Welly had the best time at his 60th birthday party at the Berkshire Valley Inn in Hancock MA. Everybody sang. Mary gave him a little gift, and we read a special birthday message from Worthy in Michigan. Wilma was thrilled.
To 120, old friend. We love you!
Hey, these are two of Frank Zappa’s kids: Moon Unit and Dweezil. It’s from 1988.
Gorgeous! They are opening for us today because the clue at 39D was “Totally tubular pasta.” The answer was RIGATONI — pasta in little tube shapes, but the use of tubular harkens back to when it was slang for awesome. The term was used in the Valley Girl song Moon Unit and Frank released. Fer shure!
Frank came up with the guitar riff and (14-year-old) Moon supplied much of the content, speaking typical “valley girl” or “Valspeak” phrases she heard at “parties, bar mitzvahs, and the Galleria.” It was Zappa’s only top 40 hit in the U.S.
I saw Frank Zappa perform back in the day in the Central Park summer concert series in the Wollman skating rink. He was excellent: a great guitarist.
A few months after the 40th anniversary of Valley Girl, the following animated version was released by the Zappas. It’s great!
Here’s what egs had to say: If you want to receive an undeserved award for your Broadway play, you might try to RIGATONI.
The theme was prognostication: We had a CRYSTAL BALL, a OUIJA BOARD, TAROT CARDS, and I CHING COINS. [So two mentalists run into each other. One says to the other: You’re fine. How am I?]
On the theme, Rex shared this song by The Beths that was new to me. It’s called “Future Me Hates Me.” The Beths are new to me too, except for the song of theirs we shared just a few days ago (with the bungee jumping). They are my new favorite band of the next ten minutes.
We’ve already discussed the rough welcome Caitlin Clark has received in the WNBA, despite her greatness and popularity. This story appeared in The Onion today:
LAS VEGAS—Following another highly physical game for the rookie point guard, Indiana Fever player Caitlin Clark reportedly brushed off the 23 stab wounds she received from her own teammates on the court Tuesday. “The physicality doesn’t bother me one bit—it’s all part of the game,” the pale and visibly woozy WNBA star said at a postgame news conference during which reporters questioned her reaction to the knife-inflicted injuries suffered at the hands of her fellow Fever players and a pool of blood collected on the floor beneath her chair. “Emotions run high, and every once in a while that’s going to boil over into someone being brutally stabbed on the court multiple times. I really don’t take the coordinated effort to assassinate me personally. If anything, violently taking a shiv to my back, chest, and neck during a breakaway shows how much passion these women have for the game, and I’m lucky to play alongside them.
Here’s a nice shot of Caitlin playing some other sport.
A weird clue/answer was at 34D: “Activities that might require 20-sided dice, for short.” Answer: RPGS, for role playing games. A role playing game is like Dungeons & Dragons, which I know nothing about. I don’t usually hesitate to blather on ridiculously on topics I’m ignorant on, but I’ll limit myself today to showing this neat photo of a 20-sided die. I tried to read up on RPGs but my head kept slamming into the keyboard as I nodded off over and over again.
Wow, it’s quite the day for women sports stars. George! — check the fridge! ALYSSA Thompson popped in! Her clue tells us she is a “U.S. soccer star who made her World Cup debut at 18.” Wow! She’s still only 19.
Alyssa is African-American, Filipino, and Peruvian, but speaks fluent Yiddish at home. (No she doesn’t.) She’s from the LA region in California. She also runs track, like, very fast. George — where’s that cold Fresca for our guest? We’ll be keeping an eye on you, Alyssa — knock ’em dead.
See you tomorrow (maybe?).
Lucille Clifton was born in Depew NY on 6/27/1936, married a Philosophy professor at U. Buffalo, and they had six kids. That’s life! She died in Baltimore in 2010 at age 73. She was the Poet Laureate of Maryland for six years and was a finalist twice for the Pulitzer Prize in poetry. The Poetry Foundation selected a poem of hers today to commemorate the 60th anniversary of the signing of the Civil Rights Act of 1964.
Girls in her family were born with an extra finger on each hand, a genetic trait known as polydactyly. Hers were removed when she was a small child for reasons of superstition and to avoid social stigma. So the expression “to give someone the finger” has a special meaning to her. (No it doesn’t.) [Is there no depth to which I will not descend for a cheap laugh? Apparently not.]
Her poem “jasper texas 1998” is wrenching in the extreme. Its subject is the racial killing of the Black man James Byrd Jr. by three whites in the most brutal and inhuman fashion. They dragged him behind their pickup truck. His head and arm were severed at one point and they deposited his torso in front of a Black church. Two of the killers were the first whites ever to be put to death by Texas for killing a Black man, one in 2011 and the other in 2019. The third is in prison serving a life sentence and is eligible for parole in 2038. Texas passed a hate crimes law as a result of the killing. Then-Gov. George W. Bush opposed it, arguing justice was served in the case so it was not needed. Rick Perry signed it into law.
James Byrd Jr. was married with three children and worked as a vacuum salesman. He was 49 when he was killed. His cousin was Rodney King’s first wife and the mother of King’s daughter Lora. Here’s Clifton’s poem:
i am a man’s head hunched in the road.
i was chosen to speak by the members
of my body. the arm as it pulled away
pointed toward me, the hand opened once
and was gone.
why and why and why
should i call a white man brother?
who is the human in this place,
the thing that is dragged or the dragger?
what does my daughter say?
the sun is a blister overhead.
if i were alive i could not bear it.
the townsfolk sing we shall overcome
while hope bleeds slowly from my mouth
into the dirt that covers us all.
i am done with this dust. i am done.
Cranachan is not just any Scottish dessert: it’s the king of Scottish desserts. Traditionally, it was made after the raspberry harvest. It’s raspberries and cream, with oats and whiskey blended in. It’s an offshoot of crowdie, a popular breakfast in which crowdie cheese is combined with lightly toasted oatmeal, cream, and local honey. A traditional way to serve cranachan is to bring the individual ingredients to the table and have the diners combine them for themselves.
I mention it because it was in the puzzle today in the clue for OATS: “Ingredients in the Scottish dessert cranachan.” That’s a good example of how it’s the cluing that makes a puzzle hard or easy. That’s an impossible clue for OATS. An easy one would be something like “What mares eat.”
The theme was “all signs point to YES.” The word YES was the answer right in the center of the grid and there were eight different types of “signs” with their letters in circles that “pointed” to the center: PLUS, DOLLAR, STAR, NEON, STOP, PEACE, EXIT, and CALL.
This song by Tall Tall Trees is called “A Number of Signs.” Hope you like banjo music as much as I do.
To your heartbeat, I can dance. . .
Here’s ANI DiFranco. She was in the puzzle today. She pronounces it Ah-knee, not Annie, in case it ever comes up.
And there was a great clue/answer at 3D. The clue was “Unleashing emotion in a less-than-attractive way.” Answer: UGLY CRYING.
I was today years old when I learned that Virginia is the state that has the most planes flying over it without landing in it. I guess that’s not too surprising with all the flights in and out of DC. That reminds me: I should check in with the Dull Men’s Club (UK).
Here’s a post by Lewis Cush:
My cousin bought a new lawnmower and is very excited, so much so that he had to send pictures into the family group chat.
Jan Brady asks: Does he realize it needs to go on grass?
I’ve made a few comments to posts in the club, but have not posted anything myself yet. I better get on the stick, whatever that means. Don’t want to be seen as a slacker.
Ever have a bad vacation? We spent a week at the Jersey Shore when the kids were little and it rained every day. Here’s what happened to Ernest Hemingway.
In 1953, Hemingway decided to go on safari in Africa, and he chartered a plane to fly over the countryside. On the first flight, the hydraulic system of the plane wasn’t working well, and they had to make an emergency landing. When they took off again, they almost collided with a flock of birds and crash landed on the shore of the Nile River. Hemingway sprained his shoulder, and his wife broke several ribs. But still, they climbed into another plane for a third flight, and this one crashed almost as soon as it took off. Hemingway fractured his skull, got a concussion, cracked two discs in his spine, and suffered from internal bleeding.
He never fully recovered and began drinking and falling apart. Today is the sad anniversary of his suicide 63 years ago. His wife was still asleep when he killed himself with a shotgun. The noise woke her. She said it sounded like a drawer being shut.
Back to the puzzle for our close. At 9D the clue was “Rogers’ partner in classic Hollywood.” The answer was ASTAIRE, of course. Did you know Ginger Rogers was a guest on Love Boat once? It was during Season 3. They cooked up some reason for her to perform.
We’ll be heading up to the Berkshires on Thursday, for our annual July 4th get-together. May miss a few days of chatter. You’ll live.
Thanks for popping in.
The great Hall of Fame pitcher Fergie Jenkins said he found pitching easy — it was life that was hard. He had his share of tsouris. That certainly applies in the case of Orlando Cepeda too (though he was a slugger, not a pitcher). As we noted yesterday, Orlando passed away last Friday at the age of 86. After Clemente, he was the second Puerto Rican inducted into the Hall of Fame.
Cepeda’s dad, Pedro, was a great ballplayer too. He played shortstop and was known as the Babe Ruth of PR. He might have made it to the major leagues had the color bar not been in effect. Orlando got off to a great start, winning Rookie of the Year honors in 1958 with the Giants in their first year in SF. His first minor league team was Kokomo in the Mississippi-Ohio Valley League. (It’s not the same Kokomo from the Beach Boys song we heard a few days ago. This one’s in Indiana.)
Cepeda was the NL MVP with STL in 1967, the year they beat Boston in the World Series. But he had an even better year in 1961 with the Jints, slamming 46 homers and driving in 142 runs. He turned the tables in 1973 at the age of 35, when he played 142 games for Boston as their DH, hitting .289, with 20 HR and 86 RBI. He retired the following year after a short stint with KC. He was Boston’s first DH, since the position was only initiated for the 1973 season. He hit Boston’s first HR by a DH on April 8, 1973, against the Yankees, with Sparky Lyle pitching.
Things nose-dived for him in retirement. He spent ten months in federal prison for marijuana smuggling from Colombia. Upon his release, his name in PR was sullied. He went 15 years without being voted into Baseball’s Hall of Fame, but gained entry in 1999 via the Veterans Committee. He held various positions in baseball, but got in trouble again in 2007 when he was stopped for speeding and drugs were found in his car.
Happily, his final years were good. Here’s how his obit in the NYT ends:
For all the years he was shunned in Puerto Rico, Cepeda won redemption when he was elected to the Hall of Fame. The Puerto Rican government brought him back for a parade in his honor. It began at the San Juan airport, where he had been arrested 24 years earlier, and passed through Old San Juan along streets lined by crowds.
The Giants retired Cepeda’s No. 30 two weeks before his induction into the Hall of Fame. In September 2008, they honored him with a bronze statue outside their stadium. It stands alongside statues of Mays, McCovey, Juan Marichal and Gaylord Perry.
After all his travails, Cepeda was extremely gratified.
“When things like this happen to you,” he told The San Francisco Chronicle at the unveiling of his statue, “that’s when I say to myself, ‘Orlando, you’re a very lucky person.’”
A major city in Florida was named after him. (No it wasn’t.)
Rest in peace, Cepeda.
Ogden Nash was in the puzzle yesterday and someone shared this poem of his I hadn’t heard before:
Two nudists of Dover
Being purple all over
Were munched by a cow
When mistaken for clover.
I also learned a new take on his famous llama verse:
The one-l lama, He’s a priest.
The two-l llama, He’s a beast.
And I will bet A silk pajama
There isn’t any Three-l lllama.
In certain editions, it is said that Nash added that “some people say a three-l lama is a large conflagration in Boston.” (Get it?)
Next: If called by a panther — don’t anther.
Last, his verse on ketchup:
Shake and shake
the ketchup bottle.
First none’ll come
And then a lot’ll.
Are you ready for it? Here are two videos that are related. The first is Taylor performing “Ready For It” on her ERAS Tour. The second is Simone Biles who used the beat from the song in her floor performance for the Olympic trials. It’s pretty hard-core Taylor. (Turn it up.) And Biles is just not from this planet.
Incredible, ladies — so good to see both of you! Please, take a load off — just push that crap off the couch. George! — bring up some cold Diet Sprites for the girls! And see if there’s any hummus and chips left — Phil may have gone through it before blacking out last night. Do you guys know you’re both “attached” to NFL players? Tay and Travis of course, and Simone’s hubby is Jonathan Owens, a safety for the Bears. They will face each other in a preseason game in KC in August. Are you ready for it?
I visited the Dull Men’s Club (UK) today and found this post (with photos) by Tim Sharman:
In 1978, a girlfriend I had at the time, gave me what I thought at the time, to be one of the dullest postcards ever (top photo). It shows Slough Road in Iver Heath, Bucks. Lately I’ve rediscovered the postcard and realised it’s actually a bit intriguing. For instance, what is that large boat doing in the car park of what was “The Prince of Wales” pub? Notice also the cars including a Morris Minor estate and a Vauxhall Viva. Notice also the neatly clipped hedge next to the shop and the advertising banner for the Slough Express.
I thought I’d check on Street View (my grateful thanks to Google) what the location looks like now( bottom photo). Sadly the photo taken on a dull day in June 2023 shows the pub is now an office, the shops have changed and the hedge and front garden next door have been swept away and replaced by concrete. It’s funny how something which originally seemed dull can over the years become quite interesting!
It has generated 46 comments so far, including, from me: It’s not really all that interesting. [I think that’s considered praise in the club.]
Several folks noted that one of the locations was an Indian restaurant for a while.
My autograph of Orlando Cepeda is an autographed baseball.
See you tomorrow!
Owl Chatter’s trip to Vermont went very well: Good food, good friends, good weather, and a good, fun production of The Mikado at the Unadilla Theater in Marshfield VT (or maybe Calais (pronounced callous, I think), because that’s its mailing address. It’s about 30 minutes from Montpelier, where the pizza at Positive Pie is very good (and the beet and arugula salad). I’m sure you’ve seen The Mikado. Why, if you haven’t, it’s like not knowing what a logarithm is.
When we first saw The Mikado at the Unadilla, the kids were pretty little. It was about 30 years ago, and it was magical. Very funny, wonderful silliness — the script and the songs — utter nonsense, just like we love it. And then, for just a few minutes, the most beautiful young woman took the stage alone and sang an exquisite song with the sweetest voice. Here’s a version of it that I found online.
We stopped in Middlebury for lunch on the way up. The Otter Creek Bakery has excellent baked goods and sandwiches. Here’s a view from the banks of Otter Creek.
Today’s puzzle was a celebration of bad puns. It had twelve theme answers, each of which was a state noted via a bad pun. Here are the simplest: “Jaded miner’s remark?” ORE AGAIN!!?? (Get it? Oregon) “Parent’s encouragement to a budding chef?” WHISK ON, SON “Captain and nine crew members?” TEN ASEA.
The worst was VERGE IN, YEAH?, clued with “Mm-hmm, get a little nearer?” Quite a stretch IMO. Rex thought a better effort would have been a clue for VERGE, ENYA? (the singer). Then he shared this song by her. You know, I must have filled her name in in puzzles a dozen times, but I had no idea what she looked like or sounded like, or even if she was a she. Enya? Now I know.
The second song Rex shared today was based on 101D: “What’s left of the Colosseum.” RUINS. My heart was diving and soaring, with the seabirds flashing by. . .
One thing about taking short trips is you lose touch with the world a bit. For example, we missed the debate. How’d it go?
Phil refused to cover the debate, instead slipping us this old photo of a pretty Jill Biden looking eerily a little like a blonde Julia Louis-Dreyfus. Maybe it’s the bed head.
From today’s poem in The Writer’s Almanac by Ciaran Carson called “The Fetch” I learned what the fetch of a wave is. Carson was born and died in Belfast, the latter on October 6, 2019, three days before his 71st birthday.
I woke. You were lying beside me in the double bed,
prone, your long dark hair fanned out over the downy pillow.
I’d been dreaming we stood on a beach an ocean away
watching the waves purl into their troughs and tumble over.
Knit one, purl two, you said. Something in your voice made me think
of women knitting by the guillotine. Your eyes met mine.
The fetch of a wave is the distance it travels, you said,
from where it is born at sea to where it founders to shore.
I must go back to where it all began. You waded in
thigh-deep, waist-deep, breast-deep, head-deep, until you disappeared.
I lay there and thought how glad I was to find you again.
You stirred in the bed and moaned something. I heard a footfall
on the landing, the rasp of a man’s cough. He put his head
around the door. He had my face. I woke. You were not there.
Let’s dip into the Owl Chatter mailbox and see what you readers are saying. Meg Bordle writes: “Your math department has been quiet for a long time. I like math. What gives?”
Well, you got us there, Bordle. It has been a while. Happily, in today’s puzzle the clue way up at 7D is “Paul ___, Hungarian mathematician with over 1,500 published papers,” and the answer is ERDOS. New to me, duh. I’m used to Euler in the puzzles when it’s math. Anyway, yeah, no mathematician published more papers than Erdős, although the aforementioned Euler published more pages in his roughly 800 papers.
He was Jewish and fled Hungary for the U.S. in 1938. He mostly worked with others — colleagues — more than 500 of them. In fact, Erdős spent most of his career with no permanent home or job. He traveled with everything he owned in two suitcases, and would visit mathematicians he wanted to collaborate with, often unexpectedly, and expect to stay with them, have them feed him, do his laundry, etc. A schnorrer!
[Groucho:
Hooray for Captain Spaulding
The African Explorer!
Did someone call me schnorrer?
Hooray hooray hooray!]
Erdős’s friends developed the concept of an “Erdős number” which measures the closeness of any mathematician to collaboration with Erdős. [Judy, you hear of this?] Say Tom has written an article with Erdős. Tom has an Erdős number of 1 as a direct collaborator. (Erdős himself is zero.) If Sally has not collaborated with Erdős, but has written an article with Tom, she gets an Erdős number of 2 (one greater than Tom’s). Every mathematician thus has an Erdős number equal to 1 greater than the smallest Erdős number of the people the mathematician has collaborated with. Since collaboration with Erdős is a feather in one’s cap, you want an Erdős number as low as possible. Someone who has not collaborated with anyone who has worked with Erdős (i.e., a total loser), is said to have an Erdős number of infinity, or an undefined one.
Of course, your Erdős number only tells part of the story. You can earn an Erdős number of one with only one collaborated article. So we also want to look at how many collaborations there are within the “Erdős One” group. Since you asked, Andras Sarkozy leads that group with 62 collaborations. Outside the field of math, Albert Einstein has an Erdős number of 2. Enrico Fermi, Richard P. Feynman, and Hans A. Bethe are 3s. Milton Friedman is a 3. Amazingly, Hall of Famer Roberto Clemente somehow has an Erdős number of 4. (No he doesn’t.)
Erdős taught himself to read through mathematics texts that his parents left around in their home. By the age of five, given a person’s age, he could calculate in his head how many seconds they had lived. Due to his sisters’ deaths, he had a close relationship with his mother, with the two of them reportedly sharing the same bed until he left for college. I’m guessing he was a blanket hog, like most schnorrers.
Here’s Erdős himself — our big fat zero (Erdős number, that is).
Anybody can find dozens of stories by now of pregnant women denied life-or-death health care by doctors reasonably fearful of prison, or loss of licensure, for violating cruel or sadistically ambiguous anti-abortion laws. So Nicole Miller’s story in the NYT today about her experience in Idaho is really nothing special. But one small piece of it caught our eye.
Nicole was in her 20th week of pregnancy when she started bleeding heavily. Her doctor told her to leave the state for treatment. Incredulous, she said, “You’re not going to help me?” He told her he wasn’t willing to risk his 20-year career. She was rushed to the airport where a small plane was to fly her to Utah. By then, she had lost a liter of blood. In Salt Lake City her treatment went well — a dilation and evacuation, and she’s fine. All of that is par for the course in many states these days — hardly worth noting.
But here’s the part that caught my eye. Doctors at Idaho’s largest hospital system said that six pregnant women had to be airlifted out of state for care in the first four months of the year, compared with only one the previous year. The response of the state’s Republican attorney general, Raul Labrador, was to note that the doctors were not under oath when they provided those numbers. He said “I would hate to think that any hospital is trying to do something like this just to make a political statement.”
So don’t think it, you worthless moron. Do something to help the citizens of your state who voted you into office and are now deprived of basic medical care. Jeez Louise, you have to wonder about anything that makes New Jersey look good.
We’ll give Nicole the last word. She reserved special praise for the (male) nurse who accompanied her in the ambulance to the airport. “He was the first person that day who showed me any kind of compassion.” Yup. It’s always the nurse. (Hi Caity!)
Baseball great Orlando Cepeda passed away at the age of 86 last Friday. He had a tough life in some respects. We’ll take a look at the “Baby Bull” in our next post.
It’s nice to be back! See you tomorrow.
Let’s open with a riddle today: What type of bear is least likely to bump into a tree? Give up? A spectacled bear.
Ever hear of such a bear? Me neither. It was in the XW at 30D today: “Where spectacled bears live.” Answer: ANDES. It’s the only bear native to South America. Facial markings can make it seem like it’s wearing glasses.
Careful, Philly — nice shot!
I posted the following on Rex’s blog: “I expect a spectacled bear would be quite a spectacle. It shouldn’t be confused with spectacled beer — which is beer in glasses.”
Do you remember this classic line from Midnight Cowboy? “Hey! I’m walkin’ here!!” The following clip has the original line from the film, followed by quite a few later applications.
The clue for the puzzle’s “revealer” today was: “Memorable ad-lib in Midnight Cowboy.” And the theme involved three famous people from history who would use that line in particular locations. So, e.g., for Neil Armstrong, the answer was: TRANQUILITY BASE. You are supposed to picture him walking on the moon saying, “Hey, I’m walkin’ here.”
Then there was Dorothy Gale. That’s Dorothy from The W of Oz. Did you know she had a last name, Gale? The answer for her was YELLOW BRICK ROAD. “Hey!” she says to the scarecrow — “I’m walkin’ here!”
The last one was Jesus. For Jesus it was SEA OF GALILEE. Folks found it amusing to picture Jesus walking on water and saying, “Hey, I’m walkin’ here.”
E.g., had to laugh picturing Jesus walking on water when a fishing boat nearly sideswipes him, and he yells out in a Brooklyn accent, “I’M WALKING HERE!”
Joke: A Unitarian watches Jesus walk on water and mutters sneeringly, “Guy claims to be the son of God and he can’t even swim!”
Midnight Cowboy won an Oscar for Best Picture and John Schlesinger for Best Director in 1970, the only X-rated film to win Best Picture. Voight and Hoffman both got nominated for Best Actor but lost out to John Wayne (True Grit). There is some confusion over whether Hoffman’s great line was an ad-lib or not.
Let’s give egs the last word: “Ad libbed line from Best Supporting Actor in The Deer Hunter: ‘I’m Walken here.’ (Christopher Walken won an academy award for this film).”
BTW, this was a nice comment by pabloinnh about W of Oz: Any reference to The Wizard of Oz is aces with me, an all-time favorite. Q: “How can you talk if you don’t have a brain?” A: “I don’t know.” Simple and elegant.
At 49D the clue was “Participate in a crawl, perhaps,” and the answer was BAR HOP. Says egs: I’ve been known to “participate in a crawl” after too much BARHOPping.
At 58A today the clue was “Flattening, informally” and the answer was SMOOSHING.
It led commenter Gary to post:
Has anyone ever smooshed?
By showering in Dijon I’ve douched
I’ve worn my Nikes so I’ve swooshed
In olden times I drove a barouche [type of horse-drawn carriage]
On a minibike I don a tarboosh [fez]
I’m known for being louche [disreputable]
Some say I’m quite farouche [sullen or shy]
But have I ever smooshed?
Has anyone ever smooshed?
When fitting five into a booth
We feel the whoosh of smoosh
Which induced Carola to share: My high school boyfriend failed an English class vocab quiz on Robert and Elizabeth Browning by defining “barouche” as “the sound an elephant makes when it sneezes.”
Calls to mind the old joke: What’s the difference between a tavern and an elephant farting?
One’s a bar room, and one’s a ba-ROOOM!
Gotta give the Pods credit for last night’s very heated victory over the Gnats. I knew that the night before the Padres dealt a devastating blow to DC, overcoming a three-run deficit in the bottom of the tenth. Ouch. But I wasn’t aware that after Jurickson Profar had the game-winning hit, he taunted the Gnats. So when he came out to bat in the bottom of the first last night, Gnats catcher Keibert Ruiz confronted him and the dugouts emptied. No blows were thrown — baseball fights are like dances. (No MLB player would last ten seconds in a hockey rink. Breeds apart.)
Anyway, the umps issued warnings to both teams. The very next pitch to Profar was a ball thrown at him by Mackenzie Gore, but it him in the legs — nowhere near the head, and the ump didn’t deem it enough to toss Gore. The Padre manager, Mike Shildt, came out roaring — incredulous that after the warning and hit batsman on the very first pitch Gore wasn’t thrown out. So the ump threw Shildt out! Gotta love it!
But once passions settled, the battle was to be waged on the field. Pod Manny Machado blasted a two-run homer, thus making his statement: F*ck you, Gnats. But the Gnats roared back with four runs of their own to take the lead. “No! Fuck YOU Pods!” But San Diego came out on top at the end 9-7, with the crushing blow a goddamn grand salami by, you guessed it, J. Profar. A very hard loss.
The time has come to excoriate The New Yorker again for the shabbiest collection of cartoons all of which are the opposite of funny in the July 1, 2024 issue. I’ll go through them one by one. Let’s drop the bar as low as it will go — I dare you to find a single one even mildly amusing.
Page 13, a backyard BBQ scene. The men are standing around a grill near a fence. The neighbor is on the other side of the fence, clearly not invited to the BBQ and he’s glaring at the guy working the grill (the host). One of the guests says to the host: “Don’t let him get to you. I’m sure there are lots of people you didn’t invite.”
You don’t need my comments on how unfunny that is. Res ipsa loquitor: the thing speaks for itself.
Page 17. Edgar Allen Poe is standing in the doorway of a home, looking out at a raven who is standing outside. Poe says: “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I waited weak and weary, Over many a package of goods galore—While I nodded nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As if Amazon gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door—But it’s a stupid bird and nothing more.”
Apparently, the humor is in having Poe open his door for an Amazon delivery and finding a raven. Shall I pause to let you compose yourself?
Page 18. Two people walking on a city street near a parking garage. One says: “The city never fails to excite after two hours of traffic.”
I am not making these up, folks. That is intended to be funny.
Page 25. The next is by Ed Koren, whom I love. (Hi Bob!) It’s a take on Egyptian hieroglyphics. You get the option: Reading time: 4 days; Listen: 7 seconds.
Sorry, Ed. No sale here this time. Love the drawing. But no laughs. I guess it’s a play on how long it would take to decipher the hieroglyphics. Take a look:
Page 26. A boy talking to his parents: He says: “Listen, I know you’re both worried that I haven’t made any friends, but it will really pay off in twenty to twenty-five years, when I’ll be spared from having to attend a wedding every weekend.
OMG, that is so not funny, I wouldn’t know where to begin to flay it. Plus it’s way too long. Gotta be punchy. “Take my wife — please.”
Page 30. In the command room on Star Trek. The hilarious line is: Captain, the shields are down and also the air-conditioning.”
What am I missing? Puh-leeeeze.
Have any of these even come within a long-range missile strike of a weak chuckle? I ask you.
We soldier on.
Page 37. A man crouching in an aisle in Home Depot, talking into his phone. He says: “Yeah, I’ll be a minute. ‘Landslide’ just started playing at Home Depot and now I’m crying in lamps and light bulbs.”
Oy, amirite?
Page 40. This next one is so bad, I’m speechless. Have a look:
Page 44. Five people around a table with laptops or writing pads. Apparently trying to come up with ideas. One says uproariously: “I’m just wondering why you only say ‘no bad ideas’ after my suggestions, Janice!”
Page 49. A play on God as an employee somewhere. He’s at a desk, having taken his glasses off.
The caption says: And, on the seventh day, God rested his eyes. Just for a second. He didn’t nap. That would be so unprofessional. He wouldn’t do that while on the clock. Please don’t fire him.
God-awful.
Page 52. A doctor at his patient’s hospital bed. Apparently the patient is near death because the doctor regales him with: First the good news, Mr. Edmonds: you’re going to get closure.”
As a son and brother of doctors, and the father of a nurse, that one is offensive. I wouldn’t mind offensive, believe me — if it were the slightest bit funny.
This next one on page 54 may be the least horrifying of them. It’s silly. And we like silly at Owl Chatter. Not funny though.
And, finally, on page 62, the always-popular source of great humor — a cookbook cartoon. It’s a cookbook with a picture of a carrot and a cracker on the cover, and its title is “365 Meals of Quiet Resignation.” Quite the thigh-slapper.
That’s it, folks. That’s every single cartoon from the July 1 issue. I rest my case.
That’ll do. We’re off for a night in Albany tomorrow, followed by The Mikado in Vermont Friday night. Vermont Liz is joining us, with dinner in Montpelier before the show. So it’s northward in the morning!
Thanks for popping in!
There were runners on first and third for Detroit last night against Philly and nobody was out. The batter swung, and the ball broke his bat and looped its way back to the pitcher, Aaron Nola, who caught it on a fly. The runner on first had taken off for second on the swing and could not get back in time to avoid getting doubled off. Meanwhile, the runner on third had no idea what the hell was going on and ran home. Harper at first softly tossed the ball over to Bohm at third to nail that runner too. A triple play. Three outs on one play. They are pretty rare in general, but this form of triple play is especially rare. A “1-3-5 triple play:” pitcher to first to third. How rare? It had not happened in a major league game since July 11, 1929.
Now comes the part that I love: a little history. It was the first triple play of the season. It was the first triple play by the Phillies since 2017: a left-fielder, to second, to first triple play. And it was the first triple play by the Phillies involving a pitcher since Aug. 15, 1964. The shortstop in the middle of that play was Ruben Amaro. And his son, Ruben Amaro Jr., was in the ballpark last night broadcasting the game for NBC. Wow.
Take a look.
Sticking with baseball for a moment, I was watching Cleveland playing in Baltimore last night (on TV) and thus got to see this outstanding catch by a fan. Apparently seeking solitude, he was sitting all by himself way over in the upper deck, right-field stands. The batter hit a towering foul ball in his direction. With his phone and a drink in his left hand, he reached over with his right and caught the ball bare-handed. Then he soaked up the accolades.
How fitting that today’s poem from The Writer’s Almanac, by John Updike is called “Baseball.”
It looks easy from a distance,
easy and lazy, even,
until you stand up to the plate
and see the fastball sailing inside,
an inch from your chin,
or circle in the outfield
straining to get a bead
on a small black dot
a city block or more high,
a dark star that could fall
on your head like a leaden meteor.
The grass, the dirt, the deadly hops
between your feet and overeager glove:
football can be learned,
and basketball finessed, but
there is no hiding from baseball
the fact that some are chosen
and some are not—those whose mitts
feel too left-handed,
who are scared at third base
of the pulled line drive,
and at first base are scared
of the shortstop’s wild throw
that stretches you out like a gutted deer.
There is nowhere to hide when the ball’s
spotlight swivels your way,
and the chatter around you falls still,
and the mothers on the sidelines,
your own among them, hold their breaths,
and you whiff on a terrible pitch
or in the infield achieve
something with the ball so
ridiculous you blush for years.
It’s easy to do. Baseball was
invented in America, where beneath
the good cheer and sly jazz the chance
of failure is everybody’s right,
beginning with baseball.
Our wonderful college friend Pennsylvania Nancy (nee Delaware Nancy) has long-time friends we met long ago named Wendy and Simon. And they have a son Seth. I mention this because today’s NYTXW is co-constructed by Seth, along with Crossworld heavy-hitter Jeff Chen. Kudos Seth!!
One of the theme answers is TENNIS BRACELET (“Piece of jewelry consisting of a single line of diamonds”), and I’ll use it to explain the puzzle’s theme.
The central across answer is TWENTY ONE, meaning the card game, also known as Blackjack. To achieve 21, you need a ten, jack, queen, or king, plus an ace. So Seth and Jeff have the four theme answers getting to 21. TENnis brACElet. (See?) The others are QUEEN anne’s lACE, rACEr JACKet, and sucKING fACE (“Sloppily making out, in slang”). Pretty clever, IMO.
BTW, veteran Rex commenter Nancy shared this: “The term ‘tennis bracelet’ dates back to the 1987 U.S. Open when Chris Evert’s diamond bracelet fell off her wrist onto the court. The match paused while she searched for and retrieved the bracelet.”
You can see it on her arm in this shot.
On the non-theme fill, 50A threw many of us. The clue was “Provide, as with an ability,” and the answer was ENDUE. It was a new word for me. “Endow” is the more common form. Rex had a guest blogger today, so we don’t have his take on the puzzle. Seth may have dodged a bullet, but you never know. I think ENDUE might have set him off.
A commenter shared this from Genesis: “And Leah said, God hath endued me with a good dowry; now will my husband dwell with me, because I have born him six sons: and she called his name Zebulun.” Zeb, for short, no doubt.
Hey Nance! — Does Seth have a cat? The clue at 37D was “Tin in a cat owner’s pantry,” and the answer was TUNA CAN. (Meow.)
That RACER JACKET, btw, was clued with “Sleek leather outerwear.” My tax student Yvette was kind enough to model hers for us. (Phil! Just walk away now — leave the students alone!! No! — don’t help her with anything!)
This beautiful post is by Nico Laevers of the Dull Men’s Club (UK), accompanied by the photo, below.
When my then pregnant wife told me we were having a daughter, I feared the day I would be given the task of doing her hair. In my dull mind, this seemed a dreadful task, one which I surely was destined to fail at miserably. However I have made it my personal mission to create the perfect ponytail. It’s not an easy mission for me I must admit. Even to this day it baffles me, the ease with which my wife flings our little girl’s long brown hair into a ponytail, even incorporating a few braids in the process. I think I’m managing quite good though, as when I dropped her off at school the other day, her teacher said to her: “Wooow your hair is looking so pretty, did your mommy do your hair so beautifully?” The pride I felt at that moment, knowing I was the one who did her hair, cannot be described in words. It made me feel like an accomplished father.
She will turn three years old tomorrow, our little girl. Now I absolutely fear the day she will no longer require or want me to do her hair and tell me: “I’m a big girl now daddy, I can do it myself!” But until that day comes, I will strive for that perfect pony tail.
It must have hit a nerve (in a good way), because there were 449 comments, including this one by Teddy Eli:
I’m 27. I promise you, she’ll always want you to do her hair. 
Maybe not in them teen years, but we definitely get nice again around 25.
Alex Lawrence noted: I mean, I want to give you props for the attempt. But there’s a lot of scraggly hair on top. LOL
With all the grumpiness around, it’s good to read something like this. It’s by Les S. More, a commenter on Rex’s blog.
It’s a beautiful sunny morning and I did this one while sitting in my favourite crosswording place, on a bench under a group of spruce trees. The birds were crazy active and noisy and that reminded me that I’ve always wanted to download the Merlin app and identify who’s who in this wonderfully unscripted songfest. So I did. It’s mostly sparrows, robins, chickadees with the occasional towhee. Just as I got the app up and running it picked up a fairly loud croaking from the sky above me and identified it as a Great Blue Heron which soon materialized in the blue sky to the north. What a fantastic sight! What a great way to start the day.
Thanks for stopping in. See you tomorrow!
Estonia is popular in Crossworld since 4 of its 7 letters are vowels. Still, it is noteworthy that it appeared in three separate NYT puzzles last week. Here they are:
WEDNESDAY: What’s opposite Finland on the Gulf of Finland.
SATURDAY: First country to hold elections using internet voting.
SUNDAY: Country that had a nonviolent “singing revolution” in the late 1980s.
Interesting clues, especially that last one. The Estonian Singing Revolution lasted over four years, with various protests and acts of defiance, leading eventually to independence. Take a listen for 2 minutes to what it must have felt like.
And some of you will appreciate this brilliant (IMO) comment on Rex’s blog yesterday:
ESTONIA when you try to be so good
ESTONIA just like they said they would
At 31A today, “Lively get-togethers” was SHINDIGS. Put that together with yesterday’s GREAVES (shin-protecting armor), and you get egs’s quip: I always wear GREAVES to avoid painful SHINDIGS.
This poem, from Today’s Writer’s Almanac, is called “On the Death of a Colleague,” and it’s by Steve Dunn.
She taught theater, so we gathered
in the theater.
We praised her voice, her knowledge,
how good she was
with Godot and just four months later
with Gigi.
She was fifty. The problem in the liver.
Each of us recalled
an incident in which she’d been kind
or witty.
I told about being unable to speak
from my diaphragm
and how she made me lie down, placed her hand
where the failure was
and showed me how to breathe.
But afterwards
I only could do it when I lay down
and that became a joke
between us, and I told it as my offering
to the audience.
I was on stage and I heard myself
wishing to be impressive.
Someone else spoke of her cats
and no one spoke
of her face or the last few parties.
The fact was
I had avoided her for months.
It was a student’s turn to speak, a sophomore,
one of her actors.
She was a drunk, he said, often came to class
reeking.
Sometimes he couldn’t look at her, the blotches,
the awful puffiness.
And yet she was a great teacher,
he loved her,
but thought someone should say
what everyone knew
because she didn’t die by accident.
Everyone was crying. Everyone was crying and it
was almost over now.
The remaining speaker, an historian, said he’d cut
his speech short.
And the Chairman stood up as if by habit,
said something about loss
and thanked us for coming. None of us moved
except some students
to the student who’d spoken, and then others
moved to him, across dividers,
down aisles, to his side of the stage.
For those of you worried about Travis and Tay not getting enough time together these days — relax. They hung out in the puzzle today. TRAVIS appeared as himself at 28A: “Three-time Super Bowl winner Kelce.” And Tay was in the clue for ERAS at 44A: “The ___ Tour (Taylor Swift concert series).” Always good to see you, kids. Eight shows in London — don’t you ever run out of gas, TS?
Ever hear of The Beths? Me neither. But Rex shared this song of theirs since KNEEPAD appeared in the puzzle and it’s called “Knees Deep.” I’m glad he did. Good tune; neat video.
Liam Bancroft, of the Dull Men’s Club (UK), really stepped into it today when he posted: “What’s the most obscure animals found in pub names? Can’t say I’ve ever seen “Monkey” before today.”
I won’t bore you with all 282 responses. I’ll bore you with far fewer. Cow & Telescope; The Moor Cock Inn; The Ferret and Radiator (in Dawlish); Slug & Lettuce; The Rat and Pigeon; Drunken Duck; Butterfly & Pig; The Honest Lawyer (wait, what?); Phoenix & Firkin; Newt & Cucumber; Frog & Nightgown; The Fox and Gynaecologist; The Rampant Badger; Three Pilchers. Enough? Enough. (Pilcher is not an animal, as far as I can tell, but it sounds like one.) And there were quite a few monkeys. This place looks posh.
Two downers in the puzzle today, albeit both in across clues. “Politico Marco” was RUBIO. Yuck. And “Vehicle in a funeral procession” was HEARSE. Thanks for the reminder! Commenter Gary shared this with us:
“Three HEARSE related items: Don’t know if this made the national news, but until a month ago, Colorado’s funeral industry was was completely unregulated and one place had 200 dead people rotting inside a house. Another guy left a dead woman in a hearse behind his rental house for two years. So now the state has decided we oughta have some rules, duh. And finally, to this day, I still wish my car was an old hearse (not a cool Harold and Maude hearse, but a plain ole regular one), but my wife does not have the same sense of humor as I do. She also said I couldn’t ask for a gold tooth when I got my front implant. Boring.”
How’s this for your hearse? Sorry, a hearse.
Starting to look forward to our Saratoga Springs & Middlebury VT trip on Weds. Hope our favorite coffee/bagel place (Uncommon Grounds) has day-old bagels for me. Also looking to load up on Otter Creek and Fiddlehead ales. Good stuff!
(Burp!) See you tomorrow!
It was one of the great ironies in my little world that the host of WNYC’s Morning Show was Steve Post, alav hashalom. He was the quintessential “not a morning person.” If you made the mistake of wishing him “good morning,” he would bite your head off. “The world is falling part. We had Nixon in it. I had to get out of bed at 5 am to get here. What the hell is good about it!!??” A woman who was a guest on the show once automatically said “Good morning,” realized her mistake immediately, and quickly said: “Oh, no! I’m sorry.” Post chuckled.
He was so closely associated with crabbiness that he ran a “crabbiest New Yorker” contest from time to time. Listeners would send in stories nominating crabby people they knew and a winner was selected. Of course, we all knew it was a contest for second place, because he was clearly the crabbiest.
He was acerbically funny. After playing something by Mozart once, he said: “As you know, Mozart was very precocious. He composed that piece as he was being born.” He had to be off the air for a long stretch to fight the stomach cancer that later killed him, and before he came back the promos he ran for his return said “This is Steve Post. Forgotten but not gone.”
Anyway. All of that is just to explain why I am dedicating this paean to morning joy to him. It’s by Anne Sexton and it’s called “Welcome Morning.” It’s from yesterday’s Writer’s Almanac. (Just kidding, Post. We miss you! Go back to sleep.)
There is joy
in all:
in the hair I brush each morning,
in the Cannon towel, newly washed,
that I rub my body with each morning,
in the chapel of eggs I cook
each morning,
in the outcry from the kettle
that heats my coffee
each morning,
in the spoon and the chair
that cry “hello there, Anne”
each morning,
in the godhead of the table
that I set my silver, plate, cup upon
each morning.
All this is God,
right here in my pea-green house
each morning
and I mean,
though often forget,
to give thanks,
to faint down by the kitchen table
in a prayer of rejoicing
as the holy birds at the kitchen window
peck into their marriage of seeds.
So while I think of it,
let me paint a thank-you on my palm
for this God, this laughter of the morning,
lest it go unspoken.
The Joy that isn’t shared, I’ve heard,
dies young.
We’ve gotten some shots back from Phil who’s over in England following Taylor around. Travis, Prince William, and his kids George and Charlotte, popped in on them. Nice shot Philly! Happy Birthday Bill — 42!
The puzzle yesterday worked me over like a rented mule. I could get nothing going for the longest time, and when I finally inched my way through it, I failed at 37D: “Celebrity gossip site.” Answer EONLINE. Just couldn’t see it and the crosses didn’t help enough. Oh, well.
But we had some pleasant ballet exercises along the way. 36D: “Ballet exercises done at a barre.” FRAPPES.
At 51A, “Temporary water provider,” had me thinking of aqueducts and rain dances and who-knows-what. Turned out to be PLANT SITTER.
All in all, 20A was summing up the experience: “Worsening situation from which there is no escape.” DEATH SPIRAL
There was a nice pair at 10A and 18A. One was “Locale named in the Beach Boys’ ‘Kokomo’” (ARUBA), and the other was Emmy winner Uzo (ADUBA).
3D was “Bung, e.g.” No idea. Turns out it’s a STOPPER like in a sink. Some words, your whole life, they just never come up.
Rex rated it Medium and, for a change, loved it. Here he is:
A textbook Saturday, by which I mean something close to a perfect Saturday. Felt very hard, and yet after the typical early flailing, once I got a toehold, I kept making steady progress and never got what you’d call Stuck-stuck. Even places that initially felt intractable eventually opened up once I was able to give them a proper shove, coming at them from a different angle.
He loved DEATH SPIRAL and PLANT SITTER. And his riff on ARUBA is Rex at his best. To wit,
From the gods of cheesy late-80s pop music came a golden life preserver, thrown just for me, a cheesy late-80s pop connoisseur. I cannot believe that, after 35 years, having the lyrics to “Kokomo” permanently embedded in my head finally paid off. But if you know the song then ARUBA is probably the very first thing that popped into your head at 10A: Locale named in the Beach Boys’ “Kokomo.” I would sing the chorus for you, but it has the phrase “come on, pretty mama” in it, and so I just can’t. Too unbecoming. Oh, what the hell. ARUBA, Jamaica, oooh I’m gonna take ya / Bermuda, Bahama, [whispers] comeonprettymama / Key Largo, Montego, baby why don’t we go etc.” My wife and I (and maybe our friend Lena) once made up a version of this chorus, but with central New York cities instead of tropical islands. “Elmira, Owego, don’t forget Oswego / Deposit, and Conklin, come on Oneonta” etc. Try it with the towns in your area! Anyway, how do you not love a corner that’s giving you ARUBA ADUBA (18A: Emmy winner Uzo). Shooby dooby doo.
Now, turn it up, readers!
Have you noticed avocado prices inching up? We don’t make guacamole, but avocados are an important part of our salads. We buy six at a time from Costco. They come rock hard and we wait several days till they are ripe and ready for use. I saw a cartoon once in which a fellow had a time machine and used it to go three or four days into the future to bring a ripe avocado back to the present.
Anyway, a story in today’s NYT explains that the U.S. suspended its inspections of avocados (and mangos, but who cares?) because two U.S. inspectors were assaulted and detained while performing their duties. (They were later released.) Without the inspections, avocados cannot cross over the border. Mexico provides roughly 90% of the avocados we use, so it’s no surprise the halt has caused prices to soar. The two countries are trying to work things out. But criminal cartels are moving into the avocado business, so there are problems.
Avocados are essential in many medical procedures. The first woman, below, needs avocados to see. The second, whose lips are already turning blue, needs them to hear. And I can’t even imagine what will happen to the poor third woman if her supply is cut off. But do these ruthless cartels even care? Seriously.
Derek Jeter’s 100-year-old castle fifty miles north of NYC finally sold after years on the market but for only around $6 million, less than half the $14.25 million original asking price. It has five kitchens (one outdoor), a lagoon, an infinity pool shaped like a baseball diamond, a game room, and turrets. It has six bedrooms and 13 bathrooms.
Jeter was raised in Kalamazoo, MI, and planned to go to UMich had the pros not beckoned. But I only just now learned that he was born in Pequannock Township, NJ. His grandfather, William “Sonny” Connors, was the adopted son of John and Julia Tiedemann, who previously owned the castle/home, and Derek spent summers there as a kid. So it held sentimental as well as monetary value for him.
With his baseball playing days behind him, Jeter married model Hannah Davis (Victoria’s Secret, SI Swimsuit edition, etc.) and they have four kids: three girls, pictured below, and a boy born in May of 2023, who was already offered a $15 million signing bonus by the Dodgers. (No he wasn’t.) That’s him sleeping below, no doubt dreaming of the perfect double-play ball. Awwwwwww.
Rob Taylor of the DMC (UK) says: “Brad Pitt is seen eating in every film he’s done as he sometimes doesn’t get the chance to eat in between takes. So they write it into a scene.”
According to a story in Movieweb, it’s true that Pitt eats a lot in movies. In Troy, his character is seen devouring a giant turkey leg. In Mr. and Mrs. Smith, he consumes a pot roast, an olive stick, pancakes, and a Martini. In The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, he has beef stew; in Fury, some ham and eggs; and in Inglourious Basterds, a baguette. But it’s not because he’s hungry.
Because actors don’t actually eat the food during their takes, there is a specific methodology known as “eat acting.” Some eating scenes may require multiple takes, and for this reason, eating acting is required. It entails the performers biting the food, chewing, and spitting out while the camera is away or a take is wrapped. Interestingly, this is a craft Pitt has perfected. In a story in WAPO, he was called the Laurence Olivier of eating.
When Pitt is “eating” in a scene, it keeps the audience focused on him and makes him more relatable. Here are 23 seconds of Brad Pitt eating.
Hold on a sec. I’m going to go grab a sandwich.
There were some unusual words in the puzzle today. I learned them but they seem useless — perfect!! One was PAWL. It’s a “Mechanical catch,” i.e., a part of one machine that latches on to, or “catches,” part of something else. Another was GREAVES — armor that protects your shins. A post by Anony Mouse said:
I’ve always liked the moment in Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Princess Ida” where Arac can’t remember what shin armor is called:
These things I treat the same
I quite forget their name
They turn one’s legs
To cribbage pegs
Their aid I thus disclaim
…apparently because Gilbert couldn’t think of a good rhyme for “greaves.”
There was also AMBIVERTS. The clue was “They’re comfortable alone or in a crowd.” It’s someone who combines the traits of both introverts and extroverts.
Ted Lasso fans should be pleased to see Jamie TARTT visit the grid, clued as himself (“Ted Lasso footballer Jamie”). George! Get our guest a Diet Sprite! Cheers, Tartt!
See you tomorrow! Thanks for popping by.
I was aware of the term mansplaining before it appeared in the puzzle today. It’s defined as: the explanation of something by a man, typically to a woman, in a manner regarded as condescending or patronizing. It has branched out from men/women to cover a condescending explanation in general.
The term was coined in response to a 2008 essay by Rebecca Solnit (“Men Explain Things To Me”). Here’s the origin story, in her words: The word mansplaining was coined by an anonymous person in response to my 2008 essay and has had a lively time of it ever since. It was a NYT word of the year in 2010, and entered the OED in 2018. People often recount the opening incident in which a man explained a book to me, too busy holding forth to notice that I was its author, as my friend was trying to tell him.
Here’s the essayist, Ms. Solnit. No doubt Phil was mansplaining something to her, which is why she is covering her ears.
At 8D, we had a grid-spanning (15-letter) answer for the clue “Serious situation developing!” The answer was THIS IS NOT A DRILL.
At 54A the clue was “Rare shots” for HOLES IN ONE.
Which led commenter egs to note: I asks Mrs. Egs to grab me something from my shop to put two HOLESINONE of her cupboards for cup hooks. She brings me a hammer, so I MANSPLAINS that THISISNOTADRILL.
At 51A the very good clue “Sign of sluggishness?” was for the answer SLIME TRAIL. Get it? If you’ve ever seen a slug make its way across your tent floor, e.g., you’ll see that it leaves a trail of slime.
Commener kitshef shared: I once dressed up as a slug for Hallowe’en. Trailing out the back was forty feet of plastic wrap to give the appearance of a SLIME TRAIL.
“Roughly half of mice” are DOES. Did you know a female mouse is a doe? A male mouse is a buck, and a baby is a kitten or pinkie.
Sarah Day posted this photo in the Dull Men’s Club (UK) with the note: “Who’s with me?”
Liz Colclough commented: I hate pants and love cheese. It’s like they know me…
Ross Landale: You gouda be kidding.
Paul Ver: Only way.
Jessica Allyn: It’s a thief deterrent key ring. No one will want to steal your keys and risk breaking in to find you there eating cheese with no pants on.
Several comments understood the reference to mean it is the cheese that is not wearing pants. Sarah then posted this picture of cheese wearing pants.
I learned via the comments that “pants” means different things in the US and Britain. What we think of as pants in the US, like a pair of jeans, is called trousers over there. And pants, in Britain, refers to underpants, panties, etc.
Yet another example of crucial information which has eluded you all these years (maybe?), clarified and mansplained by Owl Chatter.
This poem by Louise Erdrich is called “Walking in the Breakdown Lane.” It appeared in today’s Writer’s Almanac.
Wind has stripped
the young plum trees
to a thin howl.
They are planted in squares
to keep the loose dirt from wandering.
Everything around me is crying to be gone.
The fields, the crops humming to be cut and done with.
Walking in the breakdown lane, margin of gravel,
between the cut swaths and the road to Fargo,
I want to stop, to lie down
in standing wheat or standing water.
Behind me thunder mounts as trucks of cattle
roar over, faces pressed to slats for air.
They go on, they go on without me.
They pound, pound and bawl,
until the road closes over them farther on.
This photo of Justin Timberlake appeared on AOL’s newsfeed in connection with the celebrity’s recent DWI arrest. (Burp!) Owl Chatter: Wow — now we know whom to cast for Volodymyr Zelensky when it’s time.
(BTW, VZ — George says he shipped out those 500 rocket launchers you asked for a couple of days ago to your Kyiv address. Make sure the doorman knows to look for them.)
Here’s JT’s wife of ten years, Jessica Biel. We discussed bed head a while back. This is another good example.
They have two sons, Silas and Phineas.
Nick Scotty of the DMC (UK) posted: I’ve decided on trying a few new hobbies and chosen both transcendental meditation and wood turning. Does anyone have any experience on either?
Tim Robinson: No.
Adrian Blount: Try not to combine them would be my advice.
Robert Sinclair: Once asked a bloke if he had any recommendations regarding transcendental meditation. He said he’d think about it and get back to himself.
Wait, what?
And we’ll leave you with that. See you tomorrow.
The Wellington Files 