“Sleeping was her latest discovery”

Moira is one of Isabel’s new friends, the crowd responsible for the poetry chapbooks stuck in the chair cushions.

Katherine Mansfield, “Marriage à la mode” (1921).

Related reading
All OCA Katherine Mansfield posts (Pinboard)

Trump as student

When I hear Donald Trump dodge and lie, I sometimes imagine what it might have been like to have him as a student. Imagine young Trump, having left (flunked out of?) Fordham College, speaking to a professor teaching an econ class at Penn.

“Mr. Trump, I regret to tell you that the paper you gave me is largely plagiarized.”

“The girl who does my typing must have given me the wrong paper. That’s someone else’s paper; she must have put my name on it by mistake.”

“Can you ask her for your paper?”

”I don’t know her name. I don’t know the girl. She does my typing for me. I met her at a party.”

[Taken aback.] “Well, do you have something that you can show me of the work that you did for your paper?”

“That’s all back in New York. I’m leaving this afternoon for the weekend. I can have the paper on your desk on Monday afternoon.”

[Taken aback but remembering, too, how much loot this ne’er-do-well’s family has.] “I suppose that will be all right.”

I should add: this conversation is taking place on a Wednesday.

“Smudged-looking poems”

William’s wife Isabel has a new set of friends. They’re bright young things. When William comes home from work, it’s to a different house.

Katherine Mansfield, “Marriage à la mode” (1921).

I’m reminded of a Glen Baxter cartoon: “‘Another slim volume of modern English poetry!’ shrieked Jacobsen.”

Related reading
All OCA Katherine Mansfield posts (Pinboard)

“Mondays are dark”

I heard this expression for the first time this morning. Obviously, I have not spent enough of my life among show people.

[“Dark”: the theater is closed.]

AI and VDP

It’s dispiriting to see so much AI-generated blather about stuff one loves. Example: this explanation of Van Dyke Parks’s “Dreaming of Paris.” A sample passage:

The lyrics of the song are poetic and thought-provoking, allowing the listener to interpret its meaning in their own unique way. It is a song that invites introspection and reflection, encouraging listeners to delve deeper into their own desires and dreams. Through its enchanting melody and evocative lyrics, “Dreaming of Paris” captures the essence of longing for something beyond the ordinary and the beauty of pursuing one’s passions.

Yeah, sure. I’m reminded of what it’s like to read the work of a student who hasn’t done the reading.

One more:

While Parks has not explicitly mentioned any specific events or experiences that directly influenced “Dreaming of Paris”, it is evident that his love for the city and its rich cultural history played a significant role in shaping the song. It is likely that his personal encounters, observations, and memories of Paris have influenced the lyrical themes and overall ambiance of the song.

The really sad part is that the website presenting this blather embeds a brief video in which VDP talks about the events that underlie the song: the assassination of Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy, a trip to Paris, a second trip to Paris, the Iraq War. Listen: the historical realities are in the song itself.

There’s a name attached to the writing on the website, but I say it’s AI, and I say the hell with it. If I’m wrong, I’ll eat my copy of “Dreaming of Paris” (Bananastan, 2011), even the sleeve by Ed Ruscha, who just did the sleeve for the Beatles’ “Now and Then.”

A related post
Van Dyke Parks, two singles

A waterfront barber

[194 Columbia Street, Brooklyn, c. 1939–1941. From the NYC Municipal Archives Collections. Click for a much larger view.]

It’s Sunday morning, but this scene is not quite Edward Hopper. On or in Early Sunday Morning, the barber shop was closed. Hopper called that painting “almost a literal translation of Seventh Avenue” in Manhattan. This Sunday we’re in the Waterfront District of Brooklyn. I am imagining that it’s a noon-ish weekday (notice the shadow under the sole pedestrian), with most potential customers at work. In addition to the barber and the pedestrian, there’s someone at a window. Look closely.

Why is it the Union Park Barber Shop? No clue. There’s a Union Square Park in Manhattan. Brommer’s Union Park was was a location in the Bronx. Go figure.

Today no. 194 houses an event space, Poppy’s HQ. Things happen there.

[Click for a larger barber.]

Related reading
More photographs from the NYC Municipal Archives (Pinboard)

Today’s Saturday Stumper

Today’s Newsday  Saturday Stumper is by Steve Mossberg, and it is exceedingly difficult. Forty-nine minutes for me, and I missed by one letter, an impossible cross, or what’s known as a Natick, as explained by Rex Parker, who coined the term:

Natick Principle — “If you include a proper noun in your grid that you cannot reasonably expect more than 1/4 of the solving public to have heard of, you must cross that noun with reasonably common words and phrases or very common names.”

I hereby give you 5-D, six letters, “Steamed bun from China,” and 14-A, nine letters, “‘Brain’s Scriptwriter’ per Johns Hopkins.” Those answers may not be proper names, but I think they’re obscure enough to count as a Natick. Though they might signify gaps in my knowledge. Either way, really unfun.

Some more clue-and-answer pairs of note:

6-A, four letters, “Many a golf course.” Misdirection abounds in this puzzle. I like the economy of this example.

6-D, eleven letters, “Japanese restaurant decor.” So obvious once you see it. But does one really see this decor at a Japanese restaurant? I’m not sure I have. Do ramen shops count?

9-D, eight letters, “Swiss Guard weapons.” The Vatican theme continues at 57-A.

11-D, ten letters, “OK to put away.” A clue from the eastern edge that made me think this puzzle was going to be easy.

15-D, five letters, “Make for after-dinner.” Really, really strained.

17-A, ten letters, “Fall plant.” See 6-A.

25-A, thirteen letters, “Professional poker.” Getting the last four letters helped a lot.

39-A, four letters, “How some stovewave is made.” A bit ridic.

40-A, thirteen letters, “Call for caution.” I like the colloquial quality.

41-D, six letters, “Biggest little piggy.” I somehow knew it.

48-A, four letters, “Got rubbed down.” A really strained pairing of clue and answer.

56-A, four letters, “Helen Keller cofounded it.” A fact I happen to know.

57-A, ten letters, “Serving in the Vatican.” I’m surprised that this clue made it in, because the answer is so ridiculously arbitrary. Boo. Hiss.

My favorite in this puzzle: 35-D, eight letters, “Manual art.” Recent experience helped.

No spoilers; the answers are in the comments.

“Now and Then,” the music video

It’s out. This one really got to me, and it made me not miss the song’s middle section, at least for now. Some laughter, many tears.

Epistolary Fritzi

“The secret to having a penpal is to avoid getting bogged down with responding to every small comment they make in their letter. If you do, you’ll just spend the whole letter recapping what they sent you”: in Olivia Jaimes’s Nancy, Aunt Fritzi reads a letter and replies.

Related reading
All OCA Nancy posts (Pinboard)

Crusts and chest hair

Do parents still tell a boy child that eating the crusts will put hair on his chest? According to The Family Circus , they do.

I like the way the Circus is stuck in an unyielding past. Brown paper bags! Cameras on straps! Landlines! Crusts and chest hair!

[Brown paper bags: The kind that you hold in front of you with two hands, not the fancy kind with paper handles. Ideally, there’s a head of celery sticking out from the top of the bag.]