do it RJ!! Maybe put your toy down first.

    At the other extreme of humanity, Buzz Aldrin is the oldest living astronaut: he’ll turn 96 next month, kinehora. Many people (I would guess) can name Neil Armstrong as the first man to walk on the moon, but can you name the second? It was Buzz. He’s a Jersey boy, born in Glen Ridge. MIT-educated, in addition to his spacework, he was an aeronautical engineer and fighter pilot. If none of that impresses you, he married this babe on his 93rd birthday. Hubba hubba!**

    That’s Anca Faur, and she’s not just a pretty face. Buzz met her working: she was a highly accomplished chemical engineer. Sadly, she passed away last year at the age of 66, just three years into their marriage. They met back in 2017 and Buzz described her as the love of his life. On their wedding day, he said they were as excited as eloping teenagers. I can believe it.

    **[OC note: Looked up “hubba hubba:” an exclamation used to express approval, excitement, or enthusiasm, especially with regard to a person’s appearance. We like the example they provided: “In walks the willowy Juanita. Hubba hubba!”]

    Buzz was in the puzzle yesterday (ALDRIN) with the funny clue: “Interview guest whom Ali G calls ‘my man Buzz Lightyear here.’” Even funnier is this clip Rex shared with us from Aldrin’s guest appearance on The Simpsons. “Careful! They’re ruffled!”

    Rex was crankily unimpressed with yesterday’s puzzle. Gave it only two stars (out of five) in his new rating system. Things like OAHUAN bother him. (“Resident of Honolulu, e.g..”) Here’s what he wrote on it: “I’ve had to suffer through UTAHN and UTAHAN and god knows how many other odd demonyms, but OAHUAN feels outerspaceian. Is MAUIAN a thing? MAUWEGIAN? Needless to say, OAHUAN is a debut. My apologies to all the proud OAHUANs out there, but do you really call yourselves that?”

    There were nine theme answers, which is a lot. And each of them had embedded within it a state name, but with one letter off. E.g., do you see how DENVER MINT has Vermont in there, but with an I replacing the O? Another one was DRUM LINES, with Maine tucked in there with the A replaced by an L. (The “revealer answer” was ALTERED STATES, clued via the 1980 horror flick.) So that happened nine times AND, as an extra kicker, the misplaced letters spelled (in order) MISPLACED. Pretty neat wordplay overall, IMO. And one of the co-constructors, Zachary Edward-Brown, is a 16-year-old high school junior.

    This was neat too: At 42D, for ELISHA, the clue was “Engineer Gray who, arguably, invented the telephone — and battled Alexander Graham Bell over it in court for years.” You hear of this? From Wikipedia: Some recent authors have argued that Elisha Gray should be considered the true inventor of the telephone because Alexander Graham Bell allegedly stole the idea of the liquid transmitter from him. Although Gray had been using liquid transmitters in his telephone experiments for more than two years previously, Bell’s telephone patent was upheld in numerous court decisions.

    At 26D, for the clue “Urban safety hazard” the answer was FIRE TRAP. Any word in that clue trouble you? Commenter Gary felt there was no need to make it “urban.” Here’s his comment on that and the DENVER MINT:

    “Why isn’t a FIRE TRAP a safety hazard everywhere? You’re in a cardboard box on fire next to the freeway. FIRE TRAP. In a garage in suburbia filled with cans of paint and a gas can on fire. FIRE TRAP. In a corn field with your pants on fire from the lies you tell. FIRE TRAP. Surrounded by tumbleweeds aflame in the badlands. FIRE TRAP. In one of those little shrines in some seacoast village in Greece with a zillion candles on a rack. FIRE TRAP, probably.

    “I used to live a few blocks from the DENVER MINT, but I never got any free pennies. When we were kids you could tour the facility, but once you’ve gone as a 7-year-old, you feel like you know all that is knowable about pennies and you never go back. The minute I moved away, they stopped making pennies. Apparently I was the magic.”

    For those of you young enough to have never seen a penny, here’s what they looked like. It used to just cost one for your thoughts. Now they go for a nickel. Except for mine, which, as should be obvious to readers by how, are worthless.

    Who doesn’t remember and love the song “Rubber Duckie?” It was in the clue for ERNIE: “He had a Billboard Hot 100 hit with “Rubber Duckie.” It reached #16!

    Warning: The following clip contains a bathtub scene with nudity.

    It led one commenter to this memory:

    “Rubber Ducky, huh. I accompanied it once on stage. It was supposed to be a children’s concert, but the music wasn’t mostly all that child-friendly. An opera singer decided that instead of the aria they were expecting him to sing, he would go Sesame Street on them. It was a huge hit. He had been in the auditions for the Met as a young lad, but his dad came home from Korea with no legs, so he had to give up trying for a career to take care of him. He sold shoes for a living in a downtown department store, and in his spare time mostly sang his beloved operatic staples wherever anybody would let him, whether they wanted them or not. But he had gotten old by the date in question and thought he’d try something different. And that’s how I remember him.”

    The clue at 5D was “Artist Henri de ___-Lautrec.” The answer (TOULOUSE, of course), set off a torrent of puns. First there was a splash of complaints from (mostly) seniors who couldn’t remember the correct spelling. Then I kicked in with: “Easy to confuse the artist in the puzzle with Tollhouse Lautrec, famous for his Still Life With Cookies series.”

    Then commenter Bob M. went a bit nuts with: One day in late-19th century Paris the artist L’ Autrec finds it very cold in his rented apartment. He asks his wife, “Who turned off DEGAS, Anne?” CEZ ANNE in reply, “We didn’t pay the bill. We were short of MONET.” He snarls, “That’s because you’re TOULOUSE with our checkbook. Now we might have problems trying to RENOIR lease.”

    To which I noted: There’s no such thing as too MANET puns. But I’m glad you stayed away from PICASSO.

    I’ll challenge any of you to get 11D right: “On ____ (looking great, in slang).” FLEEK? SRSLY? “On fleek?” Per Rex:  “‘On FLEEK’ was a social media phenomenon for a hot second in the mid ’10s, and then poof, gone—like so many hyper-brief faddish expressions.”

    In the summer of 2014, Kayla Newman, also known as “Peaches Monroee,” uploaded a video to Vine to show off her freshly groomed eyebrows. “We in this bitch fittin to get crunk,” she said. “Eyebrows on fleek. Da fuck.” And a new slang term was born.

    I’m all in. Expect to see it in OC going forward. Here’s Peaches, eyebrows on fleek and all.

    The Jets lost another nail-biter yesterday by, let’s see, close to 30 points: 48-20. The score makes it seems closer than it actually was. The Jets, who haven’t really had a first string quarterback for as a long as we can remember, were playing with their 14th-string QB Brady Cook. He was signed when they saw Brady in his name. It made us question the time-honored adage which holds that the QBs get all the pretty girls. The question is: Does it apply to Jets QBs too? Here’s Cook with his girlfriend Carli. Hubba hubba. Eyebrows on fleek. Case closed.

    Have to include two “pet pix” today. Too cute.

    Happy Chanukah everybody! Need the candles more than ever in dark times. See you tomorrow.