The Wellington Files

  • Estonian Women

    It was a winter wonderland at OC headquarters today. Here’s the view from the kitchen.

    I have an idea for a futuristic science fiction movie or book. It’s a medical theme on the idea of transplants. In the future, any organ or body part that becomes faulty will be replaceable by a manufactured part. So any body part will be replaceable — not just hearts, etc., and you won’t have to wait, the parts will be plentiful because we manufacture them. And it won’t be limited to organs. If you have glaucoma or go blind, just pop in a new eye. If you are going deaf, just replace your bad ear with a good one. Going bald? Snap on a new scalp. Essentially, the whole human race will turn into Mr. and Mrs. Potato Head. What do you think?

    It may already be happening. These two are in my law class.

    So, who’s this hot babe? Seen any of her movies? Maybe on a poster? Look familiar at all?

    Phil — got one from a different angle? — no one can place her. And stop drooling — it’s unprofessional!

    Give up? It’s Kaja Kallas, and the reason you can’t place her in any movie is she’s the prime minister of Estonia. That’s right, fellas — it’s time to revise your image of Estonian women.

    Don’t expect to see Prime Minister Kallas in Russia anytime soon. Dmitry Peskov, a spokesperson for the Kremlin, said that Kallas is a wanted person there on the grounds of “desecration of historical memory.” He told reporters, “These are the people who take hostile actions against historical memory and our country.”

    How did the Prime Minister merit this honor? She called for the removal of hundreds of Soviet era monuments in Estonia. She’s also a staunch supporter of Ukraine, and has stated: “The stronger Ukraine is, the faster the breaking point arrives for Russia.” Don’t leave yourself alone with her, Volodymyr! You’re only human.

    Get this — it’s the family business — her dad was PM of Estonia too, back in ’02-’03. She’s on her second husband, and has one child, from neither of them. She’s 46 years old.

    Wait a minute. OMG! Now I remember why she seems familiar — she looks like a young E. Jean Carroll — the columnist Trump raped. His defense was she’s not his type. We’re with the jury — not buying it. 

    Speaking of you-know-whom, when Nikki Haley questioned the propriety of having Trump advisors and his daughter-in-law heading the RNC, Trump campaign stooge Steven Cheung offered this calm, measured response:  “Nikki ‘Braindead Birdbrain’ Haley reeks of desperation as it’s clear she knows she has no shot, and is now auditioning for a cable news contract when her 15 minutes are over. But not before she can squeeze every last dollar out of her Democrat [sic] benefactors.”

    OK, thanks for the analysis.

    The puzzle today is by Peter Gordon. He has a degree in math from MIT and this is his 127th puzzle in the NYT. Yow! I liked his clue for 51D: ”Bird with a lot of stuffing?” The answer was LARRY. Basketball star Larry Bird. I think stuffing here is the same thing as dunking? Although one comment said it may mean blocking a dunk. In any event, it’s something the puzzle thinks Larry Bird did a lot of.

    Or maybe he meant this:

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for stopping by.

  • Viva Las Vegas!

    If you watched the game last night, you either enjoyed, or were horrified by, KC’s second-half comeback and overtime win. We loved it. So did these kids.

    If you watched the post-game festivities you saw Travis making a bit of a fool of himself singing Viva Las Vegas. Good for him! If you can’t be silly after winning the Super Bowl then what’s the point? He’s just a big goofy teddy bear and a little boy in a giant’s body. Our Phil, who is pretty close with Tay from all their photo shoots, tells us she really loves the big lug. So we do too TS!

    Here’s how she dressed for the event. Not too sexy, but so what? Who else could look like that after a three-hour performance and a flight from Tokyo?

    There was some talk from KC about a “three-peat” next season. That’s ridiculous, of course. It’s not even a real word. Plus, everyone knows the Jets are winning next year. Here’s Jets QB Wilson, taking a short breather during a game. You okay buddy? Get up slowly.

    In today’s NYT, Letters to the Editor, this sentence jumped off the page and smacked me in the nose. It’s in a letter on gender transitioning written by Audry Basch of Brooklyn. ”I stopped my hormone regimen because I had doubts about the idea of marrying a straight man, since they’re generally less funny than gay men.”

    Ouch!

    In the puzzle today, the clue at 10D was “Baked things that might get people baked,” and the answer was POT BROWNIES. Another sign of how loose the NYT has gotten. 

    Lewis posted: 

    Regarding POT BROWNIES, there was that time in college when I made a batch. I didn’t remember if pot when baked was more or less potent than when smoked, I knew it was one or the other. Naturally, I erred on the side of biggest bang for the buck, so I threw in a ton.

    End result: There was that moment when I was lying in bed and somehow remembered that I left the kitchen light on. Turning it off involved what seemed like an overwhelming number of steps – walking through a hallway, flipping a switch, remembering how to get into the kitchen itself, for instance – and despite great efforts at figuring out how to complete this task, it was just too complicated to attempt. The light remained on.

    I lucidly remember this moment from many years ago, my brain shining a bright light on that point in time when it was a dim bulb.

    I responded with the following: 

    Since we’re sharing today, the one time I had pot brownies I was at an Eagles game back in the 70’s. I had too many (two) — not to get high(er), but because they were delicious. After a while, we decided we had to go to the bathroom so we started climbing these incredibly steep steps that went on forever. I remember turning around at one point and remarking to my friend: “This is harder than sitting.”

    At 24A, “Actress Jessica” was not our frequent guest, Ms. Alba. It’s Jessica BIEL. Both are stunning young ladies, of course, and both have an open invitation to drop by. JB turns 42 next month and has been married to Justin Timberlake since 2012. They have two boys: Silas and Phineas. Jess went to school at Tufts, outside Boston. Her paternal great-grandfather was the son of Hungarian-Jewish immigrants. Phil tells us she has many different “looks.” This one is nice.

    Today is the birthday of both Abe Lincoln and Charles Darwin. Both were born in 1809. Despite not being gay, Lincoln had an excellent sense of humor. Take that, Audry Basch!

    On our flights to and from Ireland and the West Coast, I watched Sarah Silverman’s comedy special three times. She opened with a Jewish mother joke: What did the Jewish mother say after seeing her daughter perform in a porn flick?

    Answer: You were the best one! My Sharon was the best one!

    So what did the Owl Chatter community think of the Super Bowl ads? TBH, I had trouble figuring out what many of them were for. Thumbs up, as always, for Christopher Walken. Did the Scientology ad creep you out? How about the ads for Jesus? Shouldn’t those have warnings like the drug commercials — something in small print or a hurried voice saying that your children may be molested? Just sayin’.

    Let’s finish today with a painting by EDGAR Degas. He was in the puzzle, boringly clued by “Painter Degas.” Does that dark-haired dancer on the right have three legs? What am I missing? Oh, wait. Never mind.

    See you tomorrow folks!

  • Sparrows

    Has it happened? Is the who/whom distinction a thing of the past? I ask because the upper right corner of today’s NYT’s Sunday Opinion section asks: Who should Trump pick to be his running mate? Who? Not whom? The NYT! Et tu? Argggggggh!

    Jackie Hostetler shared her “Tiny Love Story” with us today: 

    I eat an egg, over-easy, every morning. 

    In the summer, I make the egg myself. As a teacher, my mornings are slower during those months. It tastes fine. But during the school year, my husband makes the egg every morning. Same stove. Same pan. Same ingredients. Yet his egg is unbelievably delicious. Is it cliché to say the secret ingredient is love? Is it my love for him that makes the egg so good, or his love for me? Probably both. I think he uses more butter too.

    Met Diary is especially good this week, IMO. This note is by Claire Steichen and is called “Rush-Hour Read.”

    I was on a rush-hour train going uptown with my children, a 3-year-old and an infant. I had to stand with the stroller and the baby, but I found a spot where my daughter could sit a little ways away.

    After she sat down with her “Madeline” book, she looked up at me. ”Mommy, you were going to read to me,” she said.

    I made eye contact with a man sitting next to her. He was tall and slim, with a beige cotton summer suit and a bow tie.

    “Sweetie, ask the man if he will read to you,” I said.

    The man gestured toward himself.

    “Me?” he said.

    I nodded.

    Then he read “Madeline” from 42nd Street to 72nd, as riders nearby looked on and listened.

    We are going to continue stealing material shamelessly. I mean “sharing.”

    This poem was in The Writer’s Almanac yesterday. It’s called “Sparrows” and is by Bill Holm.

    Morning after first snow—
    outside my kitchen window,
    gray sparrows flap up
    and down on a sagging clothesline.
    It is a corn dance
    in honor of sunshine on snow.

    What joy in a sparrow’s body
    as he jumps and eats—
    a world of red barns,
    snow, old clotheslines
    and corn kernels is enough.
    No brooding on hunger and death,
    no suspicion among the sparrows.

    I return from seeing a woman,
    full of joy and dancing in my body—
    lie awake all night
    putting away old dreams like a man
    packing for a long trip.

    Now it is clear: her face
    comes to me, and I sink
    into sleep like childhood,
    rising hours later to bright sun,
    sparrows dancing on the clothesline.

    In a world of grief, no one
    has any right to such gifts
    as I am given; I take them,
    put on my feathers, and go
    dance in the snow.

    The poet who wrote “Sparrows,” Bill Holm, died at age 65 in 2009. He was 6′ 5″, bearded, and had a booming, generous personality. He was called “the polar bear of American literature.” He was of Icelandic descent and spent much time in Iceland, though he was a loving child of Minnesota.

    Holm taught for 27 years at Southwest Minnesota State University at Marshall. One of his books, “Boxelder Bug Variations,” came about because of an assignment he gave his students, who complained that they had nothing to write about, out there on the prairie. “He told them, ‘That’s ridiculous! You can write about anything!’” his editor said. “A boxelder bug was crawling across his desk, and he said, ‘You can write about this!’ And he gave them that assignment. And then he gave it to himself.”

    The Pistons’ winning streak ended at two. They lost to the Clippers last night, 112-106. They were up by 9 at the half, and by 5 going into the fourth quarter but the wheels fell off the bus at that point. The Lakers are next, in LA on Tuesday.

    Today’s puzzle constructor, Peter Koetters, had a bright idea. It’s Edison’s birthday today so he constructed an Edison-themed puzzle. It included his full name in the answer, many of his better know inventions, the word “inventions,” and a grid design that depicts a light bulb. He called it “Bright Ideas.” You can see the design, below. The letters EDISON comprise the filament of the bulb.

    66D is SPIRIT PHONE, clued as Edison’s “Failed device meant to communicate with the dead.” Modern Mechanix magazine published an article in 1933 detailing a covert gathering that allegedly took place in Edison’s laboratory in the winter of 1920, attended by several unnamed scientists. [OC note: We don’t think this means the scientists were not given names by their parents at birth — just that their names were not included in the article.]

    According to the story, “Edison set up a photo-electric cell. A tiny pencil of light, coming from a powerful lamp, bored through the darkness and struck the active surface of this cell, where it was transformed instantly into a feeble electric current. Any object, no matter how thin, transparent, or small, would cause a registration on the cell if it cut through the beam.” The group spent hours observing the instrument for any movement that would indicate a successful connection with the beyond—to no avail.

    At 108A the clue was “Soldier’s helmet, in old slang,” and the answer was TIN HAT. It led Son Volt to share this remarkable song performed by The Pogues, an Irish/English Celtic punk band: ”The Band Played Waltzing Matilda.” It’s about war. The song was written by Scottish-born Australian singer-songwriter Eric Bogle in 1971.  The “tin hat” in it is anachronistic — steel helmets were not issued to the soldiers who fought at Gallipoli.

    From the sublime to the despicable. I chuckled when I saw that the answer at 87A was SANDUSKY. Seriously? The clue could have been something like “Depraved sex monster on Paterno’s staff,” but it was “Ohio home to Cedar Point, the ‘Roller Coaster Capital of the World.’” A missed opportunity, for sure. I’ve long maintained that Sandusky’s only crime was that of a poor career choice. If he had gone into the priesthood, he’d be Pope by now.

    I’m enjoying a book given to me by friend Norrie: Doris Kearns Goodwin’s memoir about growing up a Brooklyn Dodgers fan: ”Wait Till Next Year.” I grew up living close enough to Ebbets Field to hear the cheers from our back porch, but I never went to a game there. By the time I was eight the Dodgers were gone. I did see games at the Polo Grounds. Not the Giants though: The Mets played there in ’62 and ’63. Anyway, here’s a paragraph on Goodwin’s first visit to Ebbets Field with her dad in 1949. She was only six.

    As the game got under way, my father proceeded to point out to me all the distinguishing features of the park: the uneven right field wall with the scoreboard in the middle and the Schaefer beer sign on the top, where the “h” would light up for a hit and the “e” for an error; the curious advertisement for Abe Stark’s clothing store, “Hit sign, Win suit,” which earned Stark such visibility that he was later elected borough president; the presence of Hilda Chester, a large woman in a print dress repeatedly clanging two cowbells to support the Dodgers and irritate the opposition; and the arrival of the Sym-Phony, a ragtag band formed by a group of rabid fans whose comic accompaniment had become an institution at Dodger games. When they disagreed with an umpire’s call, the little band played “Three Blind Mice.” When a strikeout victim from the opposition headed back to the dugout, they played “The Worms Crawl In, the Worms Crawl Out.” As opposing teams grew irate at these antics, a sense of camaraderie grew among Dodger fans that made the experience of going to Ebbets Field unforgettable.

    Are you familiar with the “traditional Indonesian percussion orchestra?” It’s called GAMELAN. I vaguely remember hearing of it. According to Wikipedia, it’s made up predominantly of percussive instruments. The most common are metallophones (played with mallets) and a set of hand-drums called kendang, which keep the beat.

    The kemanak, a banana-shaped idiophone, and the gangsa, another metallophone, are also commonly used gamelan instruments on Bali.

    Other notable instruments include xylophones, bamboo flutes, a bowed string instrument called a rebab, below, and a zither-like instrument called a siter. 

    Additionally, vocalists may be featured, referred to as sindhen for females or gerong for males. 

    Why aren’t these women smiling? Phil — what did you say to them?? Jeez Louise!

    Here’s how it all sounds. And we’ll let these fine young folks send us off today. See you tomorrow!

  • Gong Xi Fa Cai

    Hey, everybody, today is the Chinese (Lunar) New Year’s Day! That expression (in the title) is what folks wish each other today. It means “May you enlarge your wealth.” Fittingly, it was the answer in the puzzle today at 51A. But let me back up a bit. The clue at 16A was “2024, e.g.,” and the answer was YEAR OF THE DRAGON. Then, at 51A, the clue was “Celebratory greeting for 16-Across,” which, of course, was gong xi fa cai. The other clue/answer on the topic came at 24D: ”Common gift during Chinese Spring Festival,” which is ORANGE. We picked up some of these stamps at the Chatham Post Office this morning. Scary dragon!

    At 45A, the clue was “Cry after a motion,” and the answer was I SECOND. Like, to “second a motion.” Take it Smokey!

    But not everyone is happy on this new year’s day. At 21A the answer was TEAR STAIN. Oh no! And the clue was “Evidence of crying.” What’s the problem, sweetheart? Phil — work your magic — cheer her up.

    Here’s a sweet piece by Sarah Hanssen from tomorrow’s Met Diary, followed by a gorgeous song called “Tear Stained Eye” by Son Volt.

    Dear Diary,

    I was walking down the street on a Sunday afternoon with my headphones in. It was the end of what had been a rough weekend. 

    I was caught up in a song that was soothing my recently broken and rejected heart. I was wondering if I would ever meet someone new who would love me or if I should prepare to live a solitary life.

    A beautiful young woman walked past me. She seemed to be saying something to me, so I took out my headphones.

    “You are so beautiful,” she said. ”I just had to tell you.”

    “Wow!” I said, “And here I am having a rough day.”

    “Well, if you want one,” she said, “I’d give you a hug.”

    And we hugged.

     

    Roo Monster shared this memory:

    Speaking of DRAGONS, back in my GEN X days, circa 1986?, my dad had a 1978 F-150 pick-’em up truck, it was in really good condition, it was green and white, had nice chrome wheels, and a chrome rollbar, plus it was a 4 speed manual. He put a bug shield on it, and had “Green Dragon” painted on it, with two Dragons on opposite ends. They took a trip to Hawaii, and it was my truck for two weeks! I was 17 and felt like King Shit. 

    This isn’t it, but it will have to suffice.

    Speaking of King Shit, it’s about time they got off Matt Gaetz’s neck, don’t you think? What’s this country coming to when a respected Congressman, or, in this case, Gaetz, can’t have sex with an underaged girl without taking shit for it, we ask you? ”How many times do I have to lie my way out of this?” Gaetz is wondering. 

    According to the NYT, last year the Justice Dept. quietly closed the inquiry after investigators concluded they could not make a strong enough case against him in court. (Not exactly name-clearing.) It’s the House Ethics Committee that’s looking into it now, and word is the Congressman’s former friend Joel Greenberg is cooperating with the investigation. According to the Times, Greenberg has told investigators he witnessed Gaetz having sex with a 17-year old girl. Greenberg’s no angel either — he’s serving an 11-year sentence for charges that include sex trafficking. Not an ideal witness? Hey nobody’s perfect.

    Here’s a shot Phil got for us of Matt with a vampire woman.

    Have you heard the expression CAT DAD? If so, that makes one of us. The clue was “Man with a Manx, say.” There was a documentary “Cat Daddies” about different types of men who love cats. They are coming out into the open more. Sensitive types. Here’s one! We love cats at OC — still miss poor Hank and Sophie.

    When we shared Ted Kooser’s poem about his dog Hattie yesterday, we promised to share the one he wrote about Hattie’s death today. 

    Here it is. It’s called “Death of a Dog.” Thanks, TK!

    The next morning I felt that our house
    had been lifted away from its foundation
    during the night, and was now adrift,
    though so heavy it drew a foot or more
    of whatever was buoying it up, not water
    but something cold and thin and clear,
    silence riffling its surface as the house
    began to turn on a strengthening current,
    leaving, taking my wife and me with it,
    and though it had never occurred
    to me until that moment, for fifteen years
    our dog had held down what we had
    by pressing his belly to the floors,
    his front paws, too, and with him gone
    the house had begun to float out onto
    emptiness, no solid ground in sight.

    See you tomorrow. Thanks for dropping by.

  • Dust and Dog Hair

    As the nation careens towards Super Bowl LVIII, do we really need the distraction of Brittany Mahomes (QB Patrick’s wife), posing so suggestively on the cover of Sports Illustrated’s swimsuit issue that even our drunk and depraved Phil was aghast? We won’t reproduce it here, for decency’s sake. Go ahead — call us prudes. 

    Brittany, btw, is quite an athlete in her own right — she played professional soccer in Iceland — and we are happy that Patrick and she have two beautiful kids. We wish them the best. And she does look very pretty in SI.

    As for the game, we are pulling for KC. We didn’t appreciate how SF treated our Detroiters in their game. We’d like to see them get their comeuppance.

    How about those Pistons!! Two wins in a row for the first time since October! This time the victim was Portland, again with a late-game surge. We went into the 4th quarter trailing by 13, but tied it and dominated in overtime, 8-2. We’ll be taking on a very tough Clippers team in LA tomorrow night. Keep it up, men!

    Headline in The Onion: Bank Repossesses Brain Of Man Who Defaulted On Student Loans.

    Today’s puzzle set the tone from the get-go. 1A was “Beaming,” and the answer was ALL SMILES. 

    Here’s Caity’s Leon — he’s six and a half now! Kinahora.

    At 55A, the clue was “It makes a spin around a dance floor,” and the answer was DISCO BALL. You know, – this thing:

    It brought up some painful memories for egs, who wrote: ”I used to stay at the clubs til dawn, dancing to the likes of Donna Summer and Gloria Gaynor. Had to quit when I developed a case of DISCOBALLS.” Ouch!

    The puzzle was by Christina Iverson, who is on the NYT puzzle staff, and it’s nice and crisp. Other good clues/answers are:

    14A: ”Wind up alone?” Ans: FLUTE SOLO. The flute is a “wind” instrument and the soloist is up alone. Iverson shared that this was a favorite of hers among all the clues/answers she’s ever written.

    32A: ”Trend for unengaged employees:” Ans: QUIET QUITTING. You familiar with this? It’s when you just do what you need to do at work, but put in no additional effort.

    16A: ”Fuzzy exotic pet” is a TARANTULA. Wanderlust noted:  “My friends and I kept a TARANTULA in our dorm room in college. Her name was Buttercup, and she was adorable.” Seriously?

    12D: ”DC Comics weapons, one of which can be seen at the Smithsonian.” Answer: BATARANGS. Remember those? That was a long time ago. 

    You can buy them on Amazon. These go for just $8.03 (down from $11.95).

    At 24D, “Facial concealer” was VEIL. Wanderlust said she had “vein” before veil as the facial concealer, and thought “that would have to be a pretty big vein.” Yup.

    At 25A, ask me to come up with a clue for PLOW, and I’ll probably involve oxen in some fashion. But Iverson came up with: ”Yoga pose with arms extended and legs folded over the head.” What? Legs folded over the head? I don’t think Jews do that — There’s something in the Torah on that.

    It looks like parts of two different people, assembled incorrectly. A person from Ikea, with bad instructions.

    Don’t try that pose, TK! You’ll never get out of it! Hey, readers, Ted Kooser’s here today! Great to see you, as always Mr. Bigshot Poet Laureate. What do you have for us, to kick off this fine weekend?

    This is from Winter Morning Walks

    The weight of my old dog, Hattie — thirty-five pounds
    of knocking bones, sighs, tremors, and dreams —
    just isn’t enough to hold a patch of sun in its place,
    at least for very long. While she shakes in her sleep,
    it slips from beneath her and inches away,
    taking the morning with it — the music from the radio,
    the tea from my cup, the drowsy yellow hours —
    picking up dust and dog hair as it goes.

    Sadly, Hattie passed away since that poem was written. We’ll share the poem Ted wrote for Hattie upon her death tomorrow.

    Thanks for popping by!

  • Keep Your Hairy Beardtongue to Yourself!

    I am so thankful that I blundered my way into Crossworld years ago and am able to hang on by my fingertips enough to appreciate the extraordinary craftsmanship of many of the puzzles. I advise newcomers (newbs or noobs (it’s a battle)) to start with the NYT on Monday and/or the New Yorker on Thursday, and work up to the NYT on Thursday. Those are the most fun — there’s always some trick to it, often brilliant wordplay.

    E.g., today’s is by Sam Donaldson. He good! The “revealer” was at 40A: “Dating axiom,” and the answer was OPPOSITES ATTRACT. Then, at four places in the puzzle, this happened: At 18A the clue was “Highway crossing,” so you’d think OVERPASS. And right next to it, at 19A, the clue was “Fail,” so you’d think GO UNDER. But if you look at them it’s: OVERPASS GO UNDER. The opposites — OVER and UNDER are “attracted” to each other. So the answers you need to fill in on the grid are PASSOVER UNDERGO. Get it? Over and under come together. That happens three more times. Where the answers should be IN ORDER and LAYS OUT, the “out” and the “in” are attracted to each other so they become ORDER IN and OUTLAYS. Where the answers should be OFF HAND and LEAVE ON, the “off” and the “on” are attracted to each other so they become HAND OFF and ON LEAVE. (I’ll spare you the last one — you get the idea (I hope).) 

    And, get this — I completely missed it when I completed the puzzle. I noticed the answers were reversing themselves (overpass to pass over) but didn’t see how the opposites were attracted to each other until I read Rex’s blog. (Duh.) That happens now and then.

    After over 400 posts on Owl Chatter, I am no longer amazed at the amount of delicious nonsense that is available in our lives on a daily basis. Yesterday, a heated (and protracted) debate arose over the well-known song “Lola” by the Kinks. The issue was whether they are singing LA-LA-LA-LA-LOLA, or LO-LO-LO-LO-LOLA. The clue was “Refrain in a 1970 hit by the Kinks” and the puzzle wanted you to put in LA-LA-LA-LA-LOLA. Rex started things off by saying: “yeah, OK, is it LA- LA- LA- LA- or L- L- L- L- or LO- LO- LO- LO- …? The original Kinks’ version sounds kinda LO-ish. I’ve always heard LA- or a kind of flat LUH. Honestly, I’ve never really thought about it. But I’m fine with the LAs.”

    The Commentariat tore into it like a starving vegetarian lion with a pile of fresh tempeh. DPF got the ball rolling at 6:05 am: It’s definitely “Lo-Lo-Lo.” At 6:29 am, Adam concurred: ”I also had LoLoLoLoLOLA, which is correct. Maybe you could get away with LuLuLuLuLOLA, but it is most certainly not LALALALALOLA. L O L A Lola. LOLOLOLOLOLA.” Barely six minutes later, Anony-mouse added: Yes, my dog is Lola and I sing this a lot and it’s Lo lo lo lo Lola.

    Commenter Andy got a little technical: ”Another hand up for LO, not LA, though I suppose any vowel will do for a schwa.” At that point Alice sort of cheated by actually looking for some authority: ”I have been wrong since 1970. I had LoLoLo…. Read the constructor’s comments, he says the official Kinks Sheet music and lyric sheet has LALALA. He [the constructor] originally had LoLoLo in there and had to change it.”

    Twangser chimed in: ”I am a huge Kinks fan and also have been singing it as lo-lo-lo-lo-Lola for 40 years. But I just pulled out my original LP and it does say la-la-la-Lola, which is super weird.”

    [Note: It was only 8 am and already my cup was overflowing with this exquisite nonsense. O, glorious day!]

    mmorgan was all over the place with it: ”I am sure the final chorus alternates a bit between LA LA LA and LO LO LO. and sometimes even LA LA LA LO LOLA and other variations.”

    Mack kicked in this good point: ”Worth pointing out that ‘official’ lyrics often bear little resemblance to what is actually sung on a recording. While the constructor was probably right to go with ‘LA’ based on how the clue is written, it could have easily been clued as ‘Refrain sung by the Kinks…’ and ‘LO’ would have worked fine.” [Hmmmm, so much for “authority.”]

    Another anony-mouse added a personal note: ”Makes sense to me that it is lo-lo-lo-Lola. BTW, my mother’s name was Lola. She disliked that song.”

    Yet another anony-mouse wrote: Mandela effect: we all remember it as LO. [Mandela effect: Briefly, a situation in which a large mass of people believes that an event occurred when it did not. It’s named as it is because, oddly, many people wrongly believed Nelson Mandela died in prison in the 1980s.] 

    Here’s Dr. R’s take: ”Even the lyrics sites have a difference of opinion on LA vs LO. If you listen to the song they sing LALALALALOLA a few times and LOLOLOLOLOLA a few times. Also there are different recordings with different interpretations including LUHLUHLUHLUHLOLA. I figure the dress is both blue and white. LOL LOL LOL LOL.”

    [I knew we’d get to LOL eventually.]

    The next note on the matter was by Daniel Mauer — the puzzle’s constructor. How nice that he was reading Rex and chimed in! That does happen from time to time. He wrote: ”As for LA/Lo: I could be convinced either way, it seems Ray Davies sings it both ways in various recordings, but it’s the NYT, so probably best to go with the ‘Official’ version [i.e., LA}.”

    Well, by this time Mike in Bed Stuy had heard enough and exploded:

    “Whatever anyone hears, or thinks they hear, Ray Davies wrote “la” not “lo,” and that’s all there is to it. That being said, there’s actually a lot more to it, musically and, in particular for me, semantically. I will limit myself to a couple of points. First off, someone in another comment said the repeated vowel sound is a shwa, so it doesn’t matter how you spell it. I disagree. I would argue that in the other three themers in this puzzle, which include the phonemic refrains (in music called *non-lexical vocables*) “ch,” “g” and “p” yes, the sound is a schwa. But not in “Lola.” Neither, however, is it the first syllable of Lola’s name, as most commenters here seem to assume. It is, rather, “la” as in “tra la la” and “la la la.” The phrase so indelibly penned by Ray Davies was “La la la Lola,” almost as if “la la la” were an epithet. If it sounds like I am overthinking this, that’s because I AM! I suspect Ray Davies did not think about schwas or non-lexical vocables or epithets when he jotted down that lyric. He just thought “La la la Lola” sounded really great and was totally appropriate to the vibe he was creating for this trailblazing song about gender-nonconformity.”

    Whew. Now my brain hurts. Still, we must go on!

    A last word from Nial: 

    Found an interview from 2020 where Ray Davies talks about writing the song, to wit, “Next, he searched for an irresistible chorus hook, then road-tested it at home. ‘I had a 1-year-old child at the time,’ Davies said. ‘She was crawling around singing ‘la la, la la Lola.’ I thought, ‘If she can join in and sing, Kinks fans can do it.’”

    Nancy (like many of you, I presume) had had enough and wrote: 

    “Like everyone else, I have a limited amount of time on this earth, and I refuse to fritter it away on utttttter nnnnonnnnssssenssse. SPLAT!!!!!!” [Puzzle hurled at wall.]

    OK, Nance — we hear ya. Let’s put it to bed.

    The scene, or incident, that took place at the lesbian bar Cubbyhole in NYC recently wasn’t all that remarkable by itself — it wasn’t even a bar fight by any stretch, but the splash it made on Tiktok brought a big question to light. Who is welcome there?

    It happened on January 21. Lexi Stout, a woman who is not gay, and who had visited male gay bars often in the past, made her first visit to a lesbian bar. She was invited by a lesbian friend. All was well until another friend of hers – a straight male – popped in briefly to say hi.

    As she recounted it (in a video she posted), a woman at the bar soon approached her straight guy friend to ask him what he was doing there, “basically saying that my friend didn’t belong there.”

    Stout went on to complain that the bar patron seemed weary of straight men’s presence in the space, despite “the amount of very obviously flamboyantly gay men that were in that bar that were not being approached and yelled at.”

    “She was not having it. She did not want him in that bar at all, and I get it,” Stout continued. “But, like, there’s no rules against that… But I was just curious. Are straight males not allowed to go to a lesbian bar?”

    [Let me back up a moment and note that there are only 30 lesbian bars in the U.S., only three in all of NY State, and Cubbyhole is only 200 square feet in size.] 

    “The response from the lesbian community was sharp. Are straight males allowed in?, one said — “No, they are not. And straight women who prioritize a man’s comfort over lesbian safety are also not welcome at the lesbian bar. I hope this helps!”

    Another comment said: “Politics of straight people being in queer spaces at all aside, you can’t see why it would be a problem in a space as small as Cubbyhole for you two to be occupying what is otherwise space for queer women?”

    Yet another likened being invited to a queer space as a straight person to attending a wedding as a plus-one, adding “Baby, you need to realize these places were not made for you. When you come to a gay space, you are a guest, and you need to behave accordingly.”

    Feelings were summed up well by this woman’s post: “You cannot say that you are an ally to a marginalized group of people and then, when someone who represents the oppressor shows up in a space that is solely dedicated as a safe space for that marginalized community, act confused when people within that marginalized community show aggression or hostility and maybe even a little bit of suspicion towards that person that represents the oppressor,”

    Alright, but wait a minute. We haven’t heard yet from the woman who confronted the guy. Well, two weeks after the big hoopla started exploding on social media she came forward, identifying herself as Katie. She was there to celebrate a friend’s birthday and first encountered Stout’s straight male friend while waiting in line for the bathroom.

    After tapping the man on the shoulder to let him know that he was standing in the way of the bathroom, Katie noted that he seemed “a little bit grumpy” and that she asked him, “Okay, dude. Are you even here with anyone? What are you doing at this bar?”

    After the queer friend who had invited Stout to Cubbyhole confirmed that he was with their group, Katie says the man came back up to her and asked, “Well, if I wasn’t here with someone, would that be a problem?”

    When Katie replied that it would be a problem, she said that Stout and some other girls at the bar with her “all [jumped] at me, like, ‘What? Why would you say that? That’s so messed up.’”

    “I want literally nothing to do with straight people, which is why I’m in Cubbyhole in the first place,” Katie continued, pointing out the uniquely queer space that bars like Cubbyhole provide to her and the rest of the community. “I have seen a lot of straight guys come into this bar and cause problems. It’s a known thing… There are straight dudes that come into these bars specifically ’cause they’re trying to pick up girls. So I wasn’t trying to instigate anything. I was just trying to safety check.”

    Stout was rattled by the meanness she encountered, fairly or unfairly. Her last word was “I have learned my lesson, and I will never be returning to a lesbian bar ever again, for good reason. It’s plain and simple: It’s not a space for me.”

    Hrrrrumphhhh!, she added.

    Hrrrrumphhhh!, Katie replied.

    Phil! — any more pics?? 

    Thanks, Buddy.

    Pistons Win! The 6-43 Detroiters took on the 29-20 Sacramento Kings last night out in California — and gave them a good shellacking — 133-120. A terrific road win. The Pistons outscored the Kings 36-21 in the decisive 4th quarter — the mark of an excellent team, or, in this case, not. Up next, the 15-35 Portland Trail Blazers, in Portland, tonight. Go ‘Stons!

    Below are three verdant sentences written by OC friend Massachusetts Jenny about her garden: 

    To lure sweat bees, I plant meadowsweet.  [Let’s take a look!]

    Meadowsweet:

    And here comes a sweat bee!

    To coax long-tongued bumblebees, I plant lupines and bee balm.

    Lupines:

    Bee balm:

    I fill my yard with milkweed vetch, rough-stemmed goldenrod, and hairy beardtongue.”

    Milkweed vetch:

    Rough-stemmed goldenrod:

    Hairy beardtongue:

    Thanks Jenny! Such beautiful sentences. And we can’t wait to see all the bees!

    I’ve been noodling around with that songstress (Leslie) Feist I learned about the other day. Her clue referenced her song “1-2-3-4.” It’s joyous.

    To no surprise, Sesame Street snapped it up. I like this version even more. One two three four, monsters walking ‘cross the floor . . . chickens just back from the shore. . .

    I had to bring the Honda in to Marvin’s today. It was having trouble starting. (Who isn’t?) I said: ”We’re having trouble with the Odyssey; the Iliad’s been fine.” That’s mechanic humor. He came right back with a few cracks about Euripides. Low-hanging fruit.

    Anyway, he called me back after a few hours and said: ”You needed a new battery. No charge.” I said, “Yeah, I’m not surprised. What do I owe you?” He said “No charge.” I said, “Yeah, you just said that.” He said, “No — I mean it’s covered by the warranty — there’s no charge.” Oh, okay. Great! I bought some excellent Magic Hat #9 not-quite-pale ale with my winnings.

    Burp! See you tomorrow! Thanks for popping by!

     

  • Don’t Bogart that Joint, Fido!

    Dorothy Parker must have had a good sense of humor, judging by this poem of hers from the Poetry Foundation today. It’s called “Love Song.”

    My own dear love, he is strong and bold
    And he cares not what comes after.
    His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,
    And his eyes are lit with laughter.
    He is jubilant as a flag unfurled—
    Oh, a girl, she’d not forget him.
    My own dear love, he is all my world,—
    And I wish I’d never met him.

    My love, he’s mad, and my love, he’s fleet,
    And a wild young wood-thing bore him!
    The ways are fair to his roaming feet,
    And the skies are sunlit for him.
    As sharply sweet to my heart he seems
    As the fragrance of acacia.
    My own dear love, he is all my dreams,—
    And I wish he were in Asia.

    My love runs by like a day in June,
    And he makes no friends of sorrows.
    He’ll tread his galloping rigadoon
    In the pathway of the morrows.
    He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start,
    Nor could storm or wind uproot him.
    My own dear love, he is all my heart,—
    And I wish somebody’d shoot him.

    And then there’s this one by Christopher Marlowe: ”The Passionate Shepherd to His Love.” It was in today’s Writer’s Almanac. It’s Marlowe’s birthday today too — Chris is 560! (Doesn’t look a day over 425.)

    Come live with me and be my love,
    And we will all the pleasures prove
    That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
    Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

    And we will sit upon the rocks,
    Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
    By shallow rivers, to whose falls
    Melodious birds sing madrigals.

    And I will make thee beds of roses
    And a thousand fragrant posies;
    A cap of flowers and a kirtle
    Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

    A gown made of the finest wool
    Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
    Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
    With buckles of the purest gold;

    A belt of straw and ivy buds,
    With coral clasps and amber studs.
    And if these pleasures may thee move,
    Come live with me and be my love.

    The shepherds’ swains shall dance and sing
    For thy delight each May morning.
    If these delights thy mind may move,
    Then live with me and be my Love.

    Ever get one of those nagging symptoms and nothing seems to help? Plucking your feathers out? Pacing obsessively and biting your tail? It may be time to light up that joint my friend.

    A long article on the front page of the Science section in the NYT today discusses the remarkable curative powers of cannabis for animals. Nidia the elephant was sinking fast, tormented by fissures in her foot pads and cracked and ingrown toenails you shouldn’t know from, believe me. She was hardly eating and was clearly depressed. Her doc — Quetzalli Hernandez — was at her wit’s end. In desperation, she started Nidia on a low dose of cannabis and the results were remarkable. First, her appetite came back. In the words of the Times: ”Nidia developed a serious case of the munchies.” Within five weeks she gained 555 pounds (that’s not a typo) — which comes close to eclipsing my record. She went from grumpy to happy (switched dwarves), and the anti-inflammatory effects of the drug helped her feet heal. Wow — good move Dr. Q!

    Vets around the world are starting to turn to it, with excellent results in many cases. Colombia is taking the lead. But outdated laws make it illegal in many locales. In the U.S., e.g., in Georgia and Alabama, vets are not even allowed to discuss its use with pet owners. Soon, no doubt, women who are leaving a state to get a legal abortion will be taking their pets with them to score some weed.

    Here’s a happy story. Patricio, Dr. Monica Lozano Garza’s Old English sheepdog, sometimes woke up gasping for breath. Nothing traditional was helping, so she turned to cannabis. ”You have no idea how much it helped; he could breathe again,” she said. It gave him 2 and a half more years of life.”

    Hey! Don’t bogart that joint, Fido!

    This gorgeous portrait of the NYC owl Flaco was shared with me by the artist Massachusetts Jenny. It appears here in OC without her permission — I was afraid to ask in case she said no. 

    Headline in The Onion:

    Introverted Cowboy Struggling To Round Up Posse

    The word BOFF hogged the spotlight yesterday. The theme of the puzzle was FIGHTING WORDS. That was the answer at 37A for “Wanna take this outside?” And the four long answers had “fighting words” embedded in them:

    scuBA Masks; pizZA Pie; ruB OFF on; and polKA POWer.

    So that’s BAM, ZAP, BOFF, and KAPOW. 

    But Rex had big problems with BOFF, to wit: ”You can BOP someone on the head, and that’s kinda violent, but BOFF just doesn’t register as a comic-book ‘fighting word’ the way the others do. Feels like a huge swing and a miss. A fundamental flaw in the execution of the theme. So the core concept works fine, but BOFF mars the execution pretty bad.”

    He also noted there is a definition for BOFF that is “to have sex with someone.” He said BIFF is more of a fighting word than BOFF.

    Lewis disagreed: ”I learned that BOFF is a legitimate cartoon fight sound effect after learning that in the 120 episodes of TV’s Batman, that word flashed on the screen in 24 of them.”

    And Sailor found an article from which he extracted:

    The top 5 most-used Batman fight graphics:

    Kapow (50 times)
    Pow (49 times)
    Boff (43 times)
    Zap (42 times)
    Sock (41 times)

    Today’s puzzle played on how phrases may have two ways of being read. E.g., MOVEDOVER, can be “moved over” or “move Dover.” It inspired this memory and story for Cdilly52:

    It reminded me of a big fat Sunday puzzle decades ago. I was about ten and wasn’t close to solving anything but most of a Monday by myself and I was always reluctant to even think that I might have seen something that my Gran (my true parent, life guide and lifelong person I relied on as I grew up) had missed or not yet figured out. But I did see “something” and Gran saw that I did. It’s been 6 decades and I can’t remember the exact puzzle or the theme answers, but I remember Gran looking at me and saying “have you gotten it? You see something I missed.” I reluctantly said something like “Well, um, er, do you see that the long ones actually spell two things?” And from that little experience I remember two things.

    The two things are not the clue answers, those are too far back, but I remember Gran clapping her hands (just once as always when she was excited) and gleefully saying “You figured it out and now we can finish!” But before she went back to the grid with her trusty Parker ballpoint, she took my hands in hers and said, “Don’t ever be shy about sharing a well-reasoned opinion, but always do so respectfully and with clarity, so others will listen.”

    Once, many years later, after a particularly long and contentious month in Federal Court, after the case finally settled rather than going all the way to a verdict, the judge asked to see me in chambers. That puzzle came to mind when the judge thanked me for my “reasoned, calm professionalism,” (my opponent being a ranter got on her nerves repeatedly). She continued: “your demeanor and delivery are always exceptional and people listen to you.”

         “It’s too late for Greg. The tchotchkes have him now.“

    It’s looking more and more like the tchotchkes have all of us. See you tomorrow!

  • Say Hey

    On the brain surgery/rocket science business from yesterday’s puzzle, here’s a short bit shared by commenter Nancy. It will start us off today with a chuckle.

    Special thanks to Vermont Lizzie for sharing this shot of godson Mason who was in goal last night for Babson, facing Skidmore in Saratoga Springs, NY. The Beavers were no match for the Thoroughbreds, perhaps the toughest team name to spell in all of college sports. Skidmore skidded to a 5-1 win. But Mason, in his first year, made a career-high 33 saves. 

    He’s the handsome one (#30), standing in front of the goal.

    Also from Vermont Lizzie — her beautiful daughter Bridgette, in search of the perfect wave in Indonesia. The 12-hour time difference is making it hard for them to share their wordle results, Liz reports.

    The great Willie Mays is 92 years old and lives in Atherton, CA. He’s the oldest living Hall of Famer. The mayor of San Francisco, London Breed (not kidding), declared today Willie Mays Day because Willie’s number was 24 and today is 2/4/2024.

    Several SF landmarks — including City Hall, the Ferry Building and Salesforce Tower — will be lit up in orange and black lights. Oracle Park will also be illuminated, with a decorative banner hanging from the 24 palm trees in Willie Mays Plaza.

    On June 20, the Giants will play the Cardinals at Rickwood Field in Birmingham, Ala., the former home of the Negro Leagues’ Birmingham Black Barons, where Mays played as a teenager. The Giants will also give out 20,000 bobbleheads featuring Mays in his Black Barons uniform in honor of African American Heritage Day at Oracle Park on May 31.

    Willie got his nickname “The Say Hey Kid” when he was a rookie because he said “Hey” a lot when greeting people. (Duh.) He is considered among the best to have ever played the game and it’s hard to imagine anyone taking more joy in it than he did. He was an All-Star for 20 years.

    Willie’s love of kids is well-known and he did much charitable work for them. His first marriage ended in divorce in 1963, but he has his only child from it — an adopted son Michael. Wilt Chamberlain gave Willie the number of Mae Louise Allen, a child-welfare worker, and they married in 1971. In 1997, she was diagnosed with a cognitive disorder and Mays cared for her devotedly until her death in 2013.

    Enjoy your day, Willie — and many more.

    There’s some follow-up material to our discussion of My Sharona from Friday. As discerning OC readers will recall, the song was clued in the puzzle via its stuttered title. And I noted The Who’s My Generation featured stuttering as well. Well, according to The Stuttering Foundation (which is real), there have been numerous songs of the rock era that feature stuttering vocals.  A list on the internet entitled “The Top Ten Stuttering Songs” includes those two as well as Foolin’ by Def Lepard, Changes by David Bowie, Jive Talkin’ by The Bee Gees, You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet by Bachman-Turner Overdrive, Bad to the Bone by George Thorogood, Benny and the Jets by Elton John, Sussido by Phil Collins and Lola by The Kinks. (Some other tunes are conspicuously absent such as Too Much Time on My Hands by Styx.)

    The Foundation singled out BTO’s You Ain’t Seen Nothing Yet for special recognition. Here’s the story. The group was led by Randy Bachman, and featured his brothers Robbie and Tim, along with Fred Turner. The band’s first manager was another Bachman brother, Gary.

    The song was never intended to be released with stuttering vocals. Randy sang the stuttering vocals to poke (well-intentioned) fun at his brother Gary. The plan was to give it to Gary and no one else. But Mercury Records loved it and insisted it be released. It became the first song with stuttering vocals to hit #1 on the charts. The Foundation also notes it’s unique as the only song with stuttering vocals to be written about a real person who stutters.

    Happily, Gary conquered his stuttering through therapy and had a successful real estate career in Winnipeg.

    Today’s grid features Leslie FEIST at 3D: One-named indie singer with the 2007 hit “1234.” Word of her had not reached me under my rock until now. She’s from Canada and is turning 48 next week.

     This pretty song takes off at about the one minute mark.

    Proving there’s nothing that can’t be haggled over, there was a bit of a flap today over whether hell is hot or cold. The clue at 65D was “Hot spot,” and the answer was HELL. Rex (a literature prof) said: HELL isn’t even hot. Read Dante. It’s a damn lake of ice down there! 

    Hold on, folks — he had proof!

    Burtonkd, replied: Seems hardly worth mentioning that HELL is commonly understood as hot, Dante notwithstanding. 

    This is something we should be able to get a definitive answer on, no? Quora’s assessment seems reasonable (defining “reasonable” very loosely here):

    “Most of his (Dante’s) Hell is actually hot, but the lowest levels are cold, getting colder as you go down. The final level is actually frozen over. Satan is there, keeping it cold with beats of his six giant wings. He has three heads, in each mouth is an infamous traitor. This is the traitor’s level of Hell.”

    Makes perfect sense to me.

    Finally, try to fit this into your conversation today: At 60D: ”Salamander named after an Aztec deity.” It’s AXOLOTL, of course.

    They’re adorable.

    See you tomorrow, everybody!

  • Wide Right

    Correction: The word game I recommended yesterday (Squeezy) is at imsqueezy.com. I mistakenly wrote mysqueezy.com yesterday. (I have since fixed it.) Sorry about that — give it a try!

    This story is from tomorrow’s Met Diary. It’s called “Table for Two” and is by David Kramer.

    Dear Diary:

    I was in the East Village and went to Veselka, planning to get a quick lunch. I was disappointed when the hostess said it would be15 minutes for a table for one.

    As I considered what to do, an older woman who was in front of me in line leaned toward the hostess.

    “If we’re together, can we be seated now?” the woman asked.

    “I guess so,” the hostess said, looking momentarily confused.

    I said I was game, and we were led to a table. On our way, my new companion turned to me.

    “Conversation is optional!” she said.

    That, of course, kicked off an hour of nonstop chitchat. It turned out that we lived about 10 blocks from each other in the same Brooklyn neighborhood and that our children had gone to the same school.

    We talked about our families and shared travel tips. By the time lunch was over, we were splitting dessert.

    “One check,” I said to the waitress when it was time to pay. I then turned to my lunch date. “It’s my treat.”

    With the Super Bowl nearing, I caught snippets of some old interviews, in particular several involving the game the Giants won in 1991 when Buffalo’s kicker Scott Norwood missed a decisive 49-yard field goal as the clock ran out. Giants coach Bill Parcells was asked to describe his experience as the kick was taking place.

    “Well,” he said, “I was standing between our two kickers, one of whom was Matt Bahr, the kicker I would have chosen to make the one make-or-break kick for us. I had full confidence in him. I turned to him and didn’t have to say a word. He knew what I was asking and he said: ’He’s going to miss. It’s on grass, he has to over-kick. He hasn’t made any like this all year.”

    Parcells was then asked: ”And you believed him?” And he said, “Yes, he was my go-to guy. I took his word completely. So I expected to win.”

    Lawrence Taylor was asked about it next. Taylor is the Hall of Fame linebacker who defined that era for the Giants. Perhaps the greatest linebacker of all time. Taylor was asked “Where were you for the kick?”

    Taylor said “Where was I?”

    “Yes.”

    “When the kick was missed?”

    “Yes.”

    He smiled broadly. ”I was halfway to Disneyworld,” he said.

    Norwood’s kick was 33 years ago last week. Wide right.

    This poem, “Jack + Judy,” is by Doreen Fitzgerald. It’s from The Writer’s Almanac:

    She was stuck on him like a three-cent stamp
    on a postcard showing a roadside diner
    shaped like a hat;
    stuck like a stool on a chrome stem
    waiting to swivel a customer,
    or the naked thigh on a summer day
    clinging to the vinyl seat.

    He could read her like a two-bit cook
    reads a scribbled order
    jammed on a spike,
    fluttering under the greasy fan;
    like egg on a fork between the tines,
    or a hot beef sandwich between the teeth.

    Together, they’re waiting on the night,
    halfway between Peoria and Baton Rouge,
    where the word OPEN, in red block letters,
    hangs under the words, EAT HERE,
    spelled out in perfect blue.

    The genius behind Rex’s blog is his “discovery” that the puzzle should not just be solved and discarded, like a defeated foe. It can be “read,” like a novel, and appreciated — at least the better ones. It can lead you in different interesting directions. There may be nuances to unveil.

    Today, for example, was it just coincidence that at 22A, for “Sir Georg who conducted 999 Chicago Symphony concerts,” the answer was SOLTI, and the clue for GIRLS at 9D was “Ones running the world, per Beyoncé?” What’s the link? Well, Solti won 31 Grammy awards, the most won by any artist UNTIL 2023 when he was overtaken by, hmmmmm, let’s see — Beyoncé. 

    It was a good solid Saturday puzzle — not a breeze, but not exactly rocket surgery either. Wait, what? Those were the two long answers: The clue for both was “What it’s not, in a saying,” and the two answers were ROCKET SCIENCE and BRAIN SURGERY, crossing at the central S.

    If those are what it’s not, then what is it? Well, Steve Forbert says it is what it is (and that’s all).

    Fell for this dream girl in Danville
    Just in the Central Time zone
    I used to kill hours to meet her on time
    And then lost one as well drivin’ home

    In the “my, the old gray lady has certainly loosened up department” the clue at 32D was “In an intimate way, in a way,” and the answer was CARNALLY. Yikes, really? Okay, Shortz, if that’s the way you want to go, fine.

    There was a bit of progression to that from 40D: “It may leave you speechless,” SHYNESS, and 36A: START OUT SMALL, and then 19D: ”Develop feelings for:” TAKE TO. 

    My favorite clue/answer was at 25D: ”Compatriot,” — PAISANO. Hey - Paisano!

    See you tomorrow!

  • The Sharona

    Some heavy hitters are celebrating birthdays today. James Joyce (1882, Rathgar, Ireland), and Ayn Rand (1905, St. Pete, Russia). Rand’s name at birth was Alissa Rosenbaum. Had no idea.

    This poem is called “The Past Is Still There.” It’s by Deborah Garrison and was in today’s Writer’s Almanac.

    I’ve forgotten so much.
    What it felt like back then,
    what we said to each other.

    But sometimes when I’m standing
    at the kitchen counter after dinner
    and I look out the window at the dark

    thinking of nothing,
    something swims up.
    Tonight this:

    your laughing into my mouth
    as you were trying
    to kiss me.

    If you enjoy little word games like Wordle, you might enjoy a new one I just learned about called Squeezy. It’s by Jeff Chen and it’s at imsqueezy.com.

    It’s about time we had some “real” owl chatter, amirite? It’s the first anniversary of Flaco the owl’s escape from the Central Park Zoo to freedom. The Gothamist took the occasion to chat with David Lei about Flaco. He’s a wildlife observer and photographer, based in Manhattan, who specializes in urban owls. David estimates he’s taken tens of thousands of pictures of Flaco. His favorite is one of Flaco sitting on a park bench. ”It speaks to how he is an owl of the city.” I can’t get a copy of that one, but here’s another.

    Here’s how David describes Flaco:

    First of all, Flaco is beautiful. Just absolutely majestic and magnificent. He looks much like our native great horned owls, but quite different with beautiful orange plumes and orange eyes. He’s got a massive 6-foot wingspan, and it’s just a delight to behold him.

    He was able to watch Flaco gain strength and get better at flying, hunting, and hooting. He was born in the zoo and thus never flew or hunted, and he was not known to hoot much. 

    “He initially wasn’t very good at flying. He’d get exhausted quite quickly, flying a short distance from one tree to the next, crashing into branches when he went to land, but he kept at it. He got better very quickly, and before long, he was quite graceful in flight.”

    He went on:

    “I last saw Flaco on the Upper West Side around 90th and Broadway two nights ago. He was hooting from what’s become a favorite building, and he looked great. The hooting appears to require a fair bit of energy to project that sound two blocks away, and to keep at it for perhaps hours on end. He seems to be doing really well.” 

    Owl Chatter Math Dept. (Hi Judy!). At 47A today, the clue was “N-_______ (mathematical sets)” and the answer was TUPLES. But judging from the outcry it elicited, tuples in fact are not sets. Here’s one note: Tuples and sets are distinct: tuples are ordered, and sets are not. The 3-tuples (2, 3, 5) and (3, 5, 2) are not equal, while the sets {2, 3, 5} and {3, 5, 2} are. 

    OK, got it. Thanks!

    I had not heard of tuples. Sets, vaguely, but had forgotten what they are.

    At 18A the clue was New Delhi’s ________ Temple, and the answer was LOTUS. Here’s a picture of it. It looks like a giant origami creation.

    Are you familiar with the SUNK COST FALLACY? The clue at 8D was: Rationale for “throwing good money after bad.”

    A “sunk cost” is a cost that has already been incurred and cannot be recovered. Economists say it should not be taken into consideration in making decisions. At any moment in time, the best thing to do depends only on current alternatives. Thus, if a new factory was originally projected to yield $100 million in value, and after $30 million is spent on it the value projection falls to $65 million, the company should abandon the project rather than spending an additional $70 million to complete it. Conversely, as a rational actor, if the value projection falls to $75 million the company should continue the project.

    Even though economists argue that sunk costs are not relevant to rational decision-making, people often consider previous expenditures, e.g., when deciding whether to repair a car or house. And that is the sunk cost “fallacy.” ”Concorde fallacy” derives from the fact that Britain and France continued to fund the joint development of the costly Concorde supersonic airplane even after it became apparent that there was no longer an economic case for the aircraft.

    At 61A, “1979 hit whose title is stuttered,” is not The Who’s “My Generation,” as first came to mind, although the “my” is correct. Have a listen to the correct answer: the debut single of The Knack. Turn it up!!

    It’s My Sharona, of course, one of those songs everyone emerging from that era knows. It was written by Doug Fieger and Berton Averre of The Knacks. Fieger sings it as well. It reached #1 on the charts where it remained for six weeks.

    Come a little closer, huh, ah, will ya, huh?
    Close enough to look in my eyes, Sharona

    Sharona is Sharona Alperin who was 17 when Fieger, 25 at the time, met her. Fieger recounted that “It was like getting hit in the head with a baseball bat; I fell in love with her instantly. And when that happened, it sparked something and I started writing a lot of songs feverishly in a short amount of time.” My Sharona, he claimed, was written in 15 minutes, recorded at the first run-through, and took only 15 minutes to mix. 

    They dated for four years and were engaged at one point but never married. After splitting up they married others but remained great friends. She was by his side often when he fought his losing battle with cancer at age 57. She spent a lot of time at the memorial service and felt good seeing how well respected he was in the music business, which was his life’s passion (after Sharona, of course). 

    Sharona did not go into music. She went into real estate; her domain name is Mysharona.com. She says being “the” Sharona has been overwhelmingly positive. She gets at least one message a month from friends who just want her to know the song is on. Family members recently called her from a Dodgers game: “They’re playing your song!”

    “About 70 percent of the people I meet, as soon as I introduce myself as Sharona, they say ‘My‘ Sharona. And another 20 percent, you can tell, they’re thinking it. It’s so funny.”

    Here’s the happy couple. Cue it up again, Phil! And kick it up a notch or two this time.

    This beautiful young woman, below, from Japan is Akane Shiga. She is from Hokaido and is 22 years old. As we said about Ella Shelton a month ago, she will knock your teeth out with a stick if the situation calls for it.

    She fell in love with ice hockey when she was just 6 years old and has never let go. She played on Japanese national teams with much success. Still, when the Professional Women’s Hockey League held its 15-round draft, she was overlooked. Undaunted, she flew 6,000 miles to Ottawa, tried out for the team, and blew their socks off. She’s the youngest player in the league and the only one born in Japan. She’s played in six games so far and is doing well. 

    Knock ’em dead, Shiga. Owl Chatter’s in your corner.

    I’ll close with an exchange between Rex commenters that got me laughing out loud. First, you should know there is no trolling in Rex’s blog. Once in a while there is a comment that might come across as obnoxious but that’s rare and is often followed by an apology. One of the long-time commenters is Gary. He chats about the puzzle a bit each day, and this and that, and then he makes a list of what he calls “uniclues.” He puts together several of the answers from the grid and makes up a clue connecting them. Has maybe 10 of these a day. It’s an attempt to be funny. Rarely works, but harmless. Some folks like them. I just skip the list. No biggie. 

    But today, a commenter calling himself No Parking very rudely posted:  For the love of sweet baby Jesus, I find your uniclues to be an annoying waste of space.

    I thought Gary would just let it go. But he didn’t. About two hours later he responded: No Parking, OMG! Thank you so much. I was worried the internet was almost full and we need to worry about how much space remains. I will stop writing uniclues immediately. You’re the best.

    No, you’re the best, dear readers. See you tomorrow.