Naked City Stonewall

Though the television series Naked City ranges all over Manhattan (and beyond), it makes the island feel more like a small town, its locations immediately recognizable. Look, there’s the Park again. And Park Avenue. And Riverside Drive. And The Old Landmark.

Here’s another landmark. Elaine spotted it first: the Stonewall Inn, 53 Christopher Street. The park is Christopher Park. Its fence is at least 130 years old. The Stonewall sign is now gone.

[Varney (Dana Elcar) and Joseph Irma (Paul Richards) talk over their plans. From the Naked City episode “Strike a Statue,” May 16, 1962. Click for a larger view.]

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Designing sardines

“We went against all packaging and labeling norms in this usually traditional industry to appeal to today’s quarantined customer”: Lindsay Megan Silveira of Linsanity Design has designed cans for sardines and other fish with the slogan “Buy Local. Taste Quality.” I would like to see these cans in person, so to speak, but “local” here means India.

Bonus: here’s a close-up of a tuna can, with a pun for good measure.

Thanks, Chris.

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“Valedictory”

From The Washington Post:

It was only Trump’s defiance that prompted Biden to decide to give another valedictory speech.

No, another victory speech. Merriam-Webster tells us that valedictory is

borrowed from New Latin valedictōrius, from Latin valedic-, alternate stem of vale dīcere, valedīcere “to say goodbye” + -tōrius, adjective suffix (originally derivatives of agent nouns ending in -tōr-, -tor).

A valediction is “an act of bidding farewell.”

Odd: the sentence that follows the one I’ve quoted refers to Biden’s “victory speech more than five weeks ago.” Is valedictory an autocorrection error? An attempt at elegant (or inelegant) variation?

"Puppetlike dimensions”

M. Legrandin, snubby snob:

Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way, trans. Lydia Davis (New York: Viking, 2002).

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Sean Malone (1970–2020)

I learned this morning that my friend Sean Malone died last week. Friend, yes, though we never met in person. I was hoping that would happen in Los Angeles, on the other side of the pandemic.

Sean usually shows up in these pages as “Sean at Blackwing Pages” or “Sean at Contrapuntalism.” Sean loved pencils and brought a documentarian’s mind to the history of the Eberhard Faber Blackwing 602 and all things Faber (Faber-Castell and Eberhard Faber). And he lived a life as a brilliant musician. Take a look at his Wikipedia page, which covers his work as a performer and musicologist. His abilities are amply represented at YouTube. No pencils though.

When I taught The Grapes of Wrath, I would sometimes bring a Blackwing, a No. 2 3/8 Mongol, and a Blaisdell Calculator to class and pass them around for students to try out. Those were John Steinbeck’s favorite pencils, as documented . . . somewhere. I made a point of mentioning that the Calculator was a gift from a friend, a pencil aficionado and musician, Sean Malone. “From Cynic?!” a student asked. Worlds joining up, in a wonderful way.

“As documented . . . somewhere”: Sean would know where.

[The source for the brand names: Steinbeck’s “The Art of Fiction” (non-)interview in The Paris Review. Thanks, pencil talk.]

No influence

It has been raining. The narrator’s friend M. Bloch has arrived for lunch, an hour and a half late and covered in mud. But he has nothing to apologize for:

Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way, trans. Lydia Davis (New York: Viking, 2002).

The narrator’s father draws a conclusion about M. Bloch: “He’s an imbecile.”

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Dr. Jill Biden

Joseph Epstein’s complaint in The Wall Street Journal about Jill Biden’s choice of honorific is a strange piece of writing. Epstein touts his own modest academic credentials (“I taught at Northwestern University for 30 years without a doctorate or any advanced degree”) while mocking Biden’s dissertation, bashing doctoral programs generally, and calling out the awarding of honorary doctorates to celebrities (while also letting us know that he has one such degree himself).

What I find most noteworthy about Epstein’s screed is not its condescending misogyny (“Madame First Lady — Mrs. Biden — Jill — kiddo: a bit of advice”) but its failure to consider the ways in which academic honorifics function in and out of academia. Ben Yagoda’s essay “What Should We Call the Professor?”is helpful on these matters:

Forms of academic address are not only intensely personal, but also tied up with far-ranging trends and issues of gender, prestige, and cultural change.

Notice: intensely personal.

My preference was always “Mister” — good enough for my dad and good enough for me, I used to tell students.  Or “Professor” (if you must). My choice, I happily acknowledge, was a form of reverse snobbery on a campus where “Doctor” was endemic (and where first names for profs were never a norm). If I were a woman in academia, I’d probably choose “Professor” and keep students from using “Miss” and “Mrs.” in place of “Ms.” If, like Jill Biden, I had received a doctorate later in life after many years of teaching, I might choose “Doctor.” Whatever the choice, it would be personal. And, like Dr. Biden’s choice, it would be none of Mr. Epstein’s b-i-bizness.

[The link in the first sentence should take you to the full WSJ piece. Fingers crossed.]

Today’s Saturday Stumper

When I saw Stella Zawistowski’s name on today’s Newsday  Saturday Stumper, I thought I was in for it. Zawistowski makes tough puzzles. (Her website: Tough As Nails.) I tried 2-D, seven letters, “Common umbrella holders.” Could be. And it went with 1-A, four letters, “Where many Bedouins live,” and 20-A, three letters, “Kid from/in Brooklyn.” This puzzle turned out to be surprisingly doable.

Some clue-and-answer pairs I especially liked:

8-D, ten letters, “Pineapples’ family.” To my ear, the answer sounds like science-fiction. I don’t know where I know the word from. Not from crosswords though.

12-D, six letters, “Word from the Greek for ‘egg.’” Huh. Or, rather, huh? (See the comments.)

21-D, six letters, “Course with a twist.” I never mind this kind of clue.

26-A, eight letters, “Bard’s players.” I’m not sure I’ve seen the answer in a puzzle before.

28-A, four letters, “Beyond buzzed.” Buzzed has entered my head via PSAs: “Buzzed driving is drunk driving.” Yes, I was thinking overindulgence.

45-A, six letters, “Small part.” Clever.

45-D, five letters, “Brats, for instance.” I had a hunch (correct) about the answer.

50-A, six letters, “Swing-stopping device.” Scotch Tape won’t do.

One clue whose answer I do not understand, 11-A, three letters, “‘2010’ monogram.”

And my favorite clue in this puzzle: 30-A, eleven letters, “‘Walking’ jazz style.” Yes!

No spoilers: the answers are in the comments.

"The rhythm of the seasons and the incidents of daily life“

Sunday, and time for the midday meal, prepared by the family’s cook, Françoise. The family sits at the table, “oppressed by the heat and especially by the meal”:

Marcel Proust, Swann’s Way, trans. Lydia Davis (New York: Viking, 2002).

Françoise’s chocolate custard is still to come.

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“Double-extra whipped cream”

Yow: The Christmas Bow might be the most cloyingly sweet Hallmark holiday movie ever. See post title, straight from my TV.

Also:

“Smells like shortbread in here!”

“Guilty as charged!”

*

Snark aside, I predicted, correctly, a major plot development. Elaine: “Take a Christmas bow.”

*

Also: “I have a bunch of festive-themed dishes!”

*

A second prediction pans out. Elaine: “Take another Christmas bow.”

[The movie’s title is a pun: the bow is the kind you rub with rosin. Elaine, violinist and violist, is watching without snark. Send help.]