Sorry-not-sorry to be a broken record about this, but: too easy. And then the only thing giving the puzzle any bite at all is actually another downside of the puzzle: too namey. The only time I slowed down at all while solving this was when I had to traverse some pretty marginal names. It's so disappointing when a grid is mostly well built, when there are longer answers aplenty to admire, but a. the experience goes by so fast you hardly have time to appreciate them, and b. (worse) the only answers that really demand your attention are short names you've never heard of. The only memory I will have of this puzzle is that DOLAN / RENATO crossing (33D: Charles ___, founder of Cablevision and HBO / 45A: Lead role in 1978's "La Cage aux Folles"). Who and who? Crossing at a vowel? The very idea that I should know the "founder of Cablevision (?) and HBO" ... and then that you would cross said name with a foreign fictional character name so unusual that said fictional character is probably the only viable clue for it ... bah. In the end (and it was the end—the very end), this didn't hold me up so much as annoy me. I was able to work my way around the names and finally guess that last square (my finger hovering tentatively above the "A" for a second or two like "well, here goes..."). But yuck. Hard yuck. At least the other names are spread out a bit, though MARLO / DOERR offers a somewhat similar problem in the east. I know DOERR from the spine of some book or other that's in our house somewhere, so that cross was less tough for me, but still—MARLO somebody from a show I didn't know existed on a streaming service I stopped paying for because it's mostly a sea of garbage? I know the *book* The Three-Body Problem; I even know its author (LIU), but MARLO ... honestly I don't even know if it's MARLO Kelly or Kelly MARLO. I do know that MARLO Thomas's birthday was yesterday. 88! Happy birthday to an icon of my childhood.
[the whole show! gonna watch all of this today. children's entertainment was never better]
As for easiness (to say nothing of EAZY-Eness, which increased the easiness if you knew that answer, as I did) (54A: Ruthless Records co-founder), I don't think I've ever had a Saturday puzzle open up quite this easily:
Just a ridiculous gimme, one that gave me footholds in two different parts of the grid. And the grid came together from there, first the southeast:
And then the NW, until I finally tied the two together in the middle:
At this point, I was eyeballing those NE and SW corners like "you're gonna give me trouble, aren't you?" But no, not really, aside from really abusing me with names (MARLO DOERR ELIA ZINN DOLAN RENATO etc.), they didn't do much to slow my momentum. As for today's marquee answers, some of them were delightful—really loved the QUID PRO QUO / JUMP FOR JOY pair (not really a pair, but they felt like a pair, both at the top of their respective Across stacks, both a tripartite "___ FOR (or, in Latin, PRO) ___" pattern, both with wacky "?" clues (14A: Foreign exchange? / 61A: Exhibit hoppiness?)). Good energy on those. OLIVE GROVE is solid (11D: Outdoor setting for Plato's Academy) and KLEENEX BOX is hyper-Scrabbly, which is kinda fun. The rest of the longer answers don't make much of an impression, or, in the case of FORCE CHOKE (!??) they make a bad impression (27D: Telekinetic intimidation tactic used in the "Star Wars" universe). More Star Wars universe junk? I've seen so many movies in that particular universe and yet I don't know what this FORCE CHOKE is. Or I do, but didn't know it had a name. Is this a FORCE CHOKE?
If so, OK, I've seen it, but didn't know it had a name. ERASERMATE is product placement. UPPER BOUND seems fine, but I wanted UPPER LIMIT, which I like better as a phrase (17A: End of a set, in mathematics). In general, this was perfectly well made, but it could've used stronger marquees and fewer names (and name crosses).
Bullets:
16A: Essayist who wrote "If you wrest my words beyond their fair construction, it is you, and not I, that are the April Fool" (ELIA) — the pen name of Charles Lamb and an absolute staple of Old Crossword Grids. ELIA's frequency tapers off once the Shortz Era begins, and ELIA clues also move decidedly in the direction (!) of ELIA Kazan. The ELIA balance of power has shifted. But you still see the "essayist" clues from time to time. Sidenote: old crossword clues are wild; or, rather, they are the opposite of wild. In the '80s they'd just clue ELIA as [Lamb] or [Kazan]. No frills! Bare bones, baby!
29A: Number of Academy Award nominations for Best Actor received by Laurence Olivier (NINE) — one of them was for Wuthering Heights. I wonder what Olivier would think of this? (me, I can't wait):
26D: Certain miniature vehicle, informally (RC CAR) — radio-controlled car. Not my favorite fill. Only ever seen this abbr. in crosswords.
21D: Sea foam (SPUME) — went with SPRAY at first. A much, much nicer word, SPRAY.
35D: Beverage that Ray Charles once touted as "The right one, baby!" (DIET PEPSI) — apparently product placement bothers me a lot less when the music of Ray Charles is attached. Loved this clue.
That's all. See you next time.
Signed, Rex Parker, King of CrossWorld
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Word of the Day: FAIR ISLE SWEATER (52A: Colorful knit top with Scottish origins) —
Fair Isle (/fɛəraɪ̯l/) is a traditional knitting style used to create patterns with multiple colours. It is named after Fair Isle, one of the Shetland Islands. Fair Isle knitting gained considerable popularity when the Prince of Wales (later King Edward VIII) wore Fair Isle jumpers in public in 1921. Traditional Fair Isle patterns have a limited palette of five or so colours, use only two colours per row, are worked in the round, and limit the length of a run of any particular colour.
Some people use the term "Fair Isle" to refer to any colourwork knitting where stitches are knitted alternately in various colours, with the unused colours stranded across the back of the work, but this is inaccurate. The term "stranded colourwork" is applicable for the generic technique, and the term "Fair Isle" is reserved for the characteristic patterns of Shetland.
• • •
OK, puzzle, have you got all the chess variants out of your system now? Please tell me this is it for 2025, because I'm not at all interested in whatever NEO-chess baloney you're trying to perpetrate. You could put virtually any word before "CHESS" at this point and I'd be like "sure, whatever, sounds great, who cares?" I couldn't have told you exactly what a FAIR ISLE SWEATER is, either, but at least it sounded vaguely familiar, and yeah, it's nice. The patterns are attractive. FAIR ISLE SWEATER, yes, ARMAGEDDON CHESS, pfft. Another thing I could go without seeing for some time is ARO, which has gone from being "fresh slang" to grid kudzu in what seems like a heartbeat. Let's check the ARO-meter, shall we?
We've already set a record for Most ARO Appearances in a Calendar Year ... and it's only June! In fact, there have been three (3) appearances in June alone, and as you can see, June is only seven days old! I'm slapping a "Crosswordese" tag on ARO right now, in the vain hope that constructors will start using it more sparingly. Think of it as a NEO-crosswordese. Its extreme prevalence is fresh, yes, but at this point it's not really any different from SSNS or OTT to me (though ARO has actually appeared as much as SSNS and OTTcombined so far in 2025).
So this is one of those all-over symmetry puzzles. Mirror symmetry across every axis, rotational symmetry every 90 degrees. I don't know that it makes for the most interesting solving experience—when you can shoot pairs of 15s in all directions like this, the puzzle tends to play pretty easy, and the 15s, being interlocked and limited by that interdependence, can tend toward the bland, tepid, or forced. Today's hold up OK, but only "I KNEW IT ALL ALONG" and MAKE A FRESH START really did anything for me. The rest of the grid is mostly forgettable filler, though I really liked SET MENU—original, very in-the-language, kinda tricky to parse (esp. with that terminal "U"). Not really "digging" (in the 38-Down sense) the sneering attitude toward AGING in this puzzle. On the one hand, it wants to be broad-minded and philosophical about it (1D: Natural process we all go through). On the other hand, SENILE!? THE OLDS!? Do people still say "THE OLDS?" I feel like whoever coined "THE OLDS" is now one of "THE OLDS" themselves, but desperately trying to pretend otherwise. Like the clue for AGING implies, we're all headed for Medicare PART D, buddy, and that's if we're lucky.
Oh, I also, ironically, liked WOOD ROT (49A: Corruption below deck, perhaps). That one was a BEAUT. I also kinda like SOURS ON, though I will confess to staring at -OURSON for a non-zero number of seconds wondering what the hell it could possibly be (38D: Stops digging). TOURS ON? No ... that's more [Keeps gigging] than [Stops digging]. Obviously the meaning of "digging" was completely eluding me. I was thinking either of literal digging (like, in the earth with a shovel or something like that), or metaphorical digging, like "investigating, prying." But no: "digging" as in "liking, enjoying, finding very groovy." The only other place in the entire puzzle that gave me any trouble whatsoever was the back end of 2D: Leave everything behind (MAKE A FRESH START). I wanted MAKE A CLEAN BREAK, which fit (the space). And fit (the clue). But even that didn't really slow me down, since Mel OTT got rid of my wrong guess in pretty short order. This puzzle felt more like a Friday than yesterday's puzzle did. Better flow today, and just breezier overall.
[thought of this sketch as soon as I saw the constructor's first name today ... and then the puzzle gave me "GLEE" so I had to post it—it's a twofer! (16D: "Euphoria" synonym that, like "Euphoria," is also the name of a hit TV show) ... oh, and there's CHESS content too. Threefer!]
Some more things:
1A: Collect (AMASS) — a gimme right off the bat. Always nice. Weird / interesting that AMASS sits right on top of an answer that means "amasses" (14A: Assembles = GATHERS TOGETHER)
9A: Triangular bones that fuse in adulthood (SACRA) — take yoga classes for any length of time, and this bone (sacrum) will become very familiar to you. You could also just take an Anatomy class, I suppose.
24A: Takes the field? (MOWS) — like ... takes it ... away. Goodbye, field (of grass)!
29A: Spiral-shelled mollusks (TRITONS) — not really sure what these are, but I had a bunch of the middle letters in this answer and my brain just Rolodexed for "something Sea-ish" and bam, TRITONS worked perfectly (Triton is a Greek god of the sea, son of Poseidon).
36A: Likely lobby locale in D.C. (K STREET) — not really getting the "Likely" part of this clue. I mean, I understand the tempting pleasures of alliteration, but ... is K STREET a lobby or isn't it? Seems like a question that should have a definitive answer. It's literally a lobbying locale. [Literal lobby locale]!
9D: Directive in many a stovetop recipe (SEAR) — first thought: "STIR." Second thought: "SEA- ... SEA- ... SEAL?" (no, dummy: SEAR) "Oh yeah."
13D: One side in ancient Greece's Battle of the 300 Champions (ARGOS) — completely spaced on this. The puzzle was so easy that it didn't matter—crosses quickly helped me out—but I'm still mad at myself for not getting it instantly.
45D: Gown go-with (TOWN) — theoretically tricky, as the clue seems to be asking for some piece of clothing or an accessory, but here, "Gown" "goes with" TOWN in the expression "TOWN-and-gown" which broadly describes the two sections of any university town: the university-affiliated (gown) and the rest (TOWN). Conventionally, there's supposed to be tension between these two elements, but the whole TOWN-and-gown distinction seems like a slightly dated concept to me. I mean, insofar as students and professors don't go around town in "gowns" any more (as they did in the Middle Ages), it's very dated. I think there used to be implicit class distinctions that aren't *as* operative any more, at least not at the public schools where I have taught.
6D: Some concerning forecasts, in weather-speak (T-STORMS) — we canceled our plans to drive up to Ithaca to see The Phoenician Scheme yesterday because the forecast called for severe T-STORMS and I ain't driving in that if I don't have to. But then of course the T-STORMS didn't materialize. Because summer weather is like that. You forget, in the winter, that the summer isn't just warm—it's chaotic (evil).
Word of the Day: INA May Gaskin (21A: ___ May Gaskin, author of Spiritual Midwifery") —
Ina May Gaskin (néeMiddleton; born March 8, 1940) is an American midwife who has been described as "the mother of authentic midwifery." She helped found the self-sustaining community, The Farm, with her husband Stephen Gaskin in 1971 where she markedly launched her career in midwifery. She is known for the Gaskin Maneuver, has written several books on midwifery and childbirth, and continues to educate society through lectures and conferences and spread her message of natural, old-age inspired, fearless childbirth. According to Carol Lorente (1995), the work of Gaskin and the midwives might not have had the impact it did, if it hadn't been for the publication of her bookSpiritual Midwifery(1977): "Considered a seminal work, it presented pregnancy, childbirth and breastfeeding from a fresh, natural and spiritual perspective, rather than the standard clinical viewpoint. In homebirth and midwifery circles, it made her a household name, and a widely respected teacher and writer." By the early 1990s, after multiple reprints,Spiritual Midwiferywas acknowledged as a "classical text on midwifery"with a "lasting impact". // The Gaskin Maneuver, also called all fours, is a technique to reduce shoulder dystocia, a specific type of obstructed labour which may lead to fetal death. Gaskin introduced it in the U.S. in 1976 after learning it from a Belizean woman who had, in turn, learned the maneuver in Guatemala, where it originated. In this maneuver, the mother supports herself on her hands and knees to resolve shoulder dystocia. Switching to a hands and knees position causes the shape of the pelvis to change, thereby allowing the trapped shoulder to free itself and the baby to be born. Since this maneuver requires a significant movement from the standard lithotomy position, it can be substantially more difficult to perform while under epidural anesthesia, but still possible, and can be performed by an experienced delivery room team. (wikipedia)
• • •
A proper Saturday. In terms of difficulty, just about where I want it to be. In terms of excitement, less so, but I'm OK with Saturday being more about the grind and less about the sizzle. The spanners today just didn't do anything for me. Hard to get excited about CLASSROOM ROSTER—dull and old-fashioned-sounding, somehow (17A: Sub's reference). Over and over, I'd get part of a longer and still have no idea about the rest of it, so the phrases just weren't ... clicking, for me. Got CLASSROOM and ... no idea. Got CLASSICAL and ... no idea. I knew I knew who Andrés Segovia was, but I just couldn't retrieve it in the moment. I had him as a singer (Andrea Bocelli?) or a classical pianist (Alfred Brendel? Claudio Arrau?) at various points before that blessed "ovoid packaging" took me back to the drug stores and grocery stores of the '70s, where I found the L'EGGS (37A: Hanes brand once sold in ovoid packaging), which gave me the "G," which immediately gave me GUITAR (and a "d'oh, of course"). But back to partial answers being no help. I had ROTATE and ... no idea. I had -DETAILS and ... no idea (JUICY? GORY? Gah!). The problem was that once I got the full answers in all these cases, I didn't have that fulfilled "click" or "aha" feeling. Just a shruggy kind of "yeah, I guess that is a thing." The term SLOTTED SPOON clicks. The term SLOTTED SPATULAS ... not really (8D: Kitchen flippers). I mean, we have one of those in our kitchen, so they're real enough, but ... I dunno, there's just something kind of flat—"yes, that exists" as opposed to "wow, nice"—about the marquee stuff today. Still, I liked that I had to fight for it today. I love a Saturday that makes me work.
[Spin right round?]
Even my successes today started out as failures. Here, check out my screenshot from early on, when I finally (and proudly) got traction in that NW corner:
I was excited to get SPIT (well, about as excited as you can be about a disgusting word like "SPIT") (26A: Ward off bad luck, in a Greek tradition), and even more excited to "confirm" it with the colloquially perfect PULL UP (2D: Arrive curbside). So I struggled in the NW a little bit more wondering why PULL UP didn't work. I will say that ROLL UP was an answer I was happy to see, one that didn't end up kind of flat or disappointing once it finally showed. ROLL UP and PULL UP both work great, both right-on-the-money and in-the-language ... but only ROLL UP works with the crosses. But at just a two-letter difference, PULL UP is a rough mistake. But as I say, the mistake *did* help, a bit, with the 4/6 (so ... 2/3) of the letters that were correct. I also botched 30D: Mass apparel, but botched my way into one important and correct letter—I had ROBE, the answer was ALBS, but that "B" came through for me anyway, helping me get the LABS part of AV LABS (35A: Media-based learning sites, informally). I also threw an "S" down at the end of 1D: What passwords unlock, figuring "passwords" might indicate a plural answer. I was wrong, but the "S" there was what got me to see SPIT in the first place. So it was a good day for accidental success.
Aside from the very beginning (often the toughest part of a late-week grid, since you have no answers to play off of yet), there was no part of the grid that stood out as more difficult than the others, though the INA / BRAGG section over there in the NE felt like a real proper noun challenge. I didn't know INA from Adam, so no hope there. On the other hand, I know Billy BRAGG really, really well (28A: English folk singer Billy). I listened to his music a lot in college and through the '90s, and still own a handful of his CDs to this day. But "folk singer"? If you wanna hide Billy BRAGG from me, yes, call him an "English folk singer." Look, it's not wrong. Not wrong wrong. But for us college radio kids of the 80s/90s, he was more of an indie rock singer-songwriter. More electric, more modern than "folk" suggests, although he could be painfully earnest and he's definitely deeply political (big labor / union supporter, lots of protest songs to his credit). He worked with people like Johnny Marr (The Smiths) and Natalie Merchant (10,000 Maniacs). I see that wikipedia has his "genre" as "punk folk." Anyway, huge "d'oh!" when the "English folk singer" I was struggling to come up with turned out to be someone I've been listening to most of my life.
["But I never made the first team / I just made the first team laugh"]
Nots and explainers:
19A: What always ends well? (ELS) — a "letteral" clue. I saw right through this one, but wrote in "ELL," which is how I've been trained to spell the damned letter. For example, November of last year: [Late start?] = ELL. What is this "EL" nonsense? ELS are trains, ELLS are letters (or building annexes, I guess).
27A: Noted name in lithographs (IVES) — had the "I" and thought "how am I supposed to know this?" Then remembered the printing team of Currier & IVES. Why do I know them? I think maybe they were in a song lyric? "Like a ... something from Currier and IVES?" What am I thinking of? Ha! Yes! "Sleigh Ride!" Tis the season!
["It'll nearly be like a picture print by Currier and IVES"]
29A: Inveigled (COAXED) — totally forgot the meaning of "inveigled." I thought it meant "hid" or "cloaked." Must've been thinking of "veiled" (?!).
36A: Word on many "No Trespassing" signs (POSTED) — I think you have to live somewhere fairly rural to see these. Luckily, I do. Or at least live rural-adjacent. If you walk in the woods around here for any length of time, you'll definitely see "POSTED!" signs eventually.
42A: The case, so to speak (TRUE) — "that's not the case," "that's not TRUE" ... a tough but fair swap-out.
7D: P, B, D, T, K and G (PLOSIVES) — tough one! I was gonna make PLOSIVES my Word of the Day, but turns out I already did that earlier this year (1/28/24). Basically, it's a linguistics term for the letters that require you to stop airflow and then expel a burst of air when you say them.
13D: Outspoken parenting critic, maybe (TEENAGER) — I liked this clue a lot. It's a bit caricature-y, but any well-raised teenager is gonna push back at their parents' authority at some point, so ... fair.
18D: Subject of the 2021 documentary "Once Upon a Time in Queens" (METS) — Citi Field, where the METS play, like SHEA Stadium before it, is in Flushing, Queens.
28D: Certain Thanksgiving dish (BOAT) — anyone out there trying to serve GOAT for Thanksgiving? Anyone? No, just me? Ah well. (I've never seen "BOAT" without "gravy" in front of it, but for the GOAT mistake alone, I approve this clue)
40D: Home to England's Jurassic Coast (DORSET) — got it off the -SET, having never heard of "England's Jurassic Coast" at all.
46D: Galley command (STET) — tough misdirection on this one. I thought "galley" as in "ship" and "galley" as in "kitchen" before I thought "galley" as in "not-yet-final version of a book or article."
Word of the Day: GILL NET (1A: Tackle item hung from floaters) —
[The Salmon Fisher, Eilif Peterssen (1889)]
Gillnetting is a fishing method that uses gillnets: vertical panels of netting that hang from a line with regularly spaced floaters that hold the line on the surface of the water. The floats are sometimes called "corks" and the line with corks is generally referred to as a "cork line." The line along the bottom of the panels is generally weighted. Traditionally this line has been weighted with lead and may be referred to as "lead line." A gillnet is normally set in a straight line. Gillnets can be characterized by mesh size, as well as colour and type of filament from which they are made. Fish may be caught by gillnets in three ways:
Wedged – held by the mesh around the body.
Gilled – held by mesh slipping behind the opercula.
Tangled – held by teeth, spines, maxillaries, or other protrusions without the body penetrating the mesh.
Most fish have gills. A fish swims into a net and passes only part way through the mesh. When it struggles to free itself, the twine slips behind the gill cover and prevents escape.
Gillnets are so effective that their use is closely monitored and regulated by fisheries management and enforcement agencies. Mesh size, twine strength, as well as net length and depth are all closely regulated to reduce bycatch of non-target species. (wikipedia)
• • •
Well this was hard, which is what a Saturday should be, but again I cannot say that it was particularly fun. GILL NET was probably the most unfun thing in the puzzle, and it was the first (and last) thing I encountered. There are certain words, like GILL NET, and to a lesser extent CORN PIT, that make me wish constructors curated their wordlists better. I don't know why you would ever want something as ... let's say, niche ... as GILL NET at your 1-Across position. Following that up with CRAPPER, well ... that sets a tone, for sure (see also NOSE RAG, yeesh). There was lots of clever cluing in this puzzle, and some of it worked well, but the grid itself is just OK. As with yesterday's puzzle, not nearly enough marquee answers for my taste. Unlike yesterday's puzzle, though, this one is absolutely choked with proper-noun trivia. I found this puzzle difficult and I knew almost all the trivia stuff. Can't imagine what it would've been like if it was beyond your ken (as GILL NET was beyond mine—the only thing in the grid that was). I wrote in OLEANNA like "oof, do people still know that?" (59A: Two-character Mamet play). And right next to that, TIM REID (great actor, but possibly obscure to younger solvers) (58A: Actor who played DJ Venus Flytrap on "WKRP in Cincinnati"). A thirty-year-old tennis comeback down there too (48D: Tennis star with a famed 1995 comeback), and a bygone record label (53A: ___ Records, onetime label for the Kinks and Petula Clark), and two financial services names (fun!) (sarcasm!). I knew all these names, and maybe you did too, so maybe there's no problem. But it felt like A Lot.
The joy (as often happens) came from the longer answers, which managed to stay hidden from me for a while. Really tough to bring down. Shot 'em full of crosses and they still wouldn't fall, but when they finally did, they were all satisfying. The hardest one really gave me a "D'oh!" feeling when I finally got it. I was, of course, reading the "Patient" (and thus the "check-ins") in 32A: Patient check-ins all wrong. "Patient" turns out to be an adjective, not a noun, and the medical context is absolutely phantasmic. I had REMINDERS and still no clue. "Appointment REMINDERS? Take-your-pill REMINDERS? What the hell fits in 6 letters!?" Plus, one of the GENTLE crosses, 33D:Stripling, could've been LADor TAD ("a small child, esp. a boy"—merriam-webster.com), so yeah, GENTLE was tough to come up with (esp. since I was getting no help from the largely empty NW (aka the GILL NET corner). But the clue works. The misdirection works. You got me, and I'm not mad, which is always the goal. Mad at GILL NET and the CRAPPER (worst buddy pic of all time), not mad at GENTLE REMINDERS at all. CHRISTMAS SEASON also had some nice misdirection (it's when "the lights" go outside, not when the lights are extinguished) (8D: When the lights go out?). And while "THERE ARE NO WORDS" didn't have any tricky misdirection in its clue (7D: Paradoxical line of amazement), the clue was still interesting (kind of funny), and hard. So the bones of this puzzle are strong, at least.
Lots of things to explain today so ... let's start explaining (best we can)
Explainers (and gripes and highlights):
16A: Stanley Cup edge (HOME ICE) — "Edge" here means "advantage"; when you play at home, as opposed to away, you (presumably) have the "edge."
20A: With 22-Across, pricey import (FOREIGN / CAR) — this didn't track. What is a FOREIGN CAR, anyway? I always thought Honda and Toyota were "foreign" (i.e. Japanese), but they're not "pricey." Does the actual manufacture have to take place abroad to qualify? Even looking up "FOREIGN CAR" isn't that much help. People can't seem to agree what the term means with any precision.
25A: Kennedy center? (ENS) — the "letteral" clue strikes again! (these are the letters, the "n"s (ENS) at the "center" of "Kennedy")
26A: Verb that becomes a five-letter alphabet run if you change its middle letter (ABIDE) — this is so dumb that I kind of like it. Anyway, it was a gimme (I had the "B" from BAD SPOT and could infer all the other letters from the clue)
35A: Means of excellence? (A AVERAGES) — "Means" = mathematical term, equivalent to ... "averages"
44A: +/- (OR SO) — gotta say it out loud ("plus or minus") for it to really register
60A: Name in 2008 Wall Street news (STEARNS) — Ah, the global recession and subprime mortgage crisis. Who doesn't love remembering that? (this one was a vibe-killer, the GILL NET of the southern half of this grid)
3D: Where the Cedar Revolution took place (LEBANON) — the one answer that I had sitting comfortably in the NW after my first pass. At some point I learned that that's a cedar tree on LEBANON’s flag, and never forgot it.
34D: Grp. concerned with digital learning (NEA) — really really thought there was going to be a "digital" misdirect here (i.e. that the answer would have to do with fingers ... maybe something to do with braille, sign language, I dunno ...), but no. Just ... e-learning in general (NEA stands for National Education Association, the largest labor union in the country). Kinda boring. But NEA is boring fill, so who cares? Moving on.
52D: Big blow (GALE) — saw right through this one, i.e. knew it was going to be wind-related and not impact-related. Had the "G" and wrote in .... GUST :(
5D: Simple souls (NAIFS) — and we're back to GILL NET. Again. I had the answer here as WAIFS, which isn't a particularly good answer for this clue, but unlike NAIFS, it's a word humans actually use. NAIFS, esp. in the plural, looks insane. Almost as insane as seeing PISCINE clued as anything but a French swimming pool (12D: Like some schools = schools of fish; in English, PISCINE just means "of or related to fish").
15A: Instruction to trick-or-treaters (ONE EACH) — the NW corner strikes again. I had "TAKE ONE" here. "ONE EACH" sounds brusque and, when facing excited little children dressed in ridiculous costumes, kind of dickish. Don't be so miserly. Or just put the candy in the kid's bag yourself if you need to be so controlling.
1D: Wood source (GOLF BAG) — A "wood" is a variety of golf club. Woods and irons (drivers putters and wedges too, or so I'm told, I'm allergic to everything about golf that isn't miniature)
Penrose has contributed to the mathematical physics of general relativity and cosmology. He has received several prizes and awards, including the 1988 Wolf Prize in Physics, which he shared with Stephen Hawking for the Penrose–Hawking singularity theorems, and the 2020 Nobel Prize in Physics "for the discovery that black hole formation is a robust prediction of the general theory of relativity". He is regarded as one of the greatest living physicists, mathematicians and scientists, and is particularly noted for the breadth and depth of his work in both natural and formal sciences. (wikipedia)
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On my puzzle print-out this morning, I've made dark green lines to section off the NW and SE corner. Those corners I've labeled "ENDURED." The remaining middle chunk, running from SW to NE, I've labeled "ENJOYED." Hard to overstate how much "flow" matters to me in all puzzles, but especially the tough themeless ones. Really hate being stuck in an airless corner with shortish, garbage-ish fill, waiting for the experience to be over. Really love being out in the open, where words whoosh through one another, and I have lots of room to move. The NW and SE corners feel like afterthoughts—these smaller, cut-off bits that were taking up space and had to be filled but ... what are you gonna do with a bunch of crossing 7s? Four 7s crossing four 7s? Nothing good, is the answer, probably. Or, if the 7s themselves are OK (as they are in the NW), man are you gonna pay for them. Today I paid the onerous TINED ANIL EVAL tax. The 7s may be cleanish up there, but the highs just aren't high enough to warrant the TINED ANIL EVAL tax. But then, once you finally crawl out of that stuffy upper chamber ... freedom! I definitely shouted a dirty word on my way out, but it was a dirty word of joy!:
["F--- yeah!"]
That SW section feels like the entire reason this puzzle exists. I'll take DIRTY WORDS and GENE WILDER with the RED NOSE at the NAVY PIER. Throw in some GRASS and some SONGS and thank you very much. This corner deserves to be ADMIRED because it is the definition of Clean and somehow also Exciting. Mr. SANDMAN ("Yes?") bring me a GENE! There's not one entry in the entire SW corner that I would shoot into space (or, if you're 3-Down, "into space"). The NE corner doesn't fare as well, but how could it, really? Still, you've got CON ARTISTS in your DRUG TRIALS, and that's pretty cool. I choked a bit on the absurd prepositional phrase IN ARMOR, but otherwise, things look fine up there (no idea who Roger PENROSE is, but that's obviously on me—see "Word of the Day," above). But before I went up to that NE corner, I decided to deal with the SE. I suspected it would be about as enjoyable as its NW twin, and I just wanted to get it out of the way. And sure enough, there's little to love down there. Worse, there's the "Information Superhighway"-era neologism, NETIZEN, which never fails to make me cringe (35D: Web browser?). Everyone's stuck in the Web now. You can bury this self-important aspirational coinage six feet deep as far as I'm concerned. TATA, NETIZEN, and take TERABIT with you (I imagine TERABIT is the name of NETIZEN's dog ... actually, leave TERABIT, I like dogs; I'll rename him PIGLET and give him a good home).
Several wrong-answer adventures today, starting with SARA LEE, bam, right across the top, 1-
Across! (1A: Snack brand that originated in 1919). I was like "Ooh, 1919! Was SARA LEE a suffragette!? Cool!" Alas, no, SARA LEE was a HOSTESS. I also thought [Pooh's bestie] was RABBIT (this is what happens when the only letter you have to go on is "T" and also you have completely forgotten your Pooh lore because you are no longer six).
I thought the [Site of Chicago's Centennial Wheel] was some kind of PARK, and I forgot that you actually say the damn "s" in (W.E.B.) "Du Bois"! ("dew BOYZ"), so the clue for ASONANT had me going "De-BRIE, dew-BWAH, de-BRIE, dew-BWAH ... I don't hear any 'S's! How are they different!?" (51A: Like the "s" in debris (but not Du Bois)). I think we've covered all my notable struggles today. Let's see, what clues might need explaining? Well, a "safety" is a defensive position in American football, so tackling is sometimes part of the job description (4D: Safety, often => TACKLER). ROTO is short for "Rotisserie" (45D: Fantasy sports format, informally)—Rotisserie League Baseball was apparently named after the NYC restaurant where it was first played (La Rôtisserie Française). All the other clues today seem remarkably straightforward. I mean, appropriately vague and tough for a Saturday, but mostly self-explanatory once you get the answers. Hope you enjoyed this one, or at least enjoyed the creamy middle, as I did. See you next time.
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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