The Wellington Files

  • Adolis!

    I usually shave every other day. Once in a while, I’ll let it go to the third day. But today when I shaved, it was the fourth day. And I could sense that my face was beginning to think I might be growing a beard. I imagined my cheeks saying, “Hey fellas, is he growing a beard? Doesn’t he usually shave by now?” And my chin said, “Hard to say, but if so, it’s not a goatee, because he would have shaved the rest of his face and just not me.” So they decide to ask my mustache about it, thinking he might have special insight because it actually happened to him. I just stopped shaving there one day, forever. But when they asked my mustache if he thought I might be growing a beard, he just said, “How the f*ck should I know? Will you two idiots just shut up?” And they were like, “Okay, okay — sheesh.”

    But I shaved today, so it’s not an issue anymore.

    Today’s puzzle had a cute theme, sort of combining Taylor Swift with monsters. It was break-up lines appropriate for monsters. So, e.g., a vampire would say: “YOU’RE NOT MY TYPE.” Get it?

    A werewolf would say: TIME FOR A CHANGE. A mummy would say: LET’S WRAP THIS UP. And Frankenstein’s monster would say: THE SPARK IS GONE.

    Remember these monster stamps? One can only qualify for stamphood when one is dead for five years. Thus, an RBG stamp was just issued, below. So my question is, How can a vampire be on a stamp — ever?

    My favorite non-theme answer was for “trinkets:” TCHOTCHKES. Tough to spell, but it worked.

    The poem in today’s Writer’s Almanac is by Billy Collins and is called “Sixteen Years Old, I Help Bring in the Hay on My Uncle John’s Farm with Two French-Canadian Workers.”

    None of us expected the massing thunderheads
    to swing open their doors so suddenly
    that we would have to drop our rakes
    and run across the field to a shelter
    and stand there side by side under its tin roof
    looking out through a shiny curtain of rain.

    We had never spent any time together
    except for the haying, raking it into piles
    and pitchforking it up into an old truck,
    but now there was nothing to do
    but watch and listen to the downpour
    and nothing to say either

    after the cigarettes had been offered around
    and lit one by one with the flame of a single match.

    The Rangers delivered a delicious thumping to the Astros last night, driving a spike through their hateful hearts with an 11-4 drubbing. I loved the series MVP Adolis Garcia. Hadn’t seen him much before — wow!

    There was an interesting play at first base. Texas was batting, and the batter hit a grounder up the first base line. The first baseman fielded it and stepped on first and the first base umpire called it fair and the batter out. But until the ball passes first base, it’s the home plate umpire’s call to make. And he called it foul and overruled the fair/out call. So the batter was alive and got a hit. The replay showed it was clearly fair and the batter should have been out. Oddly, the ball stayed in foul territory its whole way up the line but skipped fair just as it reached the base (so it’s fair). But it is not a call that can be challenged. Astros manager Dusty Baker didn’t even come out to argue.

    Now the Rangers can relax with their feet up and watch the Phillies/’Zona game to see whom they’ll face next. Dusty’s 74 and he says he’s retiring. Everybody loves him — he’ll be missed. Here he is with his famous toothpick back when he was managing the Nats. Take care of yourself, Dusty.

    Good night everybody. Thanks for dropping in. See you tomorrow.

  • I’ll Give You Three

    Lianna turned to me in the car this morning on the way to school and said: “What’s Obama’s last name?” “Good one!,” I said, but she said it was an old meme from years ago. I explained to her that I live under a rock so it was new to me and I only recently learned what a meme is.

    It was timely: our ex-Prez was in the puzzle today, boringly clued as election victor in ’08 and ’12. His girls often make appearances too; less so, the missus. Nice to see you, Mr. Prez!

    Sticking with the political for a moment, 46D was “Convention-hosting Swiss city,” and the answer was GENEVA, as in the Geneva Convention. Anoa Bob posted: I still have my “GENEVA Convention Member” card that I got during my hitch in the Navy. A few years back when we were waterboarding prisoners, a reporter ask Dick Cheney if that wasn’t a violation of the GENEVA Convention. He brushed off the question by calling it a “quaint” document.

    I see Taylor was out in KC for the Chiefs’ game again yesterday. Her beau Travis Kelce leads the Chiefs with 48 catches this season, not counting this one very special one. Awwww. Word is TK’s mom approves. Reel him in, Taylor. We’re all rooting for you. That mini was a good move — he should be a helpless bowl of Salt Lake City Jello by now.

    With all eyes on that romance and the interesting season the Jets are having, it might be easy to forget the baseball playoffs are going on, with two big games tonight. We’re pulling for Texas to unseat the hated ‘Stros, and for the Phils to move on to the WS too. Lots of ex-Nats in the spotlight tonight. Max on the mound for the Rangers, and Turner, Harper, and Schwarber in the lineup for Philly. It may all come down to Kimbrel in the Philly pen — and he’s been shaky lately.

    There is no one on God’s green earth cuter than my Zoey, but a case could be made that Cordelia Anastasia Russell my grandniece in California is in second place. (She’s the blond on the right in a shot her mom sent me today.) She has her dad’s face but, you know, cuter. The redhead’s her bestie.

    Remember “Singer Ronnie of the Ronettes?” SPECTOR, of course. There’s a Ronettes connection to Jimi Hendrix, alav hashalom. During the summer of 1964, the Ronettes spent a lot of time at Odine’s, an exclusive East Side club in Manhattan. According to Ronnie, that is where the Ronettes were first introduced to Jimi Hendrix, who was an unknown guitarist there at the time. Ronnie used to sing along with Hendrix as he played guitar. After running into Hendrix again in 1969, Estelle (a Ronette) and Ronnie were invited into the studio to do backing vocals on Hendrix’s “Earth Blues” song. Their work earned The Ronettes a credit on Hendrix’s LP Rainbow Bridge, posthumously released in 1971.

    Anyway, Ronnie popped by the puzzle yesterday to guide Kelce on what to ask Taylor. He might have figured it out — he’s no dummy — but advice from an old timer can’t hurt.

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for dropping in.

  • Neighboring Blackbirds

    I don’t watch SNL anymore so “SNL alum Bryant” had to be ANDY for me once I had A-DY. Some of you know it’s AIDY. Since it crossed with “Nintendo Switch predecessor,” a WOE for me (what on earth?), it led to my second downfall in two days on the NYTXW. Ouch. Coupled with a six in Wordle, a failure in Connections, and a dreadful Spelling Bee performance, it’s been a rough puzzle weekend for the home team. If it’s because my brain is addled with Taylor Swift, it’s the price that had to be paid.

    Have you ever refused anyone a fig? Rex opined that no one says “I don’t give a fig,” which was part of a puzzle answer. But I posted:

    FWIW, regarding fig donations, I do sometimes say “I don’t give a fig.” Apparently, it used to mean “I don’t give a f”ck.”

    According to the Free Dictionary, “fig” has denoted something worthless since about 1400. Moreover, in Mediterranean countries the sign of the fig is an obscene gesture, made by clenching one’s fist and pushing the thumb between the first and middle fingers. According to John Ciardi, the thumb represents the [male], the fingers the [female], and the gesture means “F*ck you.” Dante so used it in the Inferno section of The Divine Comedy. Centuries later, however, the phrase’s obscene provenance began to be largely ignored, and the cliché survives.

    Regarding the answers OBSCENE, NUDE, and ECRU, egsforbreakfast (one of our favorite Rex posters in LMS’s absence), noted:

    My favorite part of Grey’s Anatomy is when there’s a scene about obstetrics. A good OBSCENE actor is a pleasure to watch. [He also noted that NUDE is rubbing right up against OBSCENE in the puzzle.]

    What did Julius Caesar say when Brutus showed up in unbleached linen?
    “ECRU, Brute?”

    Excellent clue/answer at 64D: “Shares one’s bunk?” — LIES. (Get it?)

    At 24D, “Something a Brazilian is unlikely to wax” was a great clue for SKI. I didn’t get it at first. On the surface, you may think it’s just noting that there are no ski areas in Brazil. How laughably shallow that would be! But, no, — it’s a reference to a “Brazilian wax,” a technique that removes hair from one’s “sensitive” areas. It goes further than a bikini wax, said Tom droolingly.

    We sprung for our intrepid Owl Chatter photographer Phil to take a six-month training course in Brazilian waxing ($1,580), down in Rio, and this is a photo he sent back from one of the sessions. Looks serious. (But let’s hold it right there, buddy — don’t go any further with the camera. Puh-leeze.)

    OLGA Kurylenko popped by again. She’s sort of a Russian Ana de Armas. She could use a better scarf though for those Russian winters. What is that thing? Phil — is there something in the trunk you can give her? Root around a little.

    I was flummoxed by 82A. The clue was “Object with one hole or two, depending on whom you ask.” I got the answer from the crosses: TUBE. But its meaning eluded me. So I asked the Rex gang if anyone could enlighten me. Beezer responded with: “I think it is whether you consider a tube to consist of ONE long hole, or whether there is a hole on each end. Makes my head hurt.” Okay, I guess. Seems a little lame to me. I might clue it with “rigatoni.”

    Rather than sharing a perfectly fine poem from today’s Writer’s Almanac, I’m going to call on our old friend and Owl Chatter poet laureate Ted Kooser for one of his today, from Winter Morning Walks. It’s about an owl!

    In his drab gray overcoat,
    unbuttoned and flying out behind,
    a stocky, bullet-headed owl
    with dirty claws and thick wrists
    slowly flaps home
    from working the night shift.
    He is so tired he has forgotten
    his lunchbox, his pay stub.
    He will not be able to sleep
    in his empty apartment
    what with the neighboring blackbirds
    flying into his face,
    but will stay awake all morning,
    round-shouldered and glassy-eyed,
    composing a poem about
    paradise, perfectly woven
    of mouse bones and moist pieces of fur.

    Devoted Owl Chatter readers will recall that we made note of the passing of the great pianist (and person) André Watts from a piano falling on his head recently. As a follow-up, there is this small piece from today’s Met Diary by Mark Shechtman:

    I was dining with a friend at a French restaurant on the Upper East Side in the early 1990s.

    As we sat at a table toward the front near the bar, the pianist André Watts, dressed casually but elegantly, came in and approached the hostess, who was talking with another customer.

    I was a longtime admirer and recognized him immediately. While he waited, he turned his gaze in our direction.

    I smiled and mimed playing a piano keyboard.

    He responded by raising his eyebrows, jutting his chin in my direction and copying my pantomime, as if to ask whether I, too, was a pianist.

    I shook my head and mimed playing classical guitar. He nodded in approval.

    Then, as the hostess escorted him to his table, he waved in our direction and our brief encounter was over.

    This MD piece by Linda Zaworski caught my attention too:

    I was 18 in 1966. It was the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and I was making my first trip to New York City to visit a friend who was studying at N.Y.U. She had told me to take a cab to her dorm from La Guardia Airport.

    The cabdriver and I made the usual small talk, and he asked whether my friend and I had plans for Thanksgiving dinner.

    I told him I didn’t know but was sure she had planned something. He said immediately that if she hadn’t, he and his wife would be glad to host us.

    We had reached Washington Square by that point, but he wouldn’t let me leave without taking his phone number.

    As it turned out, my friend and I spent a lovely Thanksgiving at the Long Island home of her relatives. But I have never forgotten that driver and the warm welcome to New York he gave me.

    Since we’re stealing shamelessly from the NYT today, let’s “jam in” today’s tiny love story too. It’s by Ennis Smith.

    When my father-in-law died this summer, I inherited an unopen jar of the orange marmalade he loved. It’s not my favorite. But I’ve been slathering it on toast to honor the man who raised my husband and embraced our relationship when his son came out to him 20 years ago. His marmalade reminds me that some tastes are acquired, that preference often feels indivisible from acceptance. The acrid pulp requires a tolerance my own father would not have had for his queer Black son. I make room for the marmalade’s bittersweet complexity the way my father-in-law made room for me.

    Oops! Yikes!

    From the you-can’t-make-this-stuff-up division of Owl Chatter —

    Michigan State University has issued an apology following an image of Hitler appearing on the scoreboard before Saturday night’s football game against UMich.

    Before the game began, the image appeared on the jumbotron as part of a trivia question about Hitler’s place of birth. [The choices were (a) Germany (b) Poland (c) Austria (d) Parsippany, NJ.]

    Michigan State issued a statement, without mentioning the image of Hitler directly, saying the school used a third party for the trivia content and will no longer be using that company.

    “We are deeply sorry for the content that was displayed, as this is not representative of our institutional values,” Michigan State associate athletic director Matt Larson said in a statement, after carefully checking on what their institutional values are. “MSU will not be using the third-party source going forward and will implement stronger screening and approval procedures for all videoboard content in the future.”

    MSU will also be changing its slogan, above, to “We Sometimes Drop the Ball.”

    The NJ Symphony today featured a brilliant young cellist Sterling Elliott playing Schumann’s Cello Concerto. Keep an ear out for this young Black star. Growing up, he played in a “family quartet” at home with his parents and brother and they stayed away from classical selections and played blues, bluegrass, jazz, gospel, etc. (He received his classical training at Julliard.) A standing ovation (oy, it was hard to get up), led to an encore, which sounded like a Scottish fiddler’s piece on the cello and was terrific. Too bad it’s not on Youtube, or I’d share it.

    Elgar’s Enigma Variations closed out the afternoon and I was surprised I wasn’t familiar with it, since it’s pretty well-known. Each variation is based on a friend of Elgar’s and captures his or her qualities. Here’s the central one, “Nimrod,” which was the nickname of his friend August Johannes Jaeger. Some young folks from Boston are trying their hands at it, below. Give it some time: it builds. I’m going to slip out quietly while they’re playing. I’ve already heard it today in Jersey. See you tomorrow.

  • Among the Swifties

    It was Owl Chatter Day with Taylor Swift today! Linda, Phil, and I shot down to Red Bank for the movie in the OC van. Whew — pretty intense. Three hours. Springsteen-esque, although I don’t recall Bruce ever performing in a sequined bathing suit. It was the teeny-bopper afternoon showing, with much of the audience consisting of adorable little Zoeys with their parents. By the third song they all charged the stage, or screen, I guess, and spent the movie singing along and dancing way up close.

    The most touching moment, for me, was an extraordinary farewell tribute Taylor paid to our poor late friend Yevgeny Prigozhin, whom she got to know pretty well at several Owl Chatter events. She dedicated a very touching rendition of Shake It Off to “her Yevi.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the arena, and most of her fans were waving their friendship pierogis in time to the music.

    You don’t need Owl Chatter to tell you she’s a brilliant performer with a remarkable and loving connection to her fans. She wore many outfits, of course, some of them pretty wild, but my favorite was a simple orange dress. Phil caught her in it.

    But it’s back to earth for us now, and with a thud — today’s puzzle floored me. 24D: “Ibram X. ___, author of ‘How to Be an Antiracist.” I’m supposed to know that’s KENDI? Or how about 34A: “Haka dance performers?” Those are MAORI, of course. I knew I was in trouble at 5D: “1781 Mozart opera seria.” Seria? You may be shocked to learn the “1781” did not help me. The answer was IDOMENEO. “Tech support?” was MONOPOD. That’s like a tripod but with only one pod.

    But the real killer was at 14A: “1998 rap hit by Big Pun (feat. Joe).” I love the “(feat. Joe),” like that’s going to help. The answer was STILL NOT A PLAYER.

    But much of it was neat, and clever. My favorite was 48A: “I HAVE to have this — whatever it costs,” and the answer was TAKE MY MONEY!

    Yesterday’s puzzle was a gem — even curmudgeon Rex lavished it with praise. It was by Jacob McDermott. 15D was beyond brilliant, but needs some set up.

    One of the most famous broadcasts in the history of radio journalism is Herb Morrison’s 1937 eyewitness report of the explosion and crash of the German passenger airship, Hindenburg. On May 6, 1937, while preparing to land at the Lakehurst Naval Air Station in New Jersey, the Hindenburg burst into flames and crashed to the ground, killing thirty-five of the ninety-seven people on board and one member of the ground crew.

    Chicago radio station WLS had sent reporter Herb Morrison and sound engineer Charles Nehlsen to record the landing. Morrison’s professional demeanor gave way to an emotional outburst after the Hindenburg caught fire. Shaken and horrified, Morrison continued to record, struggling to compose himself as a hellish scene of fiery death unfolded before his eyes.

    Here are excerpts:

    “It’s fire and it crashing! . . . This is the worst of the worst catastrophes in the world! Oh, it’s crashing . . . oh, four or five hundred feet into the sky, and it’s a terrific crash, ladies and gentlemen. There’s smoke, and there’s flames, now, and the frame is crashing to the ground, not quite to the mooring mast. Oh, the humanity, and all the passengers screaming around here!

    . . . I can’t talk, ladies and gentlemen. Honest, it’s just laying there, a mass of smoking wreckage, and everybody can hardly breathe and talk . . . Honest, I can hardly breathe. I’m going to step inside where I cannot see it. . . .”

    Years later, Morrison recalled that he yelled “Oh, the humanity,” because he thought everyone on board had died; in fact, sixty-two of the people on board survived.

    OK, so where were we? Oh, yeah, the puzzle. So the clue for 15D yesterday was “Oh, the humanities!” The answer: LIBERAL ARTS. Rex called it “as good a repurposing of the Hindenburg disaster as there ever was.” He laughed out loud.

    At 4D, “Undertone of Cole Porter’s ‘Let’s Do It’” was a great clue for SEX, although some questioned the appropriateness of “undertone,” since it’s pretty out there — “let’s do it.”

    “Heck, yeah” was DARN TOOTIN, and someone questioned where it came from. So I posted:

    Extensive research (you know, a minute or two online), leads me to believe that when someone makes a statement that is so spot on, he or she is tootin’ – making noise. Like when you are casting about for an answer and your friend nails it and you go “ding ding ding” or would press a buzzer if you had one. So when your statement is right on target, you’re tootin, and the darn just strengthens it.

    An example of crafting a clever clue for a simple word: “Cry during an argument between siblings” was the clue for MOM.

    We’ll let Taylor send us off tonight. See you tomorrow!

  • SIS-BOOM-BAH

    Seen on a T-shirt: I said I’ll fix it. There’s no need to remind me every six months.

    In this week’s Tuesday New Yorker puzzle by Aimee Lucido there were some great clues/answers but I was puzzled by 10D: “Compelled to go.” Ans: HALED. It turns out hale as a verb means “to drag or draw forcibly,” as in “he haled the man out of the audience.” When you need a cab, you “hail” one — that’s different.

    My favorite in that grid was “Matriarch of a certain toy family,” and the answer, of course, was MRS POTATO HEAD! I was surprised to see that potato and head are separate words in the name. Here they are IRL. Love the outfit, Mrs. PH!

    One of my favorite cartoons during the pandemic had two potato people talking. You know, they were potatoes but with feet, hands, faces, etc. And one says to the other: “You don’t have to wear a mask, Meredith — You’re a potato.”

    Another good clue was “It may be used for island dressing.” Ans: HAWAIIAN SHIRT. Phil flew down to Oahu with one of my tax students to give this shot authenticity. Get her back in time for the test tomorrow, Philly!

    When the Holocaust came up in Sarah Silverman’s special, she corrected herself to call it the “alleged” Holocaust. She said she was surprised to learn something new about Hitler from Wikipedia recently — that for several years he molested his niece. “Now he’s really canceled, right?” She said she shouldn’t have been surprised. He was probably like, “Look, I just murdered millions of people. Do you expect me not to molest my niece?”

    She was waiting for a friend near a Catholic school not long ago, and the kids started streaming out. The girls were all wearing those “porn skirts.” She said the only place she sees them anymore is in porn. She was surprised the school didn’t move on from them. It’s like those people who say the swastika was originally a Hindu symbol for “good luck.” Yeah, but not anymore.

    Don’t mess with these two.

    Phil — you okay?

    In the puzzle today, the clue at 9D was “Musicians that play with mallets,” and the answer was VIBISTS. Tough one. One commenter asked, shouldn’t it be “Musicians who play . . . ?” Yeah, shouldn’t it?

    The clue at 47A was “Egyptian temple site,” and the answer was KARNAK. Never mind the temple. Here’s what I posted on Rex’s blog:

    Carnac the Magnificent was a regular Johnny Carson bit that could be clever and showed off his good comic relationship with Ed McMahon. Carnac was a swami who could divine the answers to questions before seeing the questions.

    Some of my favorites of that ilk were:

    ANS: Washington Irving
    QUES: Who was our first President, Max?

    ANS: 9-W
    QUES: Do you spell you name with a “V,” Herr Wagner? (Wagner was pronounced Vagner.)

    ANS: Super Bowl
    QUES: What would you call a toilet that can see through walls.

    Several folks added their favorite Carnac lines including East Coaster who contributed:

    ANS: SIS-BOOM-BAH

    QUES: What sound is made when a sheep explodes?

    I added the following post in response:

    According to an interview McMahon gave years later, the SIS-BOOM-BAH answer was his and Carson’s favorite. Carson tipped McMahon off that an unusually good one was in the deck that day and McMahon could tell from Carson’s expression when it was the next one. When it hit them, neither could control himself for over a minute, maybe two. They were paralyzed with laughter. It was the question that got the largest number of letters from fans, and was the only time Carson ever tipped McMahon off about anything that was coming on the show.

    Shield your eyes if you’re squeamish.

    Speaking of exploding sheep, we went to see the Australian Haydn Ensemble last night in a nice small auditorium in the Morris Museum. They had performed earlier in Carnegie Hall. They were terrific. They perform on period instruments, i.e., instruments from when Haydn et al were walking the planet. For example, the Mozart Symphony they performed (his 29th) he composed when he was eighteen. And the violin the first violinist was playing on was only four years old at that time. Imagine — it hadn’t even been bar-mitzvahed. The flute was wooden, and the bassoon was made of maple wood. One of the violinists was playing a violin that spent several decades in Morristown NJ (where we were) before finding its way to Australia, she was tickled to tell us. There were eighteen members in the ensemble that played for us, thirteen of whom were women. Here’s a nice shot of six of them.

    If you can spare eight minutes, here’s a different incarnation of the ensemble playing Haydn’s Keyboard Concerto in D Major. We’ll let them send us off tonight, and, you know, class up the joint a little. Thanks for popping by. See you tomorrow!

  • Rabbit Stew

    The clue at 32A today was “Kind of belt,” and the answer was BIBLE. The question was posed as to whether “belt” in that geographical sense, rose to the level of a “category.” Rex said all he could think of was the Bible Belt, the Rust Belt, and the Sun Belt. Of course, there’s the Borscht Belt. But research revealed an amazing number of “belts” of this nature, some of which are a hoot.

    The best by far is the Jell-O Belt: a region containing a large Mormon population, which includes Utah, of course. Mormons love Jell-O. Who knew? One of the official pins for the 2002 Winter Olympics in Salt Lake City was a green Jell-O jiggler in the shape of the state.

    “Salt Lake City is America’s Jell-O-eating capital. Every man, woman and child in Salt Lake City buys two boxes of the stuff annually, or twice the national average,” says Mary Jane Kinkade of Jell-O maker Kraft Foods. Utah residents also eat twice as much lime Jell-O as anyone else on the planet.” Come on Jersey — step it up!!

    Get this — In 2012, Slate criticized the phrase “Jell-O Belt” as rooted in misogyny and infantilizing stereotypes of Mormon culture. “In making Jell-O ‘their’ food, Mormons (or Lutherans or Methodists) are making a statement about their identity, accepting all of the food’s positive connotations of family-friendliness, child-centeredness, and domesticity. Outsiders, in contrast, often see Jell-O as a mark of a lack of taste that renders this group strange, immature, and ultimately mockable.”

    Personally, I can take it or leave it. I enjoyed it very much after my prostate surgery when it was all I could eat for a short period . Not lime, though.

    Overall, there are roughly 20 belts including the Black Belt in the South (particular concentration of Blacks), Indiana Gas Belt (an area in Indiana (duh) where there was a gas boom in the late 1890’s and early 1900’s), Lead Belt (SE portion of Missouri with a long history of lead mining), Pine Belt (southern Mississippi), Pretzel Belt (Pennsylvania, of course), Rice Belt (southern states), and the Salt Belt (Northeast and Midwest where much salt is used on the roads in the winter).

    The scariest is the Stroke Belt, a region in the Southeast that has an unusually high incidence of stroke and other forms of cardiovascular disease. Ouch!

    The name of this poem is “Daughter,” and it’s by Lisel Mueller. It’s from today’s Writer’s Almanac.

    My next poem will be happy,
    I promise myself. Then you come
    with your deep eyes, your tall jeans,
    your narrow hands, your wit,
    your uncanny knowledge, and
    your loneliness. All the flowers
    your father planted, all
    the green beans that have made it,
    all the world’s recorded pianos
    and this exhilarating day
    cannot change that.

    Today’s theme was magic, in particular pulling a rabbit out of a hat. You can see the hat in the center of the grid and the word TIBBAR emerging from it. That’s RABBIT backwards to show that it’s being pulled out of the hat.

    Quite a few commenters were upset that the rabbit seems to be pulled out upside down. In the actual trick, the magician reaches in and pulls the rabbit out right-side-up. But I agree with the comment that said the letters only indicate the direction the rabbit is moving in — coming out of the hat as opposed to going in — and that it may not itself be upside down.

    I added my two cents to the discussion with the following inane post:

    If the rabbit him (or her) self does not sense that he or she is upside down, I don’t have a problem with it. But that may be hard to discern.

    The very pretty ARIANA Grande dropped by the grid today, perhaps to pick up some vocal tips from old pro ETTA James. Nice to see you both! Fred’s here too — Fred ASTAIRE. No doubt he’ll make good use of that top hat once the rabbit it out of it. Quite a music fest for us today. (Wow. Nice shot, Philly.)

    Here’s Etta, in full command.

    Some interesting material flared up over 54A. The clue was “Not as well,” and the answer was (the awful, IMO), ILLER. A commenter who goes by ghostofelectricity posted:

    My favorite use of the word “ILLER” occurred in the 1946 film version of W. Somerset Maugham’s “The Razor’s Edge,” directed by Edmund Goulding (don’t bother with the ridiculous 1984 remake, starring a badly miscast Bill Murray). Near the end of the film, American expat socialite Elliott Templeton (Clifton Webb in one of his best performances), in bed and gravely ill from a heart condition, cries bitter tears and complains for ten minutes about not being invited to a soirée being given by another American expat socialite whom Elliott helped introduce to European high society and whom he insulted (he revealed that she was carrying on with her chauffeur). Maugham (Herbert Marshall), calms Elliott and tells him “I’m afraid you’re much ILLER than you realize.” Elliott immediately calms down and says “Do you mean I’m going to die?” He then placidly begins planning for his imminent demise, calling for the priest to give him last rites, etc. Elliott cries and whines like a baby at length about being snubbed at an invitation for a party, but takes the news of his impending death with equanimity and courage. Great scene. If only they made movies like that now.

    A later comment noted that the wedding gown Gene Tierney wears in the film was the actual wedding gown her husband–the designer Oleg Cassini–made for her. But they eloped and the film was the only time she wore it.

    I knew it was a long shot but I asked our incredible Owl Chatter photographer Phil if he might have caught Tierney wearing that gown.
    “Of course,” he said. “Who do you think caught the bouquet?” Here she is.

    See you tomorrow! Thanks for dropping in.

  • En garde!

    A small piece in Heather Cox Richardson’s letter today caught my eye. The DOJ reached a settlement with the families who were separated at the border by Trump back in 2017-2018. More than 5,500 children were separated from their parents. As you’ll recall, a judge overruled the policy. After Biden stole the election, he set up a task force to reunite the families who were still separated. But the Trump folks had kept no records of the family members! WTF!! Eighty-five of the children are still, today, without their parents. The task force also learned that 290 of the kids were U.S. citizens. God bless America.

    In the puzzle today there was an unusual clue/answer at 13D: “‘My word is my bond,’ informally.” The answer was ON GOD. To no surprise, it sent Rex off a bit:

    Speaking of formal v. informal, what the hell is going on with the “ON GOD”!? (13D: “My word is my bond,” informally). How is “ON GOD” informal? Can you be “informal” and absurdly archaic as well? Who says “ON GOD?” If you said that to me, I’d assume you were challenging me to a sword fight. Me: [brandishing sword at you]. You: [looking surprised]. Me: “Wait, didn’t you say ‘en garde’? … no? … [sheathing sword] phew, good, you had me worried there for a second.” I don’t know when this phrase is used “formally” or “informally.” I know that Canadians stand “ON GOD” for thee, Canada, but otherwise I don’t know what’s going on with the phrase, and I cannot believe that whatever is going on, it qualifies as “informal.” 

    [Of course, the Canadians stand “on guard,” not “on God.” Wouldn’t it be disrespectful to stand “on God?” Wouldn’t He, like, “Get off me, you fucking Canadians.” (Rex corrected himself later.)]

    This poem from today’s Writer’s Almanac by Patrick Phillips is called “Once.”

    the father
    of my son’s friend
    watched his father die.

    Then for some reason
    came, still grieving,
    to a soccer field where I,

    a guy he knew,
    or kind of knew,
    stood with the others

    trying not to stare
    at the there-
    but-for-the-grace-of God    –

    go-I of him:
    his eyes raw-rimmed
    behind dark glasses

    as herds of little bodies
    shrieked and galloped
    all around us—

    whoever he was before
    a trace, a remnant now,
    shaking in the gray October wind:

    the truth about love, about all of us,
    so plain in him
    there was nothing left

    but to pretend
    I was not watching
    out the corner of my eye

    when the muddy dog,
    and the bouncing ball,
    and the children

    chasing after it
    all seemed to veer
    and disappear inside him.

    Owl Chatter friend Riverdale Joe tells me he’s pretty sure the picture of Phyllis Coates (Lois Lane) I posted yesterday (which he aptly described as “the hot movie star on a ladder”) was of Rita Hayworth and not Coates!! D’oh! What’s this world coming to when you can’t trust random crap you pick up off the internet, I ask you? The photo comes from a bunch of shots identified as of Coates in their writeup of her in Thebiography.org. But they could be wrong — Joe’s quite the old movie buff and he knows his starlets.

    This one is definitely her. No question.

    Egsforbreakfast had me chuckling today. One of the answers was DRESS DOWN DAYS. He opined that’s when women wear dresses made out of duck feathers. For THUNDER CLAP, he said it was a sequel to THUNDER BALL, in which Bond comes down with the condition and is saved by massive doses of antibiotics. I guess that’s what happens when you do it everywhere (see below).

    Oy, I’m tired from my classes. Let’s call it a day. See you tomorrow.

  • Driving Louise Glück

    Wake up, everybody! Good morning! We’re back in Jersey — back to our miserable lives. I used that line with our driver to the airport yesterday (“Back to our miserable lives”), and he loved it — I’m sure he’ll share it — he was a little gabby, in a nice way.

    But we had to get up early today — had to drive Lianna to school (our Monday job), and now I have exams to grade. You too, Mr. Sun — time to get up! Remember this one?

    Well, you finally made it, Buddy — 65A in yesterday’s puzzle: “Character asked to ‘shine down,’ in a children’s song.” MR SUN!

    I was lamenting that our itinerary had a major flaw in it — it got us home in time for me to watch the Jets get slaughtered by the Eagles yesterday. But in the “battle of the greens” the Jets won 20-14, coming from behind on the strength of their defense and field goal kicker. How surprising a win was it? Well, the Eags were 5-0 coming into the game and were the NFC champs last year, and the Jets were, well, they were the Jets. Let’s look at it another way — in the entire history of the Jets franchise (about 60 years) they had never beaten the Eagles. Never as in “never.” They were 0-12. That tied the longest losing streak for any team against another team in the history of the NFL.

    So, — nice going, guys. Good win — permission to crow granted.

    The theme of today’s puzzle was MOVIE BUFFS, a pun meaning movie stars who are “buff,” i.e., all muscled up. The theme answers were CHANNING TATUM, JASON MOMOA, MR T, and DWAYNE JOHNSON. Here’s JM. Yeah, I can see how he made the cut.

    Even from under my rock I had heard of all of them except Momoa, although, admittedly, I thought Channing Tatum was a woman. Must’ve been thinking of Tatum O’Neal. She can play Liz Cheney when the time comes, no?

    Not even Superman could save her. Phyllis Coates, who played Lois Lane on the Superman TV series for one season, passed away at her retirement home in California last Wednesday at the age of 96. Cause of death was falling off a ladder. [No it wasn’t.] Gotta find those rungs, Lo Lo! We can certainly see how the S-man fell for her. Who wouldn’t?

    The Superman TV show first aired in 1952, and, more than 40 years later, in 1994, Phyllis played Lois Lane’s mother in an episode of “Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman.” She was tickled to do so and her only request was that they try to make her look like Lois’s mom and not her grandma.

    She only played Lois for a year. The producer wanted her back but she left for other roles. She was a guest star on “Gunsmoke,” “Rawhide” and “Perry Mason,” as well as “Leave It to Beaver,” which was directed by Norman Tokar, her husband at the time. She was born Gypsie Ann Stell. Her son passed away in 2011; she is survived by two daughters and a granddaughter, all of whom are pretty damn proud that their mom and grandma was once Superman’s heartthrob.

    In 1953, while she was still portraying Lois Lane, Ms. Coates told The LA Times that her 4-year-old daughter questioned why Superman’s disguise fooled people: it was just a pair of glasses, a hat and a suit over his Superman outfit. “She just can’t understand why I can’t see through Superman’s disguise in the telecasts. She thinks I’m quite stupid about the whole thing.”

    Rest in peace, Lois.

    The poet Louise Glück died last Friday at her home in Cambridge MA at the age of 80 from cancer. She was pretty much awarded every honor that exists, including the Nobel Prize in 2020. She was born in NYC and grew up on Long Island. She was Jewish, a fact omitted from her NYT obit. Her father, Daniel, was a businessman and a frustrated poet who, among other things, helped invent the X-Acto knife, an essential tool for dollhouse enthusiasts. Her mother, Beatrice, was a homemaker. (BTW, Glück is pronounced glick.)

    Here is one of the comments posted on her NYT obit.

    When I was a creative writing grad student in Boston in 1996-97 I had the good fortune of driving Ms. Glück to various appointments. She couldn’t drive then. I remember being so nervous the first time I picked her up that I nearly ran a man over at a crosswalk. What a look I got from him. I was like, “Dude, I’ve got Louise Glück in here, okay? I’m not well. Move along, please.” I’m not sure if Louise ever fully relaxed after that but the rides continued and her discussions about writers and writing were very generous and informative. To be present at her readings was intense and transformative. She was powerful. What a privilege.

    To her credit, Glück had very little patience for Phil’s inane attempts to get her to smile. Gotta know when to fold ’em, Philly. Glad you caught that old typewriter, though. Apparently, she wrote all of her poems by elbow.

    Oy, that’s quite enough nonsense for today. Thanks for popping by. See you tomorrow.

  • Hail Chicken Caesar!

    We are back from the great Ireland vacation safe and what passes for sound among us lunatics. What a beautiful and welcoming land. It’s dedicated to wonderful music, beer, and endless scenes of great beauty they have the luxury of just taking for granted. Their second tier consists of literature and sports (rugby, soccer, and hurling). We were sad to say goodbye. Just stay off the roads.

    Two six-hour flights meant I watched the Sarah Silverman special 2.75 times. You might like this part:

    I was doing a show in Hawaii and staying at the Four Seasons. I went down for a swim and saw that they had a sign — a professionally made sign — that said: “If you have diarrhea, or have had diarrhea within the last two weeks, you are not allowed in the pool.”

    Why not just come out and say it: No Jews allowed.

    What Jew could possibly go two weeks without even a little diarrhea? Kim (a Jewish woman she had chatted with earlier) – I’m asking you as a Jew — have you ever gone two weeks without diarrhea? That would be viewed as a miracle. What was the miracle of Hanukkah? — a lamp worked. A lamp worked for longer than it was supposed to. This would blow that right out of the water. “She only had enough Immodium A-D to last for two nights — but it worked for 14 nights!!” — You may enter the pool. Dayenu!

    We very much enjoyed all of our meals. Hotel breakfasts were part of our deal and they were very good. Not as good as Israel’s, but good. One of the options in Galway was “grilled fish.” The day I ordered it, it was cod, and it was perfectly prepared. Omelets were excellent, with greens and their wonderful Irish cheeses. Smoked salmon is plentiful — it’s the point at which Jews and the Irish intersect, though we call it lox. Coffee in Ireland is very good. No need for Starbucks, which we only saw in Dublin.

    I brought a nice chunk of Irish Cheddar back as a gift for Daughter #1. I loved that we bought it from a “cheesemonger” in Dublin. I put it in my carry-on bag thinking it shouldn’t represent a security risk. It’s been pretty well-established that terrorists don’t even like cheese, amirite? But I was wrong! My bag was targeted and pulled aside for closer inspection. The agent took out the cheese (the cheesemonger had vacuum-sealed it for me), and took it over to some special high-tech thingie for analysis. I waited nervously. He came back and gave me a thumbs up. Whew! I just better remember to tell Caity to be careful when she slices it — I slipped a razor blade into the center.

    Speaking of food, the single best thing I ate all week was a sandwich at a little bakery, coffee, and sandwich place right next to where we dropped off the rental car in Dublin. We were exhausted and starving, since we had to leave Killarney around 7 to get the car back in time to avoid an extra day’s charge. So we missed breakfast and it was around 12:30 when we were done. We sat down to rest in a little enclosed bench area and two young Irish women came in with sandwiches and hot drinks from the little bakery. I asked one if it was a good place and she pointed at her sandwich and said, “This is amazing.”

    That was good enough for me. It was a tiny bakery that just sold breads, coffee, and a selection of five or six sandwiches. The coffee was excellent and the sandwiches out of this fuc*ing world. I had the Chicken Caesar. The roll it was on was perhaps the best roll I’ve ever had. The only negative was that for about 45 minutes I had no choice but to exclaim Hail Chicken Caesar! at regular intervals. It made no sense from so many angles — Caesar was a brave man, for one thing. But there was no stopping me. Great sandwich, though. How great? — Ate two. [No, I didn’t, but I had to get my et tu joke in.]

    You can’t walk three blocks in downtown Dublin without running into somebody playing music, often very well. They are called buskers and they are busking, hoping you’ll drop some coins into their hat or guitar case. These two, below, were the best we heard: guitar and banjo. The guitarist said he had to wake his girlfriend up at 7 that morning so they could go and pick up a car battery so he could go busking. And I noticed his guitar, mic, and amp were hooked up to a car battery for power.

    More nonsense tomorrow. Thanks for popping in.

  • There Is Such A Thing As Too Much Beer

    I misunderstood the waitress at the Killarney Brewing Company. I should’ve just ordered a half pint of blonde and a half of pale ale, but I asked about their “flights” — smaller samples of 3 or 6 varieties and somehow got the impression that the flight of 6 totalled just 16 oz: a pint. Wonderful! I ordered it and she brought 6 half pints: 48 oz. D’oh!

    Idiot! Beer would be wasted because of me. The shame of it. The horror.

    I brought two half pints to the gents sitting nearby and explained my situation and offered them to them. One declined but the other was happy to take one.

    I didn’t feel comfortable wandering all over the place offering beer to strangers, so I ended up wasting about a pint and a half. It will take me a while to get over it.

    Our plan for our last day in Killarney was to take a two-hour walking tour of the National Park. It started at 11 from a spot about 20 min from the hotel, so we left at 10:25 to give ourselves plenty of time.

    Employing all of my navigational skills, we arrived at 11:35. (Not kidding.) So we just ferblunged around the park ourselves. Very pretty.

    BTW, I referred to a town on the Ring of Kerry yesterday as Sneed, but it’s Sneem. There is a large stone sculpture commemorating a two-week visit Charles de Gaulle paid to Sneem after he retired. The guide said the locals refer to it as the de Gaulle stone.

    After a harrowing 4-hour drive to Dublin, we got rid of the car. I will never drive in Ireland again. That’s the first resolution I’ve ever made that I know I’ll keep.

    One more day in Dublin and then home.

    Good night everybody.