Hard-boiled Zippy

[“Pulp Faction.” Zippy, August 7, 2024. Click for a larger view.]

Today’s Zippy channels Raymond Chandler. The source in this panel is a sentence from Farewell, My Lovely (1940): “Even on Central Avenue, not the quietest dressed street in the world, he looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food.” With pipe and glasses, the writer bears an unmistakable resemblance to Chandler.

Related reading
All OCA Zippy posts (Pinboard) : More Zippy Chandler : And still more

Evisceration in Philadelphia

“Make no mistake: violent crime was up under Donald Trump. That’s not even counting the crimes he committed”: in Philadelphia, Governor Tim Walz is eviscerating Donald Trump.

And: “So we’ve got ninety-one days. My God, that’s easy. We’ll sleep when we’re dead.”

Understated or overstated

On MSNBC earlier today, a reporter pointed out that Tim Walz is the first Democratic vice presidential candidate in sixty years without a law degree. “It cannot be understated,” she said.

No, it cannot be overstated, said I. But the more I thought about the phrasing, the more I came to think that it’s inherently, unhelpfully ambiguous. Here’s a post that explains.

Ways out: “it’s important to recognize that,” “it’s not to be overlooked that,” &c.

Still, it helps to bear in mind that in Google’s Ngram Viewer, “it cannot be overstated” far outnumbers “it cannot be understated” in American English, British English, and “English.” And thus it cannot be overstated that “it cannot be understated” will most likely be understood as infelicitous phrasing.

It’s Tim Walz

From The Guardian: “Kamala Harris names Tim Walz, the Minnesota governor, as running mate.”

An excellent choice, making a ticket very much like Obama–Biden in affect.

Our household has been having fun reading the BigDadEnergy stuff at Threads.

30-D, three letters

A clue in this past Saturday’s Newsday Saturday Stumper, 30-D, three letters, “____ king,” made me think of a food from childhood. The answer: ALA, as in Chicken à la King. I’ve always thought of Chicken à la King as a mid-century convenience food, a TV Dinner in a can, but Wikipedia tells me that the dish has a longer and more interesting history.

I found this two-page spread, which jibes with my memory of Chicken à la King — something served with crackers.

[Life, March 18, 1957.]

You can click either image for a larger view. Do click: you won’t be disappointed, though you may become nauseated. It’s always difficult to photograph (and colorize?) food.

The bakery with a thousand windows? Here’s an artist’s rendering. And a tax photograph:

[2902 Thomson Avenue, Long Island City, Queens, c. 1939–1941. From the NYC Municipal Archives Collections. Click for a much larger view.]

Dad, i.m.

My dad, James Leddy, died nine years ago today.

He showed up in a dream — not for the first time — on July 13. He tapped me on my wrist and said “Michael?” It was unmistakably his voice.

My dad appears in many OCA posts. Here’s a post with what I wrote after his death.

Curb your Curb references

On Saturday, iOS Dictation turned stop and chat into Stop & Shop, capitals and ampersand included.

More fun Dictation failures
“The nut free version” : “I mode the front lawn” : “Wrath scholar” : Spelling Glenmorangie : “F--k music” : “A concluding truck for belated pubs” : Edifice and Courson Blatz : Eight ways to spell Derrida : Nine ways to spell boogie-woogie

[To its credit, iOS Dictation and Mac Dictation now get most of these right. But Glemorangie is now Glenn Margie. And Oedipus (edifice ) is now Aus. In iOS, rathskellar is now rats killer, and folk music is still a curse. Neither Dictation service can spell Derrida. My phone didn’t even try. My Mac: da da.]

Something to say

It struck me the other night: “If you’ve got something to say, say it to my face” is utterly antithetical to discourse among academics, among whom implication and innuendo carry the day. Never say it to someone’s face, dear colleague — whisper it around instead.

Louis Armstrong’s house

[34-56 107th Street, Queens, c. 1939–1941. From the NYC Municipal Archives Collections. Click for a much larger view.]

Louis Armstrong was born on August 4, 1901. He and his wife Lucille bought this house in Corona, Queens, in 1943. It was Armstrong’s home for the rest of his life. Here he is on the front steps, after the house had been sided. And here are many more photographs of the exterior and interior.

Today 34-56 is the Louis Armstrong House, whose virtual exhibits are many. One remarkable moment: Armstrong on a 1951 home recording, playing along with the King Oliver Creole Jazz Band’s 1923 recording of “Tears” — featuring Louis Armstrong.

Related reading
All OCA Louis Armstrong posts : More photographs from the NYC Municipal Archives (Pinboard)

Today’s Saturday Stumper

Today’s Newsday  Saturday Stumper is by “Anna Stiga,” Stan Again, Stan Newman, the puzzle’s editor, using an alias that signals an easier Stumper. I began with 16-A, six letters, “Column on sports pages” and began sailing, smoothly. The toughest section of the puzzle: the northwest corner.

Some clue-and-answer pairs of note:

1-A, eight letters, “Daily source of answers for decades.” I was sure that the answer had to be OPERATOR.

1-D, seven letters, “Name at boxing weigh-ins.” For me, a name that recalls the dowdy world.

3-D, seven letters, “Outer space measure.” I was not fooled.

6-D, five letters, “Elder ender.” Made me laugh out loud.

9-D, eleven letters, “Needing a car wash, say.” I can’t imagine anyone using the word with reference to a car. Well, maybe Frasier Crane. But I can’t imagine Frasier Crane saying “car wash.”

14-A, five letters, “His museum displays 10 World Series rings.” I know little about baseball, but I love the idea that this guy gets his own museum.

16-D, seven letters, “Plural from the Latin for ‘pleasing.’” I had no idea.

21-D, eleven letters, “China replacer in ’81.” CORELLE is too short.

28-A, nine letters, “Monthly opening, maybe.” Nicely Stumper-y.

30-D, three letters, “____ king.” I filled in the answer with considerable confidence, but I was still surprised to find it correct.

33-A, four letters, “Sort of inclination.” Sort of, indeed.

46-A, six letters, “Stamp catalog descriptor.” The answer takes me back to childhood.

50-A, eight letters, “Serving with sauerkraut.” See also 37-D, six letters, “50-Across cousin.” This puzzle has food on the brain.

My favorite in this puzzle: 26-D, three letters, “‘What can ____ thee, knight-at-arms’: Keats.” Because Keats.

No spoilers; the answers are in the comments.

*

1:28 p.m.: Oops — now the answers are really in the comments.