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Take that, 43 across!

The Daily publishes the NY Times crossword puzzle in every issue. Its popularity far exceeds my own column’s, and probably that of my entire section as well; when they tried to remove it a few years back, they received so many angry letters to the editor, death threats, pet corpses, etc. that they recanted within a couple weeks. I’ll admit that, with the exception of my own column, it’s my favorite part of the paper. Nothing fills in the dull bits of a large lecture quite like chewing on a pen cap and thinking of synonyms for “reticent” or what have you.

I achieve varying measures of success in my almost daily challenge, gleefully ticking off a checkmark on the crossword whenever I complete it. However, I won’t kid myself that my fluctuations in performance have anything to do with my vocabulary or pop-culture knowledge on any given day. Some days it’s just easier than others, that’s all. I also won’t try to disguise the fact that, on days when it is easy, I lord my victory over less successful crossword challengers, publicly attributing the win to my mad crozzword skillz, and on days when it’s hard I blame my 50% completion rate on the difficulty of the puzzle. An easy crossword, completed and checked off, makes my entire day.

To my credit, I always use a pen, much like I imagine Confucius would were he to take part in the pursuit. I make no mistakes. Except when I do. But that’s just when the puzzle is too damn hard.

Confidential aside to Mt. St. Helens: are you going to dance around with your hand on our ass all night, or are you going to get down to business and give us the fireworks we came to see? You little flirt. We’re not paying you to just sit around and rumble, you know. Sometimes I wonder if you even care about us anymore.

Posted in Musings.

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