Rex Parker Does the NYT Crossword Puzzle: November 2024

Constructor: Spencer Leach

Relative difficulty: Easy (like, Tuesday-easy)

THEME: none

Word of the Day: CHARLIE BUCKET (25A: Golden retriever who ends up with a chocolate lab?) —

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory is a 1964 children's novel by British author Roald Dahl. The story features the adventures of young Charlie Bucket inside the chocolate factory of eccentric chocolatier Willy Wonka. [...] Charlie Bucket lives in poverty with his parents and grandparents in a town which is home to a world-famous chocolate factory. One day, Charlie's bedridden Grandpa Joe tells him about Willy Wonka, the factory's eccentric owner, and all of his fantastical candies. Rival chocolatiers sent in spies to steal his recipes, forcing Wonka to close the factory and disappear. He reopened the factory years later, but the gates remain locked, and nobody knows who is providing the factory with its workforce. // The next day, the newspaper announces that Wonka has hidden five Golden Tickets in Wonka Bars; the finders of these tickets will be invited to come and tour the factory. The first four tickets are found by gluttonous Augustus Gloop, spoiled Veruca Salt, compulsive gum-chewer Violet Beauregarde, and television addict Mike Teavee. One day, Charlie buys a Wonka Bar with some money he found in the snow. When he opens it, Charlie discovers that the bar he bought contains the fifth and final ticket. [...] During the tour, the other children besides Charlie give in to their impulses and are ejected from the tour in darkly comical ways [...] With only Charlie remaining, Wonka congratulates him for "winning" the factory. Wonka explains that the whole tour was designed to help him find a worthy heir to his business, and Charlie was the only child whose inherent genuineness passed the test. They ride the Great Glass Elevator and watch the other four children leave the factory before flying to Charlie's house, where Wonka invites the entire Bucket family to come and live with him in the factory. (my emph.) (wikipedia)

• • •

[me, this past Sunday]

I don't time my solves any more, but I sort of wish I'd had the timer on today because I think I would've been close to a record time for a Friday—without actually trying. Here is *everything* that gave me even the slightest hesitation today: CHARLIE BUCKET's last name; MAASAI (only because of the double-A; I learned it as MASAI) (5D: Native East African people); SKIDOOS (just the -DOOS part) (36D: Some snowmobiles); DEB somebody from Nebraska (38A: Nebraska senator Fischer); and BOYO (49D: Australian lad). The end, that's it. Every other answer went in as soon as I read the clue. I worked off of crosses the entire time, never having to jump around, never stopping for more than a few seconds, even at the parts that gave me trouble. I guess you could say this puzzle seemed designed to be an EGO-BOOSTER (54A: "I" lift?), but then again you'd probably say "EGO BOOST," since that's what people actually say. People also actually say "A JOB'S A JOB" (assuming they say that particular phrase at all), not the oddly formal "A JOB IS A JOB." "A JOB IS A JOB" is what some first-gen A.I. would say. Robbie the Robot would say "A JOB IS A JOB" (Forbidden Planet reference there ... for the kids!). Speaking of A.I., here's the result I get from Google's "AI Overview" when I google [ego booster] (please note the part that the A.I. has highlighted ... for my convenience?)

[Never, ever take "AI Overview" for an answer]

I didn't care for this puzzle too much on the whole. The whole thing seemed to exist solely for that elaborate if rickety dog-misdirection clue on CHARLIE BUCKET (it gets a gold star sticker for effort, at any rate) (25A: Golden retriever who ends up with a chocolate lab?) (Charlie is the "Golden (ticket) retriever and the chocolate factory is the "lab" in this scenario). The puzzle's other raison d'être might be the somewhat topical "I VOTED" STICKER—that's not a bad answer, actually, though anything that makes me think about the election any more than I already have to is, at this point, entirely unwelcome (41A: November handout). Make it stop. (I'm well aware that it will stop soon ... or it won't ... *&#$^#@! OK moving on ...). Speaking of stop. Guess what stops this weekend? Daylight Saving Time! If I could drive a stake through the heart of DST (both as a crossword answer and an actual thing), I would. Standard Time forever! DST is some antiquated / pre-industrial / agrarian / Chamber of Commerce baloney. But I digress. The puzzle just didn't do much for me today. Something about the clue on LESBIAN BAR rubbed me the wrong way (13A: Where opposites don't attract?). I get that it's playing on the concept of the "opposite sex," which, OK, but the very concept feels stale, and the clue ends up kind of suggesting that all lesbians are the same? There are certainly lots of lesbian couples where the women do, in fact, seem like "opposites," so ... I dunno, the clue felt harmless, but also clumsy and unfunny, like a joke someone might've told a generation ago, and badly. As opposed to this bit about a LESBIAN BAR from a generation ago, which is timeless:

I guess "I CALL B.S." is original (literally, in the NYTXW, it is—it's a debut). I'd respect the answer more if it went the less bowdlerized route: the fully profane "I call bullshit" just has a nicer ring to it. And it's certainly what people say (people who aren't censoring themselves ... for the kids?). Weirdly, the thing that bugged me most about ICALLBS was that it replicated the "LBS" letter string in the adjacent LBS (4D: Barbell abbr.). That I was bored enough by the answer to notice that ... as I say, weird. I was also oddly bothered by SKEE next to SKIDOOS (both those answers bother me independently, but when they team up, there's some kind of evil synergy afoot). I hate the idea of ONLINE POKER, as I hate all poker content, but the clue there is pretty good (6D: In which computer chips are used?). Not fun to imagine this caricature of an offended diner snapping "SEND IT BACK" to the poor server. The entire SW corner is just a garbage dump of mediocre fill (SISEÑOR, INAROW, INOIL). But I suspect this one will generally go over well with solvers because everyone loves a puzzle they can crush, and man is this puzzle crushable.

[46D: Packed like sardines, often]

Notes and explanations:

30A: Accumulating bowlful while eating edamame (PODS) — I see the image you're going for here but something about "Accumulating bowlful" is so awkward and ungainly that it takes away my appetite.
36A: Eggs-terminates? (SPAYS) — this pun is creepy. Dislike.
40A: Shoes, casually (KICKS) — had the -CKS and briefly (very briefly) considered MOCKS ... I I wasn't happy about it ("That's not how you spell MOCS!"), I just considered it.
50A: "Dress for Less" sloganeer (ROSS) — does every part of the country have a ROSS. We had on in Fresno when I was growing up, but I haven't seen one or even thought of the place much since then. (I was all set to say "we don't have one around here" but looks like one *just* opened on the Vestal Parkway, where the old Circuit City used to be; its Grand Opening was October 13 ... clearly I have no idea how universally known this "sloganeer" is)

28D: Drumming one's fingers, perhaps (BORED) — conventionally, historically, I suppose, but no one gets finger-drummingly bored anymore since everyone has smartphones, and if you are drumming your fingers (as I was, coincidentally, while reviewing this puzzle before blogging), it's probably just excess / nervous energy. Or you're tapping out a tune. I'd say that the gesture bespeaks impatience more than boredom, but I guess those are related feelings.