I defy you to find a better commercial than this old pie-eating contest ad for Alka-Seltzer from 500 years ago. I remember my friends and I marveling over it when it first appeared.
It came to mind today as I read the obit for Howie Cohen in The Times. Cohen was famous for the “I can’t believe I ate the whole thing” ads.
The guy in the ad is Milt Moss, a comic. Cohen got the idea for it when he was gorging on an Italian dinner hosted by the director Milos Forman who had filmed a commercial for him.
“I’m a nice Jewish kid from the Bronx, so I ate everything until I couldn’t fit one more thing in my body,” Mr. Cohen would often recall. “I leaned back in my chair and said, ‘I can’t believe I ate the whole thing.’ And my wife said, ‘There’s your next Alka-Seltzer commercial.’”
Cohen was 81. He is survived by his wife of 52 years, Carol; his brother Jerry; children Jonathan and Johanna; a stepdaughter Cristina; and a granddaughter, not a single one of whom can believe they ate the whole thing.
In the puzzle today at 19D the clue was “18th-century French novelist whose name means ‘the wise man’” and the answer was, of course, Alain-Rene LESAGE. Just kidding with that “of course,” of course, I never came close to hearing of him. Word is he was very independent and refused to accept patronage. Here’s a story about him from Wikipedia.
According to the fashion of the day, he had been entreated to read his manuscript, a comedy, at noon at the Hotel de Bouillon by the Duchess de Bouillon. But he was detained until 1 o’clock attending the decision of a lawsuit. When he finally appeared and attempted to apologize, the Duchess was cold and haughty, observing that he had made her guests lose one hour waiting for his arrival. “It is easy to make up the loss madame,” replied Lesage; “I will not read my comedy, and thus you will gain two hours.” With that, he left the Hôtel and could never be persuaded to return.
Hrrrrrrumph!
Here he is. I bet you’d never catch him with bed head.
At 26D, the clue was “Friends, in slang,” and the answer was PEEPS, because, Rex explained, your friends are neon-colored marshmallow birds.
So for Trump’s recent rally in Asheville NC, the city made him (the campaign) pay the $82,000 of related expenses in advance. Word had gotten out that other locations were stiffed. So here’s this schmuck running for President of the United fu*king States and he can’t get anyone to take his check.
Felix Hernandez, retired Seattle pitcher, was interviewed on ESPN today on the 12th anniversary of his perfect game. He was asked: “After twelve years, what do you remember most about that game?” Hernandez answered: “I remember every pitch.”
Well, my summer session ended today with the final exam. It’s the last time I’ll be teaching that course — Individual Taxation. It was a decent last hurrah. The class was a nice bunch of kids (see below). I’ll wrap up the career with the law course and Business Taxes in the fall, God and NJ Transit willing. Then I’ll ride the #6 train downtown into the sunset.
If you’re in the public eye or, in this case, ear, you really need a good filtration system. Jarren Duran of the Red Sox was being heckled by a fan at Fenway. The fan suggested that Duran needed a tennis racket in order to hit the ball. Duran told the fan to shut up. Even that is probably not cool. Probably best to ignore a hostile fan, not to engage him. But the sh*t really hit the fan (not the person-fan — the proverbial fan), when Duran called him a “fu*king fa**ot.” You know it’s bad when it takes three asterisks to write it out. And it was all picked up by the broadcast. Everyone watching the game on TV heard it. Ouch.
Cut to the apology. So Boston suspended Duran for two games, which seems to be the going rate for homophobic slurs, and his pay for those games was donated to a gay charity. He also issued a well-drafted apology. The next step was to face the press, appropriately contrite. But according to the NYT, for his meeting with the press he wore a “F*ck ’em” t-shirt. The Times thought it undercut the apology. On the other hand, it’s a t-shirt he often wears under his uniform to battle his mental health demons, saying he doesn’t care what other people think.
We don’t care so much about Duran. Ideally, he learned something about human decency from it all. Maybe he did maybe he didn’t. Here’s the kicker though — since the incident, sales of his jersey have skyrocketed. His jersey is currently the top-selling jersey on the online MLB shop, surpassing Ohtani, who’s in second place. Similarly, the jersey sales of the Philadelphia Flyers’ Ivan Provorov skyrocketed after he refused to wear pride-themed merchandise during warmups, citing his religion. Harrison Butker of the NFL also saw a rapid increase in jersey sales following his anti-gay speech at Benedictine College.
When Duran’s suspension ends he’ll be in the lineup for the Sox against the Texas Rangers — the only team in MLB that refuses to host a gay pride night. There has still not been an openly gay active MLB player.
God Bless America.
Yesterday’s puzzle centered on the Nobel-prize-winning writer Toni Morrison. Her full name was one answer, along with the titles of six of her books. Solvers were impressed that they could be integrated into the grid symmetrically. (You may have picked up by now that crossword people are insane.)
Rex was unimpressed with the theme, since it was no more than a list. But he went on to say:
If you’re going to bore me with a list, I’d say this list is about as interesting a way as there is to do it. I enjoyed taking the trip through Morrison’s back catalogue. As an English major who was in college at the peak of Morrison’s productivity and fame (i.e. just after BELOVED came out), these titles all came to me very, very easily. Lots of my friends were Women’s Studies majors of one kind or another (English, Sociology, etc.), so I became very familiar with the Morrison bibliography very quickly, and though I’ve only read two of these books, I filled in every title in today’s puzzle without any difficulty at all. So I liked this puzzle insofar as I like TONI MORRISON and enjoyed briefly reminiscing about my college days, when she first came to my notice and when I first read her work. And yeah, SONG OF SOLOMON, man. It’s a life-changer. A disturbing, even horrifying work, but a warm and wise one as well. And a page-turner! I might pick it up again soon…
If you’re up for a bouncy pop tune, he shared this one with us, I guess as a nod to his college “days?” I can use it, after that heavy Duran material.
Here’s Kirsty MacColl. She was British and, sadly, passed away when she was only 41. She was diving off the coast of Mexico with her teen-aged sons when a powerboat entered the restricted area. She managed to save one of her sons, but was hit herself and killed instantly. Sheesh, sorry we’re such a downer today.
The New Yorker’s humor issue (8/19/2024) repeats an article from 2002 by Tad Friend on scientific attempts to define what is funny. A British scientist, Dr. Richard Wiseman, undertook a project to identify the world’s funniest joke. Part of it involved a website where he had people submit jokes and rate other people’s jokes. Friend writes:
When the experiment began, Wiseman posed for publicity photographs wearing a lab coat and holding a clipboard as he scrutinized a student wearing a chicken suit who was crossing a road. One photographer shouted, “Could the guy playing the scientist move to the left?,” and Wiseman cried, “I am a scientist.”
He concedes the concept of the world’s funniest joke is ridiculous, but there is much that can be learned.
“We’ve learned one thing for sure,” he said. “Comparing scores for the same joke with different animals inserted in it, we found that the funniest animal of all is a duck. So science has determined that, if you’re going to tell a talking-animal joke, make it a duck.”
Good to know. And you thought this whole project was just quackery, didn’t you?
Because of some problems in transmission, there were several errors in yesterday’s account of a symposium held by the Women’s Civic Forum of Rye on the role played by slovenliness in cases of domestic violence. The moderator of the symposium, Laura Murtaugh, is not “a divorced mother of eight.” Mrs. Murtaugh, the president of the board of directors of the Women’s Civic Forum, is married to Ralph W. Murtaugh, Jr., an attorney who practices in Manhattan. The phrase “he was raised with the hogs and he lived like a hog” was read by Mrs. Murtaugh from the trial testimony of an Ohio woman whose defense against a charge of assault was based on her husband’s alleged slovenliness. It did not refer to Mrs. Murtaugh’s own husband. Mr. Murtaugh was raised in New York.
That paragraph is from a humorous article called “Corrections,” reprised in the current New Yorker. It’s by Calvin Trillin, one of my favorite people in the world, out of, like, everybody, ever. It originally appeared in the Feb. 5, 1990 issue. Trillin is still among us, at 88, kinehora.
Here’s another “correction” from that article:
In Sunday’s edition, the account of a wedding that took place the previous day at St. John’s Church in Rye was incorrect in a number of respects. Jane Murtaugh was misidentified in two mentions. She was neither the mother of the bride nor the father of the bride. She was the bride. It was she who was wearing a white silk gown trimmed in tulle. The minister was wearing conventional ministerial robes. Miss Murtaugh should not have been identified on second mention as Mrs. Perkins, since she will retain her name and since Mr. Perkins was not in fact the groom. The number of bridesmaids was incorrectly reported. There were eight bridesmaids, not thirty-eight. Their dresses were blue, not glued. The bridegroom’s name is not Franklin Marshall. His name is Emory Barnswell, and he graduated from Franklin and Marshall College. Mr. Barnswell never attended Emory University, which in any case does not offer a degree in furniture stripping.
I can’t get over this. At 26D in the puzzle today, the clue was “Pained cries” and the answer was OYS. So Jared, who is apparently a moron, comments:
Who on Earth says “OY” when they’re in pain? The only proper usage of “OY” is to get someone’s attention (mainly in the UK or Australia), and in “oy vey.”
What?
Anony Mouse replied on behalf of many of us with: “What do you think OY VEY means?”
Some of you may recall I spent a little time honoring the passing of Joe Dipinto, a much-loved member of the commentariat on Rex’s blog. Today, a link was provided to us for his obituary. Here is some of it, with that sweet photo again:
A high honors student, Joe received at graduation an unprecedented four scholarships to different high schools, the only student to do so, and (along with his brother) enrolled at Regis High School, a Jesuit school in Manhattan that provides a four-year tuition-free education for all students who are admitted. While at Regis Joe sang in the glee club and wrote for the school paper, and was active in dramatics, notably appearing as Sancho Panza in the musical “Man of La Mancha” to rave reviews in his senior year. The summer after his graduation he composed the score for a musical version of “The Little Prince,” co-written, directed and performed by classmates and friends from Regis and other schools.
Joe then attended New York University, graduating with a B.A. in music. While there he continued his interest in acting as well, appearing in campus productions including “The Comedy of Errors.” He also wrote all the band arrangements for the senior year musical production “Anything Goes.”
After graduation, he worked a variety of jobs. He was manager of the jazz record department at Sam Goody Records at Rockefeller Center, which enabled him to begin to amass his large collection of jazz LP’s. Next, he was hired as a solfeggist at ASCAP (American Society for Composers and Publishers), a job which required him to transcribe melodies he heard on radio or TV broadcasts so they could be identified and proper royalties could be paid to the composers. From there he moved into the area of music licensing and publishing. At one point, through his expertise, he single-handedly saved some early Beatles songs which had not been properly copyrighted from falling into public domain in the US. When his company packed up their NY offices to move to California, Joe opted not to relocate for his job and retired, staying in his hometown.
It should be obvious from reading this that Joe was very smart. He was also very sweet, kind, friendly, conscientious, funny, witty and likable – in other words, a truly great person you would want to hang out with. He will be remembered very fondly by the many friends he made. He is survived by myself, his twin brother John, who could not have asked for a better brother. We shared an enviable amount of wonderful times together through the years, and I will love him and miss him always.
Below Joe’s obit, there was room for friends to post comments. The following was posted by Nancy — another venerable member of the commentariat.
“I’m sorry to say that I got to know Joe only virtually — through a crossword puzzle blog that we’ve both been contributors to for quite a long time. But the personalities of the various people in the commentariat tend to shine through over the years, and no one’s shone through more than Joe’s.
“His posts were SO funny. I came to very much look forward to them. His humor could be playful or sardonic or irreverent , but it was always exceptionally good-natured and it always contained the element of surprise. He brought a flair all his own to the blog.
“Joe and I originally bonded over a deliberately silly group writing project entitled ‘The Green Paint Mystery.’ The title, I’m pretty sure, was Joe’s. (For all of you non-crossword-puzzle-types, ‘green paint’ is an inside joke in the puzzle world. It’s where two words are plopped together by the puzzle creator that don’t really belong together. So that while ‘green tea’ is an actual phrase and ‘wet paint’ is an actual phrase, ‘green paint’ isn’t, and thus doesn’t make for an appropriate crossword answer.)
It was Joe’s idea to call our opus — penned in alternating passages by various self-selected members of the blog — ‘The Green Paint Mystery.’ But the funniest thing Joe did was something I never noticed until several years later. I had gone one day — I don’t remember why — to take a look at Joe’s blog profile — the place where people introduce themselves and like to list their favorite books, films, music, etc. Under ‘Favorite Books,’ Joe, with a perfectly straight face, had written the title of only one book. It was ‘The Green Paint Mystery.’
“I will greatly miss Joe’s humor and his irrepressible good nature.”
This poem is called “One Woman.” It’s from today’s Writer’s Almanac and is by Ron Carlson.
Oh, the old love song again and again devotion and desire without end, a woman half dressed somewhere and being admired, or dressed and being admired.
These men go off alone into their rooms and write it down: she was this and she was that. Every man says she’s the woman above all, on a pedestal, though no one says pedestal, that would be crazy, and there’s a thousand of these poems, and by that I mean a million declarations of this singular love of this one of a kind woman, so rare, an absolute phenomenon which many times rivals the moon or the oceans, or the wind in the trees or night or any of the furniture of night or day.
You see what I mean: big unknowable things. What are we to make of it? This: it’s true. Each man is telling the truth. Each woman puts all the other women second. It’s the way. The strap of her gown off her shoulder, and the paradox prevails. These poems are all true. Each woman stands alone in the doorway or on the pedestal in the perfect light.
Welly and I agree! Linda — and Wilma — that one’s for you.
On this date 125 years ago, Alfred Hitchcock was born. Remember The Birds, with Tippi Hedren? It was Hedren’s first role. She was a model when Hitchcock saw her and signed her for the role because she was gorgeous.
Get this: An HBO/BBC TV film, The Girl (2012), depicted Hedren’s experiences on the set of The Birds. She said that Hitchcock was obsessed with her and sexually harassed her. He isolated her from the rest of the crew, had her followed, whispered obscenities to her, had her handwriting analyzed and had a ramp built from his private office directly into her trailer. Diane Baker, her co-star in Marnie, said: “Nothing could have been more horrible for me than to arrive on that movie set and to see her being treated the way she was.”
While filming the attack scene in the attic — which took a week to film — she was placed in a caged room while two men wearing elbow-length protective gloves threw live birds at her. Toward the end of the week, to stop the birds from flying away from her too soon, one leg of each bird was attached by nylon thread to elastic bands sewn inside her clothes. She broke down after a bird cut her lower eyelid, and filming was halted on doctor’s orders.
Sheesh.
At 39D today, the “furry swimmer” was an OTTER. Some commenters shared neat otter facts. They are monogamous and because they sleep on their backs, an otter couple holds hands while they sleep to keep from floating away from each other. Awwwww. Also, they use rocks on their tummies as tools to crack shellfish, and save them for later use. Yup — once you get hold of that perfect rock, you don’t want to lose it.
I’m going to give commenter Andrew the last word today. It’s his birthday (70) and he couldn’t sleep. He said he gets birthday insomnia “even though my family is dead and the only presents I’ll get are things I forgot I ordered on Amazon.”
It was two days and 705 years ago (on August 10, 1519) that Magellan set sail from Seville on his voyage around the globe. Seems like yesterday, I know. There was a discussion of explorers on Seinfeld in one episode. Seinfeld was pretty impressed with Magellan. He thought de Soto was overrated for discovering the Mississippi River. “Like they wouldn’t have found that anyway.”
But Magellan himself never made it all the way around the globe. His fleet stopped off in what are now the Philippine Islands and he became friends with a local chief who was at war with a nearby island. He agreed to assist him in battle — what are friends for? — and was killed. D’oh! He was only 41. His fleet sailed on and arrived back in Seville on Sept. 8, 1522. He started out with five ships and 270 men, but only one ship returned, with 18 aboard.
He had crossed through South America via the Strait of All Saints, which was since renamed the Strait of Magellan, and reached that big ocean thing on the other side. It was Magellan who named it the Pacific Ocean, since it was calmer than the Atlantic. He was the first European to reach it from the east.
The man could grow a beard: I’ll give him that.
In yesterday’s puzzle one commenter took issue with one of the clues as follows. The answer was PACK YOUR BAGELS AND GO, and the clue was “Eviction notice sent to a New York deli owner?” The comment was: “Bagels are served at a bagel shop, not at a Deli. Why you may ask? Because bagels are served with a schmeer (dairy), and you can’t mix dairy with meat, which defines a deli.”
I agree that bagels are sold in bagel shops, but you can’t use the word bagel in the clue if it’s part of the answer. Also, the meat/dairy issue only holds for a kosher deli, and there aren’t that many of them. I think your basic NY deli will have bagels (so they can have lox on the menu). So I think, overall, the clue is defensible.
Let’s see how you do on the medical expense question from my recent tax exam. There were six parts. How much, if anything, can count as a medical expense for tax porpoises? (Answers below) These are all out-of-pocket costs, beyond what insurance covered. All payments were made during the tax year.
(a) Round trip uber-fare to get to and from a doctor’s appointment, $45.
(b) Cost of installing air-conditioning system in home on doctor’s orders for a breathing condition. Cost $8,000. Value of home increased by $1,500. System expected to last 10 years..
(c) Prescription sunglasses, $75. Same glasses without the Rx ($25).
(d) Organic foods eaten on doctor’s orders due to food allergies, $175. (The same foods, non-organic, $120.)
(e) Housekeeper hired for daytime hours to assist invalid. Not an RN. 25% of services are medically-related. Total expense: $1,200.
(f) Cost of 3-day hospital stay: $20,000. If you had to allocate a portion to food/lodging, it would be 10%.
Answers:
(a) $45. Transportation to doc appts are included as medical expenses.
(b) $6,500. Capital expenditures are included to the extent the cost exceeds the increase in value. The life of the item is not relevant. The expense is claimed when paid.
(c) $75. Cost of corrective lenses/glasses are counted fully as med expenses.
(d) $55. Only the excess cost is allowed here. Same with books in braille, if they still exist: can only count the excess cost over regular book’s cost.
(e) $300. Need to allocate cost between med and nonmed functions. If it were an RN, would be fully deductible.
(f) $20,000. Hospital stays count in their entirety. No need to subtract any amount for food/lodging.
Fun, right?
Okay, no further questions. You can get dressed now.
A study in The Onion came up with some surprising results.
Study: Gen Z Having Less Sex Due To Allure Of Leftovers At Home
BLOOMINGTON, IN—A new study released Monday by the Kinsey Institute at Indiana University found that members of Generation Z are having less sex than previous generations due to the allure of leftovers at home. “We found that a large segment of Americans between the ages of 18 and 27 routinely forgo sexual activity because the temptation of the takeout from two nights ago they know is waiting for them in the fridge is simply too hard to overcome,” lead researcher Janice Longhorn said. Four out of five participants stated they would prefer to go home alone to consume cold sesame noodles straight from the container rather than engage in consensual sex with someone they found attractive. “The main priorities for Gen Z seem to have less to do with finding partners for sex and more to do with the second half of the burrito, Reuben, or chana masala they know will be almost as good leftover as it was when it was fresh.
I’ve never seen a Calvin and Hobbes comic strip, but an interesting discussion arose today. In the puzzle, the clue was “Hobbes, vis-à-vis Calvin,” and the answer was IMAGINARY FRIEND. Calvin is a six-year-old boy, and Hobbes is, well, what? To some he’s a stuffed animal tiger. But to Calvin, he’s a living anthropomorphic tiger and they have adventures together. Because of this duality, some commenters quibbled about his being described as an “imaginary friend.”
Commenter Emily Ransom was very helpful on the matter:
“Vis-a-vis Calvin,” Hobbes is very much a pet tiger, not an imaginary friend. Watterson himself was famously ambivalent about whether Hobbes was a figment of Calvin’s imagination or a magic tiger that came to life. His explanation in the introduction to The Complete Calvin and Hobbes is oft quoted by aficionados, and I can’t restrain myself from putting it in here, just to nerd-complain about the clueing of “imaginary friend.”
“The so-called ‘gimmick’ of my strip — the two versions of Hobbes — is sometimes misunderstood. I don’t think of Hobbes as a doll that miraculously comes to life when Calvin’s around. Neither do I think of Hobbes as the product of Calvin’s imagination. Calvin sees Hobbes one way, and everyone else sees Hobbes another way. I show two versions of reality, and each makes complete sense to the participant who sees it. I think that’s how life works. None of us sees the world exactly the same way, and I just draw that literally in the strip. Hobbes is more about the subjective nature of reality than about dolls coming to life.“
Let’s end tonight with a small story of joy. Joy and a sandwich. It’s from yesterday’s Met Diary and is by Kerry Madden-Lunsford.
Dear Diary:
It was 1985, and I was on my first trip to New York. I had driven up from Knoxville with a boy who didn’t like to drive. He was chasing a boy in the city, and I wanted to see the city.
After we arrived, he went his way, and I went mine. I stayed with some actor friends but spent most days alone with a tiny bit of money, trying to soak up everything.
Walking past a deli one day, I saw a sign scrawled on butcher paper: “Free sandwich if you can name Meryl Streep’s first movie.”
I walked inside and approached the man at the counter.
“I know the answer,” I said.
“Oh yeah,” he said. “What is it?”
“It’s ‘Julia,’” I said, speaking quickly. “Meryl Streep’s first movie was ‘Julia’ starring Jane Fonda and Vanessa Redgrave.”
The man looked irritated.
“How’d you know that?” he said. “I can’t believe you knew that. Man. OK, what sandwich do you want?”
“Really?” I said.
“What sandwich — you won. Come on. Hurry it up.”
He pointed to a menu on the wall. I couldn’t believe it. I had won a sandwich, and it was free, and I was broke, and knew Meryl Streep’s first movie.
He made me a great sandwich — chicken salad on rye, maybe? I remember eating it in the spring sunshine, so happy to be out of Knoxville and on the streets of New York.
See you tomorrow!
[Chicken salad? Seriously? Gotta go for the brisket or corned beef. This woman was definitely from out of town.]
I stepped into the elevator at my Upper East Side building. A friendly older neighbor was there carrying a hat and some tchotchkes. He was going to the basement and I was going to the lobby. We exchanged small talk, and I asked him about the hat.
His mood shifted from happy to looking like he was on the verge of tears. The hat had belonged to his wife, he said. She had died some time ago, and he was finally throwing it away.
I could feel his pain. It was a perfectly beautiful hat. I asked if I could have it.
He handed it to me, and I put it on.
“You have the perfect head for it,” he said.
I thanked him, and he smiled again.
There was an unintentional connection in the puzzle yesterday I was happy to bring to the attention of Rex’s commentariat. The clue at 42D was “Gas relief brand” for BEANO. And the clue at 37A was “Out” for OPENLY GAY. Attentive Owl Chatter readers will recall our recent discussion of the late Billy Bean, the second openly gay MLB ballplayer.
I also liked the connection between BEANO and GALE FORCE, at 32A, clued by “Ferocious, as winds.” What’s the difference between a tavern and an elephant passing wind? Well, one’s a bar room, and one’s a barROOM.
If you enjoy making a fool of yourself bawling like a baby in front of strangers in a movie theater, you should go see the Icelandic heartbreaker Touch. We saw it down in Princeton and loved every minute of it. It features an incredibly gorgeous couple, the Japanese Koki, and the Icelandic Pálmi Kormákur Baltasarsson. All the characters and actors are spot on. Koki, 21, as shown below, is Japan’s Ana de Armas.
So far the Gnats are surviving the loss of Lane Thomas (via a trade to Cleveland). Alex Call replaced him in right field and is on a tear (that won’t last, alas), and Jose Tena, whom they acquired from the Guardians (nee Indians) was called up from Rochester and thrown right in at third base last night and looks terrific. Tena got a key single/RBI earlier in the game and then slammed the game winning hit to deep left center in the tenth. He made some good plays at the hot corner too. Has our long search in the wilderness for a decent third baseman since Anthony Rendon left after the 2019 WS win finally ended?
Reliever Derek Law, who pitched two stellar innings for the win, joked after the game that he hugged Tena on the field celebrating the win before he even got to shake his hand and meet him.
Here — you can meet him now too.
Thursday is International Apostrophe Day. It comes as the country, if not the world, is grappling with how to write the possessive form for Harris, Walz, and their families. An article in today’s NYT leaves the impression that whatever the hell you want to do is okay, though it’s good to be consistent. That is, if you are going to write Harris is pulling ahead in the polls, you can either write “Harris’ position” or “Harris’s position” in the polls is improving. (Same with Walz’ or Walz’s.) I’m going to go with Harris’s because that looks more like how you would say it if you were speaking. And for plural, I’m going with Harrises’ and Walzes’.
Let’s take a look at today’s puzzle. Rex is still on vacation, so his friend Eli handled the write-up. For obvious reasons, ALE is a common puzzle answer. So we rely on the cluing to make it lively. Today’s clue was “Stuff served in a horn at a Renaissance faire, perhaps.” Did you know about these old-timey horns? Anyway, Eli handled it beautifully with: Not only am I the kind of nerd who brews his own beer, I’m also the type to go to a Ren Faire and drink ale out of my horn. Then he posted this photo with the caption: “Sorry ladies, I’m married.” (That’s as large as I can make it. If you can enlarge it, you’ll have a better view of that horn he’s holding.)
On Eli’s brewing his own beer: I’m jealous. Sam and Sarah brewed their own for a while (pre-Morris), and won a brewing contest sponsored by a brewery in Detroit. Their winning brew was a porter (dark). The prize was that the brewery brewed a giant batch of it and put it on their menu for a few weeks. I was visiting out there while it was up. It was delicious and a real kick to see it on the menu.
Years ago I toyed with the idea, and visited a brewing supply shop in NYC with a friend who made his own wine with his brother. He described their first batch. “You pour a little into a cup and take a sip. Then, after a few moments, no matter how horrible it tastes, you say ‘It’s not too bad.’”
The puzzle was called “Take The El Train” and it was a simple concept: Just add “el” to phrases, and clue them to make them whacky. So, e.g., for the clue “Advice after one’s rival scores a perfect ten?” the answer was: DON’T GET MAD, GET ELEVEN.” And for the clue “Eviction notice sent to a New York deli owner?” the answer was: PACK YOUR BAGELS AND GO!”
For the clue “Magician’s request” the answer was PICK A CARD. Eli posted this neat shot from The Magicians’ Alliance, from Arrested Development.
Johan Olsen posted the following on the Dull Mens Club: I like peanuts. I eat a small bowl of them most evenings. The problem is the salt. Together with the oil it makes a sticky salty mess on my fingers. Wiping them off on my clothes or the sofa is not an option. Therefore I started eating the nuts with a spoon. This works well! I even introduced the idea to a co-worker. He also liked it. His family did not. They said he was nuts (pun intended).
It generated 183 comments. Here are a few:
Karen Severn asks: Do you have curtains you could wipe them on ?
Kelly Owens (and others) suggested using chopsticks.
Andrew Scicluna says: My wife likes to rest her head on my lap of an evening so I can massage her scalp. Little does she know that I am simultaneously wiping my peanut grease and salt into her hair. Still, she washes her hair most days and I save on napkins. Win Win.
James McKillop asks: Have you heard of soap and water?
Reinier Bruggers says: The pun (intended or otherwise) makes no sense since peanuts are not nuts. [They are legumes.]
Vanessa Ortiz summed things up: man eats nuts with silverware rather than wash hands.
Alex Bear asks: Have you considered eating them with your toes?
Stephanie Fairey, off the topic a bit, shared: I drink tea and coffee with a straw so as not to stain my teeth, and I can drink while not taking my eyes off the road when driving.
Squirrely Hill says: I use my hands!
And Jenny McNeil posted:
That’s more than enough nonsense for the day, no? Let’s close with another picture of Koki. See you tomorrow!
Failing to attain the all-time MLB consecutive loss record after getting so close was apparently the last straw for the White Sox ownership. So Manager Pedro Grifol was fired last night, putting him out of his misery. Here he is in the dugout during a recent loss, praying to Jesus for “just one goddamn fucking relief pitcher who can fucking get one fucking out.” Jesus, however, as everyone knows, is a Yankee fan.
On this date, 170 years ago, Henry David Thoreau published Walden. It was not a hot seller and it took five years for the 2,000 print run to sell. Most of the citizenry were waiting for the movie. His earlier work, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers did worse. One thousand were printed, but only 300 sold, and the rest were returned to HDT. He wrote in his diary: “I have now a library of nearly nine hundred volumes, over seven hundred of which I wrote myself.”
Yeah, try pushing a blog devoted to nonsense, Hank.
This poem made me remember how thrilled my mom was over our Caitlin and how neither my dad nor my brother lived long enough to meet their grandchildren. It’s by Ira Sukrungruang and is called “How To Tell Your Mother There Will Be No Grandkids in Her Future.”
Don’t enter conversations about generations. Use the art of misdirection. Tell her the rain is falling. Tell her today you saw a cardinal, her favorite bird, and it was feeding its young seeds. No. Better not mention the young. Tell her, instead, the garden is coming in thick this spring, and the tulips have multiplied, their buds like hands in prayer. Better yet, tell her about the work crying in your briefcase. Tell her you wish you had three lives: one for work, one for your dreams, and one for her. That one will have as many Siamese warriors as she wants, swinging on a tree as wide as an ocean, its limbs twisting and turning. In that life, they listen, those warriors, for the sound of her voice. They wait for her to emerge from the jeweled temple.
I finished the article on RFK, Jr. in the New Yorker. It’s a compelling read. To say he does not come across well is putting it mildly. Even on his signature issue, vaccines, his work wallows in falsities. His marital infidelities were legion. At some point, Mary Richardson [his wife] became aware of a diary, from 2001, in which Kennedy had logged his sexual conquests. The New York Post obtained the contents of the diary, reporting that “it included dozens of women, with numbers next to their names to indicate sexual acts; ten meant intercourse.” I wonder what, like, three meant, or four. Mary was a bit off too, mentally, and later hung herself.
Kennedy’s son Conor, who is 30 now, formerly dated Taylor Swift. Sure pays to be a Kennedy.
Baseballer Billy Bean died, but it’s not that Billy Beane, with an e, who was played by Brad Pitt in Moneyball and was the groundbreaking GM of Oakland. His obit in the NYT even says that. This Billy Bean was a scrappy hustling outfielder for the Tigers, Dodgers, and Padres, who was the second ballplayer ever to come out as gay, in 1999, after retiring in 1995, because baseball was not ready to accept him. (Glenn Burke was the first.) He worked for MLB as an ambassador for diversity and inclusion and died at age 60 from leukemia. He was handsome and athletic, so he got all the hot girls and even married a “classic beach girl” for several years. But he couldn’t abide living a lie. He is the only player not a pitcher to throw a beanball.
Craig Spot Maldoon Hardie posted this in the Dull Men’s Club: I saved a butterfly from being stuck in the pool, she then wouldn’t leave me alone and landed on my baldy head. I feel pretty now.
Lindsey Bradley came back with:
This was me several years ago in a butterfly garden at the county fair
Headline in The Onion: Iowa State Fair Visitor Gored By 500-Pound Yam.
In the puzzle today, I loved the clue for H BOMB: “What awakens Godzilla from the ocean, informally.”
Rex’s guest blogger informed us that the production team of the most recent Godzilla movie wore matching shoes to the Oscars.
Also in the puzzle, at 6D, “Marvel’s Maximoff” was WANDA. She was played by the beautiful Elizabeth Olsen. Smoky eyes; bedroom hair. We’re on to all of your tricks, Olsen.
We’ll let those smoky eyes close for us tonight. See you tomorrow!
Maya Rudolph will be Kamala on SNL. She has already won an Emmy for doing so. But Steve Martin nixed a role as Walz. Too bad.
After snapping their 21-game losing streak on Tuesday vs Oakland, the White Sox giddily entered the seventh inning last night, ahead 2-0. Oakland, we should note, had a 47-68 record, a dismal 21 games under .500. But Chicago was 28-88, an astounding 60 games under .500. Alas, Oakland came back to win 3-2. Is this the start of a new streak?
Speaking of streaks, did you know that over the course of Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak in 1941 he struck out only 5 times? In all of 1941, he struck out only 13 times. By way of comparison, in 2022, Aaron Judge’s monster year (.311, 62 HR, 131 RBI), he struck out 175 times.
DiMaggio’s streak started on May 15, 1941 and ended on July 17. But get this — over the duration of the streak Ted Williams out-hit Joe D, .412 to .408. After Joe D’s streak ended, he ran off another one for 16 games.
Ever hear of Bill Dahlen? Me neither. In 1894, he hit safely in 70 out of 71 games. First he had a streak of 42. Then, after a hitless game, he had another streak of 28. In that hitless game he went 0 for 6 while his teammates cranked out 17 hits. D’oh! He played for 21 years and had just under 2,500 hits. A case could be made that he should be in the Hall.
Ninety years ago yesterday, James Joyce’s Ulysses was ruled not obscene by the U.S. Court of Appeals. Writing the opinion, John Woolsey stated: “In respect of the recurrent emergence of the theme of sex in the minds of his characters, it must always be remembered that his locale was Celtic and his season Spring.”
I never read it, even though it was assigned in a course I took at Brandeis (albeit Pass/Fail). My plan was to see the movie, but I didn’t even do that. Too fucking lazy to schlep in to Cambridge. The course was a seminar with a well-known prof: Yglesias. He was very good. It was me and maybe seven English-major types. What the hell was I thinking? I still remember some of the discussion on Don Quixote. And I remember there was a pretty girl in the class named Miriam. That’s a lot more than I remember from the rest of my classes. Brown hair and glasses.
Some felt today’s puzzle fell on the easy side. Commenter Rich G. took exception to some folks boasting about how quickly they finished it. He wrote: “It took me 4 minutes but that was because I was busy collecting my Nobel Prize, after bench pressing six hundred pounds.”
At 41A, the clue for COD was: “A carved one hangs in the chamber of the Massachusetts House of Representatives.” Rex’s guest blogger notes: “It’s known as the “Sacred Cod,” and the state Senate does them one better with (and I am not making this up) the Holy Mackerel.” Here’s the cod:
The House originally met in the room the Senate now occupies. And when the House moved, it took its cod with it. The Senate then replaced it with the mackerel. (For you spelling nerds, note that mackerel ends in “el” and not “al.”)
Carola noted the Wisconsin capitol features badgers.
The puzzle also honors LOU Costello today, clued with “He asked Bud ‘Who’s on first?’” There’s a great statue of LC in Paterson, NJ, where he was born. It’s not far from a spectacular waterfall. Phil spent a day out there for us recently and took these shots before he started drinking. Careful on that ledge, Buddy!
At 19A, the clue for WELD was “Fuse by heat.” Boo! I would have gone with Tuesday _______. Yow! — did you know she was married to Pinchas Zuckerman and Dudley Moore? It’s that breeze-in-the-hair effect. Few men can emerge whole.
How many people were disappointed in Austria this week? 200,000. Two Islamic terrorists were arrested for planning to wreak havoc at Taylor Swift’s concerts, so the whole schmear was canceled for safety reasons. Three dates. Jeez Louise, that sucks. In related news, boyfriend Travis announced he’ll be hosting a new TV game show Are You Smarter Than A Celebrity?, an Amazon production starting in the fall.
Meanwhile, Owl Chatter is putting out a warning that a Taylor Swift imposter has been appearing at various venues, posing as TS. Do not be fooled. Do not fall in love with her.
I’m too upset to continue. What is wrong with the world?
I’m generally not a conspiracy theorist, but when the handwriting is on the wall in capital f*cking letters. . . . It hit me today when I was enjoying the break in the heatwave: Global warming is an invention of the Jews!
In my mother’s generation, when the Jews got old, they moved down to Miami Beach for the Florida weather. It’s a schlep — I remember my mother’s move. Well, with global warming the Jews worked it out so the Florida weather moves up to them! You can stay in New York and still go see the revivals of Fiddler.
How are people not seeing this?? Open your eyes! We’ll be getting a Jew in the White House soon! Somebody has to stop them! Santos! — make some calls!
The White Sox won last night, snapping their losing streak at 21, tying Baltimore’s AL record, but falling short of the MLB record of 23 set by the 1961 Philadelphians. There’s some interesting stuff on the 1988 O’s — their 21-loss streak opened the season: their record was 0-21 before they won on April 29th. And, get this — it’s not like they stunk — the opening day roster included Cal Ripken, Jr., Eddie Murray, and Freddie Lynn! Along with the losing streak, their owner died that year. Ouch!
In the puzzle today, at 58A, “Corkscrew-shaped pasta” was FUSILLI. Here’s the famous New Yorker cartoon by Charles Barsotti:
People also trotted out a scene from the classic ASSMAN episode of Seinfeld. Here’s a snippet:
Commenter Joe R. said his favorite pasta is strozzapreti for two reasons. Its shape, of course, and because it means “priest strangler.” I’m not sure I’ve ever downed a priest strangler.
It must be Linda Ronstadt week in the universe, because at 43D “Clothing colloquially” was THREADS. And so we get this: Ms. R belting one out in a sexy little-girl’s outfit. Could you plotz?
“You can’t buy my love with money, ’cause I never was that kind.” We hear ya, girl.
This week’s New Yorker has a story on Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. Here are two things I learned from just the first few pages. When his dad, Bobby Kennedy, was shot (after his victory speech for the California primary): “[RFK, Jr.’s] younger brother David, who was then thirteen, had travelled with his parents and stayed up late in the hotel room to watch his father’s speech; he saw the assassination unfold on live TV. Because of the chaos, it was several hours before anyone thought to check on him. He was discovered, with the television still on, unable to speak.”
And this: “When Sirhan was recommended for parole, in 2021, Ethel and most of her children opposed his release, but Kennedy [RFK, Jr.] and his younger brother Douglas, a Fox News reporter, advocated for it.”
The story is in the issue with this wonderful Roz Chast cover about ice cream:
OMG, I can’t pick a favorite! Amnesia! Microchip Mint! Grandpa’s Tea! Placebo! Here’s what she said about it:
“There are a lot of things I like about ice-cream stores aside from the ice cream itself. I like looking at the different colors and patterns of all the bins. I like comparing cones: wafer flat-bottom or pointy classic? And the names of the flavors: the more preposterous and baroque, the better.”
I’ve never shared a poem from the New Yorker before. They’re all too hard for me. I need simple ones with barns and flowers, maybe a cloud. But I liked this one. It’s called “Italian Lesson” and it’s by Cynthia Zarin.
the boy plays with the wooden horse il ragazzo gioca con il cavallo di legno the seasons change le stagioni cambiano I have never seen a volcano non ho mai visto un vulcano we need wood for the fire abbiamo bisogno di legno per il fuoco the wet wood is not good il legno bagnato non è buono he saw smoke in the sky ha visto fumo nel cielo then it is a volcano allora è un vulcano there is sand in my shoes c’è sabbia nelle mie scarpe the children build sandcastles i bambini costruiscono i castelli di sabbia the clouds were getting darker le nuvole stavano diventando più scure we could see nothing but fog non vedevamo niente a parte la nebbia the fog is a cloud on the ground la nebbia è una nuvola sulla terra the fog doesn’t let us see anything la nebbia non ci lascia vedere nulla there is a flower on the bed c’è un fiore sul letto there is a flower on the table c’è un fiore sul tavolo we are in the forest siamo nella foresta it is dangerous to swim in this lake è pericoloso nuotare in questo lago I have only a small garden ho solo un piccolo giardino we can hear the ocean from here possiamo sentire l’oceano da qua where do you see the moon? dove vedi la luna? she sees the sea lei vede il mare the climate in the mountains is different il clima nelle montagne è diverso it could rain this evening potrebbe piovere stasera the rain follows me everywhere la pioggia mi segue dappertutto he sees the sky lui vede il cielo the region has many rivers la regione ha molti fiumi are you lost? heaven is far from here ti sei perso? il paradiso è lontano da qua which planet are you on? su quale pianeta ti trovi? the sea is not blue today il mare non è azzurro oggi the storm has passed il temporale è passato in autumn the moon is beautiful in autunno la luna è bella the snake waits under the rock il serpente aspetta sotto la roccia the children play in the snow in December i bambini giocano nella neve a dicembre the snow is beautiful la neve è bellissima this morning we go to look at the sunrise questa mattina andiamo a guardare l’alba there wasn’t a cloud in the sky non c’era una nuvola nel cielo the sea, the hills, the little mountains il mare, le colline, le piccole montagne yesterday I went fishing in the river ieri sono andata a pescare nel fiume the sun this evening is not yellow it is orange il sole stasera non è giallo è arancione how many stars do you see? quante stelle vedi?
there are many stars in the universe ci sono molte stelle nell’universo
If you go to the NYer website you can “play” the poem being read, and so hear the Italian. This might get you there:
If you play word association with a Jets fan and say SNELL, the L will still be ringing in the air when Matt gets tossed back at you. Matt Snell was the cannonball of a fullback who rushed the Jets to their only Super Bowl win behind Joe Namath. But it’s Blake Snell who’s in the news today. Not exactly a household name, he did win the Cy Young award last year, his second. And in 2018 he went 21-5 with a 1.89 ERA. Gibsonesque.
He was also the subject of one of the more controversial takeouts when Rays manager Kevin Cash removed him with one out in sixth inning of Game 6 of the 2020 World Series. Snell was on fire but gave up a single and Cash didn’t want him facing Dodger threats Seager and Betts. So he pulled him, LA pounced on the bullpen and won the game and the Series. I was watching and it seemed crazy to me to pull Snell. He was having a game like he had Friday. Which brings us to why we’re talking about him: He tossed a brilliant no-hitter for the Jints against the Reds Friday night. And — amazingly — it was the first time in his 9-year career that he pitched into the ninth inning of a game.
Haeley give your man a big kiss — you don’t pitch a no-hitter every day. Haeley (who bought one too many vowels, it seems to me) and Blake have been dating for two years and have a one-year-old son.
She’s a model. (Better lose that hat, babe.)
The Gnats snapped their 5-game losing streak yesterday, topping Milwaukee 6-4. I watched most of it and noticed the Brewers have a player named Brice Turang. His siblings are named Brianna, Carissa, Cabria, and Bailee. But never mind them, there’s been a rare Jew-sighting! Spencer Horwitz, who played for Israel in the 2023 Baseball World Classic, batted fifth and played 2B for the Blue Jays at Yankee Stadium in two games going 3 for 8 (.375) with three RBI and two runs scored. Mazel Tov Spence! Parents David and Laura back in Maryland are qvelling.
There are other Jewish ballplayers in the majors, but Spence is new to me and is doing well, kinahora. And just look at that shayna punim — what a good boy!
In other baseball news, has anyone been following the White Sox? They won only three games in all of July. They went 3-22 and are currently working on a 20-game losing streak. The longest streak in AL history is 21, by the 1988 Orioles. The longest in MLB history is 23: the 1961 Phils. The Sox play the also-very-bad Athletics in Oakland for three games to go for tying the record. They can break it next Friday at home against the hometown rival Cubs.
Three answers in yesterday’s puzzle were SOBA (the noodle, often confused with UDON in puzzles), IN A STUPOR, and PHO (the Vietnamese soup). Here’s how egs played with them:
After belting down a few Jack Daniels the other night I went to a local noodle shop. Egs: I’ll have some buckwheat noodles. Waiter: SOBA? Egs: A bit tipsy, but not IN A STUPOR. Now just give me the damn noodles or I’ll go to the Vietnamese place. Waiter: It’s always crowded there. You’ll probably find a big PHO queue.
This piece by Estee Pierce is from yesterday’s Met Diary:
Dear Diary:
I was on my way to meet a high school friend for lunch on the Upper West Side and had walked from Midtown through Central Park.
Leaving the park, I hustled in the direction of Amsterdam Avenue. I passed the schoolyard outside the Anderson School on the way. I saw some boys playing volleyball without a net, and I watched their ball fly over the very high chain-link fence and land at my feet.
I looked at my watch. I had three minutes to get to lunch on time. I placed the ball at the base of the fence. A boy of about 13 locked eyes with me from the other side.
“You’re going to have to come out and get this,” I said. I did not trust my throwing skills.
He shook his head calmly.
“Please,” he said. “Just try.”
I tried to lob the ball over the fence but failed to make it even a third of the way to the top.
By now, a medium-size crowd of middle schoolers had gathered to watch. I could not fail my audience.
I looked at the boy again.
“Try again,” he said, crouching into a deep squat with his arms extended. “Like this.”
Using this new technique, I tried again. This time, I was just a few feet shy of the top. The crowd was cheering me on.
I tried once more, this time with more force, and ball went over the fence.
The crowd went wild. I turned and saw an older woman standing nearby who was also cheering.
I waved farewell to my fans and hurried off to lunch. I was about 10 minutes late.
Today’s New Yorker puzzle was by Natan Last, one of my favorite constructors. He wrote a story a while back in which he mentioned he sometimes plays with his last name. It made me envision this scene:
Hi! Who are you?
I’m Natan.
Hi Natan — what’s your last name?
Last.
Yes, what’s your last name?
Last.
Right — that’s what I’m asking — your last name.
Last.
What is it — your last name?
Last.
I’m asking you for your last name, yes.
Last.
Third base!!
This poem from today’s Writer’s Almanac is called “Next Time” and it’s by Joyce Sutphen.
Next Time
I’ll know the names of all of the birds and flowers, and not only that, I’ll tell you the name of the piano player I’m hearing right now on the kitchen radio, but I won’t be in the kitchen,
I’ll be walking a street in New York or London, about to enter a coffee shop where people are reading or working on their laptops. They’ll look up and smile.
Next time I won’t waste my heart on anger; I won’t care about being right. I’ll be willing to be wrong about everything and to concentrate on giving myself away.
Next time, I’ll rush up to people I love, look into their eyes, and kiss them, quick. I’ll give everyone a poem I didn’t write, one specially chosen for that person. They’ll hold it up and see a new world. We’ll sing the morning in,
and I will keep in touch with friends, writing long letters when I wake from a dream where they appear on the Orient Express. “Meet me in Istanbul,” I’ll say, and they will.
An enormous amount of ingenuity and craft goes into the construction of a good puzzle. Yet for most of my puzzling life, I just pounded my way through puzzles, struggling to solve them, and if I succeeded I felt good and moved on. I credit Rex’s blog with making me not move on so fast. To appreciate the craft: the wordplay, the humor, the subtleties. When my kids were little I tried to make them see that words could be like toys — you can play with them: “wordplay.” Puzzles are the playgrounds.
How about this for a great clue/answer yesterday: “Server’s question after a drink order.” Answer: IS PEPSI OKAY?
Here’s Rex on it:
I love that the boldest answer of the day is sitting dead center. “IS PEPSI OK?” feels risky, somehow. It’s so situation-specific, so on the edge of “is this a thing?” I’m glad she pulled the trigger on it, though, ’cause I think it’s great. Like, when I imagine the situation (someone ordering a Coke at a non-Coke-having restaurant), that response from the waitress (or waiter, server, whatever … in my head it’s a waitress) is dead-on. Perfect. Exactly what she would say. And then the customer either says “sure,” or sighs sadly and says “sure,” or else makes a disgusted face and says “god no” and orders a Sprite. Some people are Very particular about Coca-Cola, what can I say? I don’t get it, but I respect it.
Commenter Wanderlust noted the poor fellow, above, is going to be disappointed again, because Sprite is owned by Coke, so they won’t have that either. D’oh!
This dreadful thing was a Super Bowl ad. Shame on you Steve Carell.
This poem by James Baldwin, Untitled, is from The Poetry Foundation.
Lord, when you send the rain think about it, please, a little? Do not get carried away by the sound of falling water, the marvelous light on the falling water. I am beneath that water. It falls with great force and the light Blinds me to the light.
Baldwin was born 100 years ago yesterday in Harlem, the oldest of nine children. Back then, you weren’t allowed to have more than nine children.
Busted flat in Baton Rouge. Who among us doesn’t know that great first line from “Me and Bobby McGee?” If it’s you, you can catch up with this performance by Sheryl Crow and Kris Kristofferson. But it’s not Baton Rouge we’re looking for — it’s SALINAS, from the second verse. The puzzle asked for “John Steinbeck’s hometown.” Amazingly, some little voice in the back of my head said, “I think it’s Salinas.” How the hell I knew that is a complete mystery, but I did.
Kristofferson turned 88 recently and lives in Los Flores Canyon in Malibu CA with his wife of 41 years, Lisa. He has 8 children: 5 with Lisa, 1 from his previous wife, singer Rita Coolidge, and two from his first marriage. He would be allowed one more.
He asked that, when the time comes, his tombstone contain the following lyrics from Leonard Cohen’s “Bird on the Wire.”
Like a bird on the wire Like a drunk in a midnight choir I have tried in my way to be free
Another good clue/answer was: “Testament to human nature?” Ans: I AM NOT A ROBOT.
I was walking somewhere with Owl Chatter friend Norrie many years ago when she bent over to pick up a penny. Now, no one loves finding money on the street more than I do, believe me, but I said to her: “Nor, if it’s just a penny, I let it go. It’s just a penny. Not worth bending over for.” But she said: “No, it’s not the value — pennies are good luck.” Of course, she was right. So my approach to money on the street now is I pick up pennies if they are heads up. Tails up, some say, is bad luck. Don’t need that. I let those go. Nickels and up I pick up either way: that’s real money.
I saved all the good luck pennies I found and brought them to the last class of my no-longer-existent CPA Review program, Park Avenue CPA Review. I explained to the students that I would be passing around a collection of pennies, all of which I personally found “heads up,” and so represented good luck. And I told them each to take one and bring it to the CPA exam with them. They each did so.
One of the young women in the class wrote me an email about a month later to ask me a tax question. I answered it, wished her good luck, and asked when she was taking the exam. She wrote me back a short note with the date and saying that she hoped she was ready. Then, at the end, she wrote: “I have my penny.”
Here’s a story by Matthew Angulo from tomorrow’s Met Diary:
It was summer 2020, and my girlfriend and I had taken to meandering through Park Slope after work as a break from a feeling of claustrophobia from being stuck in our small apartment.
As we strolled down President Street one evening, we passed an older man sitting on a stoop. He stopped us with an inviting “psst.”
I turned back, thinking he might need help with something. But he simply motioned with his cane toward five quarters on the sidewalk. I scooped them up and started to walk over to the man, whom I took to be their owner.
He shook his head and waved his arms gently.
“For laundry,” he said.
I smiled, pocketed the coins and continued along with my girlfriend.
I loved today’s puzzle. It was very hard, but just gettable enough for me that I could get it, after a struggle. My favorite answer spanned the grid. The clue was “Virtually silently, in a classic poem,” and the answer was ON LITTLE CAT FEET. Rex had a guest blogger today, Eli, who included this photo for us:
Even better, for ST TROPEZ, he explained: “I got a little bit of traction on ST. TROPEZ (31A: French resort town) entirely because of personal history. St. Tropez is the setting for the musical La Cage Aux Folles (which is also the basis of the movie The Birdcage), which I acted in after college. Drag performing was a unique experience for a cisgender straight man, but I had a blast. Drag is not a crime.” He then shared this picture of himself, with the caption, “Ever lift a grown man on to your shoulders in 3-inch heels? I have.”
The puzzle today is by Rich Norris, who, commenter Lewis tells us, has constructed 120 Saturday NYT puzzles! No one comes close (second place is 69). Norris is the former editor of the LA Times XWs. Lewis goes on to describe his experience solving the puzzle, which is a good description of why and how many of us enjoy crosswords:
“He [Norris] is as skilled and tricky as ever. This puzzle had a bounty of clues that could beget several or many answers, thus delaying fill-ins without crosses. I love puzzles like this, because when you do get one of those answers correctly, it comes with an ‘Ah!’ and sometimes even an ‘Aha!’
“But it’s a delicate dance, making a puzzle like this, because you need just the right amount of toeholds. Too many, and the puzzle loses its Saturday toughness. Too few, and the puzzle becomes no-fun-frustrating.
“For me, Rich and the editors nailed it. So many times, I went from being stalled, to having an answer ping out in my brain, which led to a mini-splat-fill, followed by another stall. As more filled in, the answering pace quickened, leading to a marvelous crescendo to the finish.
“Just what I want on Saturday.
“This puzzle was never boring. It brought me into the zone where the world disappears except for the box and I’m in that place I love, chipping away and uncovering – ECSTACY.” [Ecstacy, was an answer in the puzzle.]
There was a second great clue/answer that spanned the grid and was very helpful to me when I cracked it. The clue was “Request for details” and the answer was CARE TO ELABORATE? Another winner was “Professional pitcher?” for PIANO TUNER. My favorite might have been “Sticks figure” for YOKEL. Also clever was “Drew using many lines?” for CAREY. (Get it?)
I am going to leave today’s close to Leanne O’Sullivan, whose poem, “Waiting for My Clothes,” is from today’s Writer’s Almanac.
The day the doctors and nurses are having their weekly patient interviews, I sit waiting my turn outside the office, my back to the wall, legs curled up under my chin, playing
with the hem of my white hospital gown. They have taken everything they thought should be taken — my clothes, my books my music, as if being stripped of these
were part of the cure, like removing the sheath from a blade that has slaughtered. They said, Wait a few days, and if you’re good you can have your things back. They’d taken
my journal, my word made flesh, and I think of those doctors knowing me naked holding me by my spine, two fingers under my neck, the way you would hold a baby,
taking my soul from between my ribs and leafing through the pages of my thoughts, as if they were reading my palms, and my name beneath them like a confession,
owning this girl, claiming this world of blackness and lightness and death and birth. It lies in their hands like a life-line, and I feel myself fall open or apart.
They hear my voice as they read and think, Who is this girl that is speaking? I know the end, she tells them. It is the last line, both source and closing.
It is what oceans sing to, how the sun moves, a place for the map-maker to begin. Behind the door, nothing is said. Like dreams, my clothes come out of their boxes.
The Wellington Files 