Relative difficulty: Challenging (by the clock ... 3:38, my third-slowest Monday of the timed era)
THEME: THE PLOT THICKENS (37A: "Now things are getting interesting" ... or a hint to the first words of 17-, 24-, 45- and 57-Across) — first words are DIRT ... and then foliage starts growing, leading to GRASS, then BUSH, and finally JUNGLE:
Theme answers:
DIRT CHEAP (17A: Extremely inexpensive)
GRASS ROOTS (24A: Bottom-up, as a political movement)
BUSH LEAGUE (45A: Amateurish)
JUNGLE GYM (57A: Bars that kids go to?)
Word of the Day: MT. IDA (31D: Sacred peak in Greek myth: Abbr.) —
Mount Ida, known variously as Idha, Ídhi, Idi, Ita and now Psiloritis (Greek: Ψηλορείτης, "high mountain"), at 2,456 m (8,057 feet), is the highest mountain on Crete. Located in the Rethymno regional unit, it was sacred to the GreekTitanessRhea, and on its slopes lies one of the caves, Idaion Antron, in which, according to legend, Zeus was born. Its summit (Timios Stavros) has the highest topographic prominence in Greece. A natural park which includes Mt. Ida is a member of UNESCO's Global Geoparks Network. (wikipedia)
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HELLO, SYNDICATION SOLVERS! (i.e. the majority of my readership—those of you who are reading this on Monday, January 14). It's early January and that means it's time for my annual pitch for financial contributions to the blog, during which I ask regular readers to consider what the blog is worth to them on an annual basis and give accordingly. As you know, I write this blog every. Single. Day. OK, two days a month I pay young people to write it, but every other day, all me. OK sometimes I take vacations and generous friends of mine sit in, but otherwise, I'm a non-stop blogging machine. Seriously, it's a lot of work. It's at least as much work as my day job, and unlike my day job, the hours *kinda* suck—I typically solve and write between 10pm and midnight, or in the early hours of the morning, so that the blog can be up and ready for solvers to read with their breakfast or on the train or in a forest or wherever it is you people enjoy the internet. I have no major expenses, just my time. As I've said before, I have no interest in "monetizing" the blog in any way beyond simply asking for money once a year. I hate ads in real life, so why would I subject you all to them. I actually considered redesigning the site earlier this year, making it slicker or fancier somehow. I even got the process partly underway, but then when I let slip that I was considering it, feedback was brisk and clear: don't change. Turns out people don't really want whistles and bells. Just the plain, internet-retro style of a blogger blog. So that's what you're getting. No amount of technical tinkering is gonna change the blog, which is essentially just my voice. My ridiculous opinionated voice yelling at you, cheerfully and angrily, about how much I love / hate crosswords. I hope that this site has made you laugh or taught you things or given you a feeling of shared joy, or anger, or failure, or even given you someone to yell at. I'm fine with that. I also hope I've introduced some of you to the Wider World of Crosswords, beyond the NYT. I am passionate about puzzles and I (mostly) adore the people who solve them—so many of my friends, and the thousands of you I've never met. I can't stop, and I won't stop, and I hope you find that effort worth supporting.
Some people refuse to pay for what they can get for free. Others just don't have money to spare. All are welcome to read the blog—the site will always be open and free. But if you are able to express your appreciation monetarily, here are two options. First, a Paypal button (which you can also find in the blog sidebar):
Second, a mailing address:
Rex Parker c/o Michael Sharp
54 Matthews St
Binghamton, NY 13905
All Paypal contributions will be gratefully acknowledged by email. All snail mail contributions (I. Love. Snail mail!) will be gratefully acknowledged with hand-written postcards. This year's cards are illustrations from "Alice in Wonderland"—all kinds of illustrations from throughout the book's publication history. Who will get the coveted, crosswordesey "EATME!" card!? Someone, I'm sure. You, I hope. Please note: I don't keep a "mailing list" and don't share my contributor info with anyone. And if you give by snail mail and (for some reason) don't want a thank-you card, just say NO CARD. As ever, I'm so grateful for your readership and support.
Now on to the puzzle!
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Well, the concept is pretty original, I think. It's clever, anyway, though I don't think the progression is terribly logical. I'm not sure in what sense BUSH is being used. Like, shrubbery, or the Australian BUSH, i.e. just ... the wilderness. Actually, Australian BUSH has no vegetation specifications, so that can't be right here. But shrubbery ... doesn't seem like a step between GRASS and JUNGLE. And JUNGLE .... would that ever, ever grow on a "plot," which implies property ownership, development, etc.? It's all pretty loose and wonky, conceptually. I can see how you'd want to make THE PLOT THICKENS into a revealer, seeing as how it's a tidy 15 letters and all. But this progression feels off. Also off was the forms of the long Downs. CARPOOLER. WENT ROGUE. Both fine, acceptable answers, but with -ERing and past-tensing, just tweaked enough to be trouble, especially CARPOOLER, which weirdly vexed me. I had trouble all over the east and (especially) south, where GLUEY (???) (49D: Sticky) was GOOEY (an actual word one might use) and UANDI(50D: We, on a candy heart) was ... well, nothing, really, because what kind of stupid clue is that. The whole point of writing on a candy heart is that you're using cutesy abbrevs., which, admittedly, "U" is, but ... "We" is a mere two letter, whereas UANDI is five, why on god's increasingly green earth would you use UANDI where u could use WE?!!??! This makes no sense. Also making no sense. TEATS / TAO. I'll give you five seconds to get rid of TEATS: go. Seriously, go! (I just hate the word TEATS (22D: Milk dispensers) ... all other words referring to nipples or breasts, I have no problem with; bring 'em on. But TEATS ... TEATS is my "moist"; it just makes me wince a little; totally OK if you have to use it, but if you don't have to ... I would prefer not) (I think I especially hate the clue here ... conflating a beverage dispenser at a buffet with the mammary glands of animals just seems ugh)
Five things:
53A: Texas city seen in many westerns (LAREDO) — Not very iconic for me. Also, this answer went through GLUEY and UANDI, so oof
44A: Bub (BUSTER) — ??? [Boxer Douglas] or [Silent film star Keaton] woulda been helpfuler
33D: Equipment often transported on a car's roof (SKIS) — literally *anything* more specific than "equipment" woulda been nice here
8D: Informal affirmative (YEP) — Is it YEP. YUP, it's YEP. [Affirmative in 53-Across] might've worked here
33A: Pop a fly? (SWAT) — really thought the "?" here meant that "fly" was going to refer to the pants part. I was imagining busting zippers or buttons or whatever.
Signed, Rex Parker, King of CrossWorld
P.S. I had LANAI before KAUAI, which is what happens when you get a generic [One of the Hawaiian islands] clue and the letters you already have in place are just the -AI :(
I have to remember never, ever, ever to solve Saturday puzzles in the a.m. Never ever. The difference between night-solving and first-thing-in-the-morning solving is noticeable for all days of the week, but on Saturday it can get hilarious, and today was one of those days. I had a Challenging time. The whole center was just blank for what felt like ever. Even the corners, which I could tell were pretty easy, were kinda fighting me. I mean, 1A: Husky relatives—I shoulda dropped AKITAS in there without hesitation. I love dogs, know dog breeds, solve crosswords regularly. Shoulda been a piece of cake. Instead I just stared at it and wrote in the "S" at the end. Then SAD, which was fitting (6D: Bummed). And that was just the opening gambit. My feelings about the puzzle are completely colored by the ridiculousness of the solve, the power of my brain fog, the annoyance at a giant chunk of white space in the middle of my puzzle. Stunt puzzles ("oooh, look at my white space!") bug me on a good day, and today was not a good day. That said, the center held up pretty well, ultimately, though BELEM (?) (25D: Brazilian city at the mouth of the Amazon) next to FENSTER (?) (21D: Window: Ger.) can go to hell. Get those to come out to less obscure foreignisms, and you've got yourself kind of a great middle. Cluing wasn't so great, as nobody is signing his letter FRATERNALLY; even as a 19th-century conceit, that clue seems stupid (18D: Letter closing from one brother to another). Also, thanks for spoiling the magic trick for me, jackass (31A: Where the magician hides the rabbit). Actually, I hate "magic" and don't care. I was more annoyed at myself for writing in TABLE BOTTOM (see BELEM and FENSTER being of No help here).
Cross-reference clues are never pleasant, but at least LONGS / FOR was a pair of successive Acrosses. That, I can tolerate. Part 2 in the NE and part 1 in the damn SW, no. NO TELL / MOTEL is such a great answer, the pleasure of which was gutted by my having to leave my section (NE) to go figure it out (54A: With 19-Across, spot for a tryst). No one ever uses [Girth] for anything but thickness / fatness / largeness, so I wrote in plain old SIZE, but didn't like it. I teach Arthurian literature and still balked at AVALON (1D: Place of eternal happiness). I *am* shy but still wrote in ASIDE (??) for ALOOF (44D: How shy people may stand). I think I meant APART. ALOOF implies snobbery, which is infuriating. Shy people are not talking to you because mixing with strangers is somewhat-to-very uncomfortable, not because they look down on you.
Grateful to Bobby SEALE and Eve ENSLER and Myrna LOY today for slapping my face and being like "hey, buddy, snap to it." Oh, speaking of, I had SNAP! at 20A: Response to a burn or a pun (OUCH). So it was flailing and missing all around. And yet people were posting personal record times on Twitter, so I know my experience was not typical.
Signed, Rex Parker, King of CrossWorld
P.S. "Despot" "exile" "1979" four letters long—that's four different elements that screamed, well, something other than AMIN.
P.P.S. Is MOONIE not a slur? (51A: Certain religious proselytizer, informally). 'Cause it sounds slurry.
The concept here is clever, and I'd say 60% of these themers land (that is, if you count both TAUTOLOGY entries—if not, then half, I guess). A WILD GOOSE CHASE is the obvious winner of the bunch: a perfect 15, right down the center of the grid, delivering a genuinely amusing aha moment. TAUTOLOGY x 2, also cute. Clue on AMBIGUITY just seems wrong. Putting "??" in there doesn't make things AMBIGUOUS; it makes them downright indeterminable. Unknown. AMBIGUITY implies that you have some basis for understanding, but things remain unclear. "??" gives us nothing. Nothing is not AMBIGUITY. Nothing is nothing. And RECURSION ... I'm sure that's an accurate use of that word, and I understand the basic concept at play, but RECURSION was a rough word to come up with. I had the adjective RECURSIVE in there at first, because that's a word I've actually seen. I think I know the noun as "recursiveness." RECURSION is maybe a math thing (?). Anyway, that whole corner was rough for me because I just couldn't come up with the right word. Plus the SAFARI clue had forced ambiguity with the inclusion of that "the" (9D: What you might see the big game on), so of course I wanted some kind of TV ... and then my quartet had a VIOLA at first (12D: Quartet member). So no joy in RECURSION-ville. But TAUT TAUT GOOSE was good. Ditch the others, and you're in business.
["COUNT ... ON ... IT?"]
Let's stay in that corner for a little longer. I feel like I've been having train-wreck corners lately, where the rest of the puzzle goes fine, and then there's one corner where one little thing goes wrong and the wheels just come off. I wrote in BUM DEAL (22D: Short end of the stick) and OMIT (30A: Strike out), but OMIT gave me a terminal "I" for that damned "the big game" clue, so I doubted it and pulled it. Then went to RAW DEAL. Ugh. What's more humiliating—the thing that bailed me out up there: crosswordese! All hail OOXTEPLERNON (the god of short bad fill)! I was saved by ESSEN and ARLES! Lord help me.
How many damned HAMS are you eating at Christmas? Jesus! Seriously, Jesus! I have never had a ham at Christmas (which I treat as Thanksgiving II), so that answer eluded me. As did NIBLET (43D: Corn kernel, e.g.), because it is probably the grossest word since "moist." Its proximity to EGESTS is apt. Barf. OK, that's all, bye.
A long time ago, I was solving this puzzle and got stuck at an unguessable (to me) crossing: N. C. WYETH crossing NATICK at the "N"—I knew WYETH but forgot his initials, and NATICK ... is a suburb of Boston that I had no hope of knowing. It was clued as someplace the Boston Marathon runs through (???). Anyway, NATICK— the more obscure name in that crossing—became shorthand for an unguessable cross, esp. where the cross involves two proper nouns, neither of which is exceedingly well known. NATICK took hold as crossword slang, and the term can now be both noun ("I had a NATICK in the SW corner...") or verb ("I got NATICKED by 50A / 34D!")
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