Ryan and Brian Do Crosswords

I still have a cold. But I’m a day closer to being done with… well, being done with today’s list of things. Oh, and by the way, I didn’t even try to do Saturday’s puzzle. 1) I had too much to do this weekend. B) I can’t possibly do a Saturday, even if my brain was on fire, and iii) if my brain was on fire, I’d probably not be able to do anything.

Podcast: here. Email: here. Facebook: here.

New York Times – 23:38
Philadelphia Inquirer – 25:42

New York Times: Oops!
constructed by Oliver Hill; edited by Will Shortz

Oliver Hill, the wunderkind who created this puzzle, has made a fine little Sunday game. Scattered throughout the grid are the ten most IMPROPERLY SPELLED words of 1999 (65A). Why 1999? I don’t know.

I’m a good speller. But I’m not a good thinker. Despite the clue for 65-Across being very clear in explaining that the answers to the starred clues would be misspelled, I went on to try and spell some of them correctly. I am a fool.

I had a lot of trouble with the upper left, what with the intersection of two abbreviations (CPUS and UTIL), the simile I can apparently never remember (happy as a CLAM), the fact that I was trying to spell MILLENNIA correctly instead of millennium incorrectly (MILLENIUM), the fact that I had no idea “Away In A Manger” was LUTHERAN, and that as of this morning, there’s a brand new breed of imaginary dogs called PULI. The puli (pictured at right) looks like a mop with a mouth.

Other jam spots: the central R in 99D/113A. CURES/ORRIS was a complete mystery, and still is. Wikipedia says that the article on orris does not contain any references or sources. Clearly, it is a sham, and there is no such thing as orris. It must be juiced from the shed fur of the puli.

Once I entered these fake words into the puzzle, I still needed about two minutes to find my errors. I need to return from the gutter, where apparently I think that 88D. Rare imports, maybe is EROTICA instead of EXOTICA. The across there didn’t help (93A. Gen ___) as I thought I was looking for someone’s name. Gen Rer sounds as believable as GEN XER, until I parsed it properly.

Speaking of parsing, I like that 117A. Attempts, while supposedly HAS A GO AT, can also be read as HAS A GOAT. I think I might start using that phrase as a euphism for trying something. “What? You can’t seem to figure out how to fold a fitted sheet? Well, go have a goat, and come back to me in ten minutes.”

Philadelphia Inquirer: Dressing the Part
constructed by Merl Reagle

I’ve probably said this before, and I’ll say it again. I always enjoy Merl Reagle’s puzzles. He’s crafty, clever, playful — it’s a delight. Today’s offering gives us several standard phrases or titles and tailors part of them, altering the meaning to fit the theme of clothing. (See, I can play along, too!)

I realize now that I’ve neglected to include answers in my posts about puzzles which can solve themselves in the Across Lite software. Of course, I was paying no attention to the throngs of you doing the puzzle on normal paper, and turning to the internet (our electronic oracle) for help. So here are those theme answers:

• 23A. Why I need to hem these pants? : MY CUFF RUNNETH OVER
• 36A. Garment-parts trafficking? : THE SLEEVE TRADE
• 53A. Period film that originated the term costume epic? : QUO BODICE — I have no idea what film he’s punning on. In fact, I didn’t even know this was a theme clue until I looked at the finished grid and saw it geometrically corresponded to another one.
• 55A. Singer who’s always in fashion? : PATTI LAPEL
• 63A. Song about searching for sweaters? : BY THE TIME I GET TO V-NECKS
• 78A. Best place in Idaho to find garment parts? : POCKET ELLO – I had no idea what this was a pun for. Apparently, there’s a town in Idaho called “Pocatello.”
• 84A & 94A. A fashion question that Peter Pan is really tired of hearing? : WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE COLLAR — I haven’t read or seen any version of Peter Pan in at least twenty years (unless you count that movie with Johnny Depp and Kate Winslet), so I’m lost on this meaning. Are there scenes in Peter Pan where people annoy him by asking his favorite color? If there’s any clothing-related thing that I associate with Peter Pan, it’s that he has to find needle and thread to sew his shadow back on… Or maybe Wendy sews it on. I’m so foggy (NyQuil + no interest in Peter Pan are a wonderful recipe for at-home amnesia) I don’t even know what I’m talking about.
• 112A. What a fastener-company employee sees? : BUTTON-HEADS ALL DAY — Also lost on the sense of this. What is the real phrase here?

85-Across summarized this puzzle for me: SOLVABLE. Not the most joyous solve, but under a half hour is fine time for me.

New York Times – 40:17
Los Angeles Times – 27:40
Philadelphia Inquirer – 26:36 (or thereabouts — screwed up the timer, and estimated some time missed… not that it matters to you).

New York Times: How Insulting!
by Cathy Millhauser; edited by Will Shortz

I am supposed to be cleaning my office right now, and instead, I took forty minutes to do a puzzle. I am an idiot. But I was able to do this puzzle with limited help from the outside world. Fun little gimmick here, based on the title, “How Insulting!” — the three letter slang “DIS” appears in all the theme answers, changing them from normal phrases to cute new phrases:

• 22A. Foul weather condition? : [DIS]GUSTING WINDS
• 30A. Some moralizing about getting off a balance beam? : SERMON ON THE [DIS]MOUNT
• 38A. “Do your thing, Jack the Ripper”? : GO [DIS]FIGURE
• 59A. Sophistication of clubs like Sam’s and BJ’s? : [DIS]COUNTER CULTURE — Something doesn’t sit right with this one. Sam’s and BJ’s are known for their discounts, not their discounters. I don’t even know what a discounter is, except maybe a person who applies the savings to my purchase.
• 68A. Concerns of someone who’s choking? : FOOD AND [DIS]LODGING — Again, I’m not wholly satisfied with this answer. I got it very quickly, so that wasn’t the problem. It’s just that the altered phrase doesn’t really feel comfortable on its own, whereas most of the others do. “Food and specifically the dislodging of it” is the sentiment here. But specifically, I don’t think that someone choking is concerned for the food. I choked on a jelly bean last year, and was scared out of my mind. I only thought of the jelly bean after I had coughed it up — and then, only to find out what color and flavor it had been so I could avoid those specific enemies for the remainder of my days.
• 88A. Her Royal Daunter? [DIS]MAY QUEEN — I don’t understand this one at all. What is a May Queen? (I asked Wikipedia, and in case you don’t like to click on links, they told me this [and I paraphrase]: The May Queen is also known as the goddess of spring and the Queen of Elves. She embodies purity and the potential for growth. She personifies the energy of the earth.) Now that I’ve read that… I still don’t know what a “dismay queen” is. A queen who is dismayed? Is daunt a synonym for dismay? I had the answer in place, and doubted it the whole time, until the applet told me it was all okay.
• 96A. Coleslaw-loving children? : CABBAGE [DIS]PATCH KIDS — Okay, sure. To dispatch, though, is to send out or possibly to kill, right? So these children are either sending the cabbage to… the cole slaw factory? Or they are killing the cabbage by either chopping it up (working in the factory) or eating it. Or do we think that they are sending it off to its mortal coil by eating it?
• 111A. Find chewing gum under a desk, perhaps? : DUCK AND [DIS]COVER

The rest of the grid posed a few challenges to me that required some research — crossings for which I knew neither bit of trivia. Do you really care which trivia I knew and didn’t know? Probably not, so I won’t bother.

Los Angeles Times: “Tax Audit: The Musical”
by Nora Pearlstone; edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

If Friday’s New York Sun puzzle (with musical theater themed clues) was up my Shubert alley, this puzzle was a one-night flop. All the theme clues were set up as dialogue in a script, but they were titles of songs sung by pop stars.

Rather than go into what the clues and answers were (you’re solving this in Across Lite, which has the answers built in — you don’t need me for that), I’ll instead discuss how much I hate the kind of musical that this alleges to be. Please note: I don’t hate this puzzle; rather, it was quite delightful. Despite the crossings of imaginary words that you all made up just for this puzzle, like G-SUIT/DIGRAM, ARRAU/OAS, ADENI/DSO — I think it should be a law that you don’t get to cross random acronyms with words or names based in other languages. There’s just no way to figure it out, if you don’t happen to simply know everything in the universe — I had a good time.

No, if this was actually a musical, and the songs were all by different pop artists (The Beatles, Frankie Avalon, Elvis, etc.), it would be what we call a jukebox musical. And a jukebox musical is where someone takes a bunch of songs they like and makes up some convoluted story to attempt to string some characters through a concert of hits. Sometimes, it seems to work (”Movin’ Out” with the songs of Billy Joel or “Mamma Mia” with the songs of ABBA), and often it fails miserably (”All Shook Up,” “Good Vibrations” or “Lennon,” to name a few).

Why does it fail? Because although it seems that hit songs are enough to engage an audience, we are still a culture that likes stories. Right now, we seem to like imaginary stories about famous people (do you think People magazine really has the authoritative answer on why Britney has gone insane?) or imaginary stories about normal people put onto television (Survivor, Dancing With My Mother, Who Wants To Be A Surgeon, etc.). These are engaging because they involve people actually doing things, usually things we can’t (or don’t want to) do. In “Good Vibrations,” it was a bunch of people going to the beach and being in love with each other. So what? Where’s the magic? Where’s the mystery? Where’s the journey that I need a play for, because I can’t do it myself?

[NOTE: My apologies to anyone from "Good Vibrations" who reads this. Feel free to write to me and complain at rbxblog@gmail.com.]

Sigh. Maybe I’ll write a humongous crossword puzzle musical, where the entire grid turns out to be the score or something. And right after that, I’ll file my taxes.

New York Times 46:47
Philadelphia Inquirer 25:35
Boston Globe 20:43

New York Times: Sound Moves
by Daniel C. Bryant; edited by Will Shortz

Hi there… I won’t post much here because tomorrow night, Ryan and I are doing Episode Two of our Blogword Crosscast. In general, today’s puzzle was good, although I tend to feel a little ridiculous saying answers aloud while solving the puzzle. What with the theme answers in this grid being homophones with standard phrases, I found myself speaking aloud far too often. I should save that for the podcast…

Those theme answers are:

• 23A. Tax break for Gumby? : CLAY MAN EXEMPTION
• 35A. Blessing for a shipboard romance? : SEA LOVE APPROVAL
• 56A. Perhaps doesn’t believe witty Rogers? : MAY DOUBT A WILL — Although I got the answer here, I didn’t like the clue. A sentence with no subject? Meh.
• 76A. End-game maneuvers? : KEY PAWN MOVING — Wasn’t satisfied with this answer until the crossings, since “moving” in the answer and “moves” in the puzzle’s title made me question the choice.
• 92A. Excavate in the white cliffs? : MINED OVER MATTER
• 110A. Drab Oriental fabric? : GRAY TOILE OF CHINA — I had “twill” in there for too long, which set me back a good several minutes on that section alone.
• 16D. Sketch sewing-kit stores? : DRAW PIN CENTERS
• 46D. Clown’s parade memoir? : MY LAUGHTER MILE — I kept trying to make this answer have MACY’S in it somewhere, because of the parade part of the clue. Clearly, I have to be more smarter.

Philadelphia Inquirer: Greeks and Romans I’d Like To Meet
by Merl Reagle

Now that work has slowed down a bit, I’ll try and get a few of the other dailies back into my blog. Today’s Philadelphia Inquirer puzzle (which is also apparently running in the Washington Post — they have stopped presenting their own new puzzle each Sunday, sadly) is by Merl Reagle, and in typical fashion, sports a plethora of clever answers in a brain-twisting theme.

Each of the theme clues is the beginning of a statement made to a person — and the person’s name is the answer to the clue. Each name in these cases is a word that seems either rooted in Greek or Latin language origins, or at least sounds like it could be. The only problem I had with this was that while it was all very clever, I don’t think I know enough about Greek and Roman words or etymology to fully appreciate Mr. Reagle’s brilliance. I did this in about half the time it took me to finish the New York Times puzzle today, but it was less satisfying — through no fault of Mr. Reagle’s, of course. I am not smarter enough… The gimmicky answers are:

• 23A. “How’s the divorce going, ACRIMONIOUS?”
• 25A. “My thoughts exactly, TELEPATHY.”
• 32A. “We’re over here, MYOPIA.” — My personal favorite of the bunch.
• 37A. “How’s life in the fast lane, FABULOUS?” — My least favorite. How do “fast” and “fabulous” go together?
• 56A. “You’re getting warmer, HUMIDITIES.”
• 58A. “What are you up to now, NEFARIOUS?”
• 68A. “How’s the new diet coming, GASEOUS?”
• 71A. “Going to the party, RAUCOUS?”
• 75A. “Tough day, ARDUOUS?”
• 90A. “Interesting flavor… What’s your secret, CORIANDER?” — Here, I’m a little confused. Is the receiver of the statement intended to be named “Coriander,” or are we implying (with the statement) that the secret ingredient that makes the “interesting flavor” is “coriander”?
• 92A. “How’s the water, AMPHIBIOUS?”
• 104A. “Nice flower shirt, ANEMONES.”
• 111A. “You don’t look so good, NAUSEA.”
• 121A. “How’d the sit-in go, ARRESTEES?”
• 124A. “Unctuous, I’d like you to meet my friend, HYPOCRISIES.”

This theme reminds me of when theater composer Maury Yeston told me that he always wanted to write something in which there were a fleet of servant characters — maids, butlers, etc. — and have them all be named after diseases. Lines in the show could then be, “Could you prepare my bath, Clamidia?” and “Go answer the door, Ricketts.”

Boston Globe: Mother’s Helper
by Emily Cox and Henry Rathvon

Just wrapping up the day with my last Sunday offering. This was an absolute delight, and I’m coming to enjoy the Cox/Rathvon puzzles immensely. Perhaps they have a collection published? Perhaps they’re on Facebook? I don’t know. The theme here at first seemed to be German in nature, as the first two gimmick answers I got were 23A. Frank companion (SAUERKRAUT) and 110A. Hamburg homemakers (HAUSFRAUEN) — and I thought maybe it was some kind of twisted connection to the puzzle’s title, “Mother’s Helper.” And while GERMANY fit at 50D. This puzzle’s theme, I was sure that it wasn’t right. No way. What I quickly discovered was a much cleverer choice on the part of Ms. Cox and Mr. Rathvon, which was AU PAIRS. What fun!

• 25A. Author of the “New York Trilogy” : PAUL AUSTER
• 36A. Anthropologist who founded structuralism : CLAUDE LEVI STRAUSS
• 65A. High part of Canada : LAURENTIAN PLATEAU
• 89A. Wine from Gamay grapes : BEAU JOLAIS NOUVEAU
• 108A. New York lake and colony : CHAUTAUQUA

Great fun. Thank you for a delightful puzzle!

Watch this space tomorrow for a new podcast!

New York Times 20:44
Boston Globe 31:30
Philadelphia Inquirer 19:12

I have spent most of today working on crossword puzzle designs of my own, and I’m currently stuck in the lower right of my own grid, unable to find a 10-letter word to sit atop one of my 15-letter theme answers. I’ve taken breaks from this task to attack the Sunday dailies that are on their way to the internet.

New York Times: Mixed Feelings
by Paula Gamache; edited by Will Shortz

I had a similar reaction to that of JimH, which was that the gimmick to this puzzle only really became apparent after everything was finished. About halfway through solving, I recognized that the circled letters in each answer could be anagrammed into a “feeling.” Having solved the Boston Globe puzzle earlier in the day (although it is featured lower down in this blog), and having played too many games of Scrabulous on Facebook, I have anagramming permanently etched into my brain. Don’t get me wrong — I’m not that good at it. But I still think in scrambled letters sometimes.
The solving of this puzzle went very quickly, although I did get stuck in a couple spots — twice due to mis-typing (or, as I caught myself once, typing too quickly for the Firefox applet to understand), and twice due to incorrect letters. I haven’t timed myself on too many Sunday puzzles, but this one is my best (Sunday) time so far.

There were a handful of sports clues on here, which made me wonder for a moment if there was a tie-in to the baseball season getting underway. (Incidentally, I will be at Yankee Stadium for opening day. I’ll be the tall one brining my own turkey sandwich into the park.) 6D. Elite athlete is an ALL-STAR; 93A. Big shot after making a big shot, maybe: Abbr. is the MVP, even if a “big shot” refers (most likely) to basketball; of course 30A. Wearer of uniform #37, retired by both the Yankees and the Mets is the inimitable CASEY STENGEL (I would have survived that clue with either the #37 or the Yankees/Mets thing, but didn’t need both); 118A. Bats, balls, gloves, etc. would be SPORTS EQUIPMENT (and specifically baseball); and I even wondered if part of the compound answer for 50A. Some business attire (PIN-STRIPED SUIT) might refer to the Yankees’ home uniforms.

I had a little trouble at the bottom in the middle, as I put the complete incorrect answer of ROME in for 123A. Capital of Italy (this clue deserved a question mark, as the answer was EURO). Combine this with my inability to be aware of things I had never learned with regards to 113A. K.G.B. predecessor (O.G.P.U., as it turns out, which might as well mean Old Guys Poop Ugliness, for all I know), and a I had a lot of problems in this area.

Elsewhere on the grid, I didn’t even see a few clues until I was complete, having done enough consecutive downs to not need the across, or vice verse. Good puzzle, and I did it quickly, which made me feel more smarter.

Boston Globe: Car Wrecks
by Henry Hook

I enjoyed this puzzle until the end, when I was stuck at a crossing for which I simply didn’t know either answer, and had no choice but to guess and guess until Across Lite gave me the happy pen. The troublesome square was between 38A. Maffia of “Nip/Tuck” (ROMA, at left) and 39D. Brit’s raincoat (MAC). Having neither seen a single episode of “Nip/Tuck” nor worn a raincoat in England, I had no idea what went there… Lots of things looked possible: RONA/NAC, RODA/DAC, ROXA/XAC (sure, why not?)… Oh well.

The theme was enjoyable, even if some of the answers were unfamiliar to me. I actually remembered to check the puzzle’s title (”Car Wrecks”), and immediately discovered the game. Theme clues were listed in all capital letters and were awkward anagrams of car make and model names. The first one that jumped out was 13D. OAK IN STORE (KIA SORENTO). After that, I was able to first place in the manufacturer’s names of most cars, and then used the downs to find the models. The theme answers:

• 19A. CHEVROLET AVEO
• 23A. HYUNDAI SONATA
• 44A. LOTUS ELISE (never heard of this one, so it is pictured at right.)
• 53A. BUICK ENCLAVE
• 56A. TOYOTA SIENNA (I fought with this for a while; I was sure that 47D. Miso soup ingredient was SOY [not UDO], and couldn’t find a car make that put the Y in the fourth slot)
• 77D. HONDA PILOT
• 88A. FORD FREESTAR (for some reason, I insisted to myself that it was FORD FORESTER, which satisfied all the downs I had found up to that point — although it obviously didn’t satisfy all the available letters)
• 91A. NISSAN XTERRA (tricky, with “XTerra” not being a real word — nice try, Boston Globe!)
• 97A. MINI COOPER
• 121A. ISUZU ASCENDER
• 127A. CHRYSLER ASPEN

A few other clues held me up for a bit. 57D. Supplements, with “out” only looked like EKES because most any clue that is ___, with “out” is going to be EKES. Since I think of eking out something as just barely getting it, the implication is that there was none of “it” to begin with, so what exactly are we supplementing here? The crossing with 67A. Disordered left me stumped, as I didn’t know that definition of PIED.

Philadelphia Inquirer: Oh, It’s You Again
by Merl Reagle
I’m fairly new to the crossword scene, but I already like Merl Reagle’s puzzles (as well as his general dry wit, evident in both the 2008 ACPT and in the movie Wordplay). This one had a very simple theme, once I discovered it. Each long answer had the string OU twice. I’d love insight into the puzzle’s title, though — wouldn’t it make more sense to either include only the letter U or the word YOU twice in each answer? Why OU?

Nonetheless, it was a fun solve, and passed the time nicely between me placing my dinner order with Top China over the phone and the order finally arriving (which, as I type this, has not yet happened… Where are you, Top China?).

And now, you can stop holding your collective breath. Dinner is long since over, the wife and I have watched two movies, and I can finally present you with the answers to the theme clues:

• 18A. Dolby, DTS or Sony option (SURROUND SOUND)
• 22A. Mental bloc? (ENCOUNTER GROUP)
• 38A. Survival-skills organization (OUTWARD BOUND)
• 49A. Legendary Los Angeles nightspot (THE TROUBADOUR)
• 66A. Words of regret (COULDA, SHOULDA, WOULDA)
• 89A. Rural relative (COUNTRY COUSIN)
• 96A. Words of rejection in a famous Seinfeld episode (NO SOUP FOR YOU!)
• 119A. The Skipper’s plan, on paper (A THREE-HOUR TOUR) — On paper? On sheet music paper, maybe. “A three-hour tour” is known as lyrics from the theme song…
• 123A. Disappear intentionally (GO UNDERGROUND) — This was the cleverest of the answers in that the first OU pair was split up. Nicely done, Mr. Reagle.

And that will be all for the night…