These Are a Few of my Favorite Springs

(AP) For most people, March 20th is just another of the well-worn days in history's repertoire; the day Napoleon began his 100-days rule in 1815, the day Einstein published his general theory of relativity in 1916, or maybe just another occasion to celebrate the 1602 founding of the Dutch East India company.

But to a select few in the Northern Hemisphere, the ancient cultures of Persia and Egypt, and in modern days plenty of hippies(known to science as naturoliacs) March 20th marks the first day of spring. The day is usually the occasion of the vernal equinox, from the latin for summer, equal, and night. In other words, the point at which day and night occupy the same amount of time in the 24-hour day, and from which the long nights of winter give way to the longer days of summer.

But perhaps, like the full moon, the turning of winter into spring has the power to make a much larger impression on us than the mere increase in sunscreen application. A short study of modern history reveals the true power of...

SPRING: CATALYST FOR REVOLUTION!

Yes, the history of modern civilization is riddled with the bullets of revolution, nearly all caused somehow by the mere presence of a symmetrical 24-hour day. 

Before the age of rapid inter-continental expansion revolution was almost entirely a matter of feudal rivalry, so we will skip over that and begin with the Cornish Rebellion of 1497. Dates aren't quite exact but it seems that in May a group of some 15,000 marched into Devon against King Henry's Tax Levy. Less than 20 years later a spring initiative by over 300,000 German and Swiss peasants, known as the Peasants' War, left a death toll of 100,000. That death toll would not be surpassed for almost 300 years.

And of course no discussion of revolt would be complete without a discussion of those masters of the coup: The Russians. 

• In 1682 the Moscow Uprising was triggered by the death of Feodor III on April 27.
• The Streltsy Uprising of 1698 caused the eventual execution of 1239 rebel soldiers until the year 1707.
• In April 1899 V.I. Lenin published "The Development of Capitalism in Russia," the beginning of the intellectual revolution known as communism.
  
• The February Revolution actually occurred in March on the Gregorian calendar

So it should come as no surprise to American Citizens, who know every major date in our nation's history, that even our revolution began with the battle of Lexington and Concord on April 19, 1775. And our more recent forefathers finally declared they had had enough of Japanese oppression in March of 1945 by firebombing Japan.

I caution you thusly, dear readers: be wary of the ides of March, not because of the "bad luck" associated with March 15th, but because every year the ides are simply the start to a five-day count down to the next major revolution. And as you bask in the coming spring, with all its verdure and romance, beware, for you, or a person you might know, may become enraged at any moment, and become the next victim of...

SPRING: CATALYST FOR REVOLUTION!!

Fleetwood (holy)Mac(kerel)

It has been a difficult two weeks.

Much like the Spanish Armada was for Elizabeth I and the Tet Offensive was for LBJ, March 19, 2009 marked a watershed moment in the life of this intrepid reporter.

The venue: Madison Square Garden. The time: 18:00. The occasion: Unleashed; A Night With Fleetwood Mac.

For our readers who do not share my enthusiasm for the heartbreakingly tempestuous yet wholly genius collaboration of Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham, this night was to be my swan song. I had waited for months to gather under the lights and watch the legendary supergroup reunite before my eyes. At long last, the moment had arrived. I felt confident and well-prepared to take on this mind- and/or life-altering event.

There are certain experiences a person should keep to herself. This concert was one of those happenings. Just know this: I completely lost my mind and am forever changed.

And yet, the glory of those two hours has come with a heavy price, it seems. In the days following the concert, I was unable to shake a nagging feeling of nervous restlessness. It was unlike anything I had experienced before and, for someone familiar with chronic anxiety and general dissatisfaction, I found this disconcerting. After a solid twenty minutes of soul searching, the truth became quite clear to me: I was in the throes of a very deep existential crisis and Fleetwood Mac was to blame. I was horrified.

I equate the Fleetwood Mac concert to Constantine's dream at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge or World War I for pretty much every French novelist: it was the catalyst for a jarring reconfiguration of my own perspective on reality. All of my anticipation had been fully eclipsed by the reality of the experience. The magic of the moments inside that hallowed concert hall could never be recreated. My sky-high expectations had been shattered.

I had peaked. I was ruined.

I have not listened to Fleetwood in a fortnight. Archetypically speaking, I am not ready to face the music.

Let this be a cautionary tale to you. It is always good, nay, it is always necessary to have a dream. Your dream might be to meet the Dalai Lama or to cure cancer or to correctly determine what a sea monkey is exactly. Mine was to see Fleetwood Mac live in concert. But what happens after the dream is realized? Where does one go from there? This is something I must now grapple with, a new cross to bear.

The good news is this: the memories I have overshadow what seems to be my now rudderless ship. Like Stevie in the eye of a narcotic hurricane in 1976, I may be down but I'm far from out.

Don't call it a come back.

AHF

Alcoholics Asked for it, and Smatter of Fact Delivers

The Great D(eye)no(sore)

"If it is a miracle, any sort of evidence will answer, but if it is a fact, proof is necessary"

~Mark Twain

(AP) "Proof." In a society that has departed almost entirely from the theocracy from which it was born and moved well into the "age of reason," what term carries more meaning? With it, OJ Simpson may well have avoided his recent prison sentence in favor of a much longer one. Without it, the entire mathematical curricula of high schools and colleges throughout the world would be irrelevant, rendering countless chalkboards empty and an entire section of the SAT stricken from the record.

So when I hear these outrageous citations of so called "proof" by my colleague that the existence of dinosaurs is provable on this publication, which carries the burden of proof within its title, I must make some effort to save the pride of this once glorious news source. I expected more than Gary Busey and phonetics in Ms. Fallon's attempt to convince me that the existence of dinosaurs could be reasonably proven by an indicidual, and here I am to settle the score: It is impossible for one to prove that dinosaurs existed.

For starters let me present the story dino-hard-enthusiasts have come up with: a group of cold-blooded reptiles of all shapes and colors roamed the earth millions of years ago and then bit the proverbial dust almost all at once, leaving us with nothing but there remains. The event which brought about the demise is not clear, but it wiped them all out 65 million years ago, a date known as the K-T boundary.

Now allow me to dissect these "facts"







Here you see two photos of rocks. "Thanks, Adam, I didn't realize those were rocks." "Hush, let me get to the point."

Which of these two photos depicts dinosaur bones? Exactly. So-called "dinosaur bones" are not bones, but rocks. When individuals stumble upon them unwittingly, they have rarely, if ever, identified them as fossils without the help of experts. Experts, the authorities we appoint to decide what is what in science based on a ratio of wall-space-taken-up-by-collegiate-degree : addiction to nasal spray.

In 1912 a group of experts unearthed what was thought to be the missing link in human evolution. In 1953 the Piltdown Man was exposed as a hoax. If a 40,000 yr old fossil can be forged before it has completely fossilized, how hard can it be to fake a dinosaur?

2.- This weekend in New York City, a 9-foot tall Dryosaurus failed to sell at auction, even for the expected $500K. Adjusting for inflation, he must have been worth roughly $0.000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000001
when he was supposedly alive. And you claim to honor these behemoths of yore? Tusk tusk(puns intended) Anne Fallon.

C) In the Jurassic Park series, the trilogy responsible for most of the corpus of prehistoric knowledge present in the average person, it is asserted that Velociraptors would have taken over the world, perhaps even created a civilization if time had allowed. Now it could be just me, but I just don't see how any quantity of intelligence in a cold-blooded species that needs several hours a day in the sun just to live can result in a dominant world culture. Laziness does not breed ingenuity.

Finally, I again cite my show business colleagues at Jurassic Park Studios. This time in the form of one phrase by Dr. Ian Malcolm, aptly played by Jeff Goldblum: "Life...uh...finds a way." How astute I must say, after all, Dinosaurs did give us birds, crocodiles, alligators, and apparently Geckos, right? WRONG. They went extinct. Didn't they? Isn't that what you're saying happened? Dinosaur evolution and extinction are a contradiction in terms. And you claim science stands by you.

"No way of thinking or doing, however ancient, can be trusted without proof"

~Henry David Thoreau

If Oprah’s Talking About It, We’re All Talking About It

The following report is brought to you by Becky Ramsay, S.O.F Entertainment News Correspondent. Ramsay is a Chicago-based writer, actor and avid student of celebrity smut. Her areas of expertise include how to look good at any age and everything your man wants to say but isn't telling you.

We heard the headlines, we saw the picture, and we were all ready to TiVo their performance at the Grammy’s, but you better buckle up and pay attention because this is only the beginning. We have met the Whitney and Bobby of our generation. Chris Brown and Rihanna are on the fast track to following in the footsteps of two of the biggest disasters the world has ever seen. Throw in a couple of addictions, a Bravo reality show, a tell-all Barbara Walters special, and you’re in Whitney and Bobby Town. Albeit, it is your prerogative to head down such a path, you better have a better exit strategy.

HRH Oprah has even taken it upon herself to get involved. Last week, with the help of (former) supermodel Tyra Banks, Oprah dedicated an entire show to the Chris Brown/ Rihanna incident, expanding on to the subject of teen violence in relationships. It there’s one thing we all know for sure: If Oprah’s talking about it, we’re all talking about it.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. How did we get here? Let us consider these facts that may or may not be loosely based on lives of Chris Brown and Rihanna. You know the drill: Small town girl with nothing but a penny in her pocket and a big voice to share has only her hopes and dreams to keep her warm at night. Blah, blah blah. Young southern boy rapper/dancer waits for his big break while his mother manages him out of their basement, both dealing with the deadbeat dad who sometimes “gets a little rough.” One good break after another and we’ve got two teens with success coming out their noses. A chance meeting at an MTV after party and sparks fly, records go platinum, and we’ve got a hot new item for the tabloids. “Rihanna and Chris Go Surfing!” “Chris and Rihanna Eat Pizza!” “Rihanna Shops For Her Man,” and so on… There’s just one little question: What are they going to do with all of that fame? Sooner or later, it’s going to get to you. Pressure to perform, pressure to sustain, the pressure to say "Cheese!” and look good while doing it. There’s only so much a person can take. And by person, I mean Chris Brown.

The rest is history. No one will ever really know what happened on the night of Sunday, February 8th 2009, other than bloody Coldplay winning the Grammy for album of the year. 19-year-old Chris Brown was charged with two felony counts for assault and making criminal threats. His case is due back in court on April 6 for his arraignment, at which time he could enter a plea. He has also already come out and apologized, claiming to be seeking counseling from his church and others. Brown even went as far as to withdraw his nominations from Nickelodeon’s Kids’ Choice awards, where he was nominated for Favorite Song and Favorite Male Actor. This is probably for the best. We wouldn’t want Brown loosing his cool on stage after getting slimmed by Dakota Fanning, who, I am sure, has enticed more than her fair share of people to punch her in the face.

The good news is Chris Brown and Rihanna aren’t married. The bad news is Chris Brown and Rihanna Aren’t married YET. I’m sure twenty years ago Whitney Houston was thinking the same thing. No one thinks they’ll marry the guy with the criminal record. Whitney probably also never thought the overwhelming and timeless success of her ballad “ I will Always Love You,” would eventually lead to her downfall, not only as a respected singer, but simply as a credible and sane human being. Again, there's only so much one person can take.

The difference is that Whitney got out. It took her some time and probably some serious detoxification, but she’s a survivor. She’s not currently planning on recording a duet with her allegedly abusive boyfriend about the trials and tribulations of love. Even she is not that crazy.

So Rihanna, I’ve just got one thing to say to you:

The proof is in the pudding. There is nothing alleged about those bruises on your face. Don’t go there. We’ve seen it all before. You don’t have to marry this guy, you don’t have to stand by your man, and you don’t have to sing any duets with Mariah Carey if you don’t want to. We’re here to back you up. You’ve got miles to go and we don’t want to be holding our breath for the premiere Lifetime original movie, SOS: Someone Help Me- The True Story of Rihanna and Chris Brown. Brown obviously being portrayed by the artist formerly known as L’il Bow Wow and you in your first self-titled debut role.

Look, this story isn’t going anywhere soon, and neither are we. In fact your headlines could probably only be trumped by a budding Lindsay Lohan /Miley Cyrus romance caught on tape. But in short, we’re here for you, girl. Come rain or shine, despite all that has been said and done- there will always be room for you under my umbrella, ella, ella, ey, ey, ey.

(dino)Sore Loser

Dinosaurs easily topped last week's poll of the Best Pre-War Historical Bone Outs. For readers unfamiliar with our relatively esoteric terminology, a Bone Out is defined as a premature or hasty exit from a location or situation. A derivative of the Greek deus ex bonea, the phrase originally referred to the ascension of a god figure from the mortal realm to the ethereal Mount Olympus in Hellenistic tragedies. But I digress. I would like to commend our readers for recognizing the dinosaur as the Gold Standard of Bone Outs. In this category, it's hard to beat a good extinction.

But there is dissension in the ranks here at S.O.F. This particular poll seems to have ruffled the feathers of my already generally disgruntled colleague, Adam Petherbridge. Perhaps it's just his way of expressing himself or maybe it has something to do with his recent trip to Bible Camp, but Mr. Petherbridge has declared that dinosaurs never existed. Instead, he stalwartly insists that these primordial kings of the megacontinent are nothing but inventions of fantasy falsely placed atop the dais of scientific fact by the likes of Teddy Roosevelt, Jeff Goldblum, and Dr. Ross Geller.

Shocking, non?

All fundamentalism aside, Mr. Petherbridge's claim is unsettling on an integral level. What kind of world would this be if dinosaurs had not paved the way for us? And, if dinosaurs are but liberal apparitions of fancy, what else is called into question? Will we once again find ourselves sailing off the edge of the Earth or playing a lighthearted game of Drown the Witch? Luckily, these fears are unfounded as the legacy of the dinosaur is everywhere, enriching modern society and keeping haughty human beings grounded in their amoebic roots. Mr. Petherbridge, I say that your wanton claims are not only wrong but irreverent and irresponsible.

And so, I submit a brief yet thorough Defense of the Dinosaur:

The crux of the opposing argument rests in the fact that we cannot see dinosaurs in the physical forms they used to embody. I concede, this is true. However, the stamp of the dinosaurs runs the length of history up through and beyond today. Surely they look differently now than they did when Africa was connected to Florida, but what doesn't? The dinosaur has reinvented himself time and time again in order to keep up with an ever-changing natural, social, political, and economic global climate. When Raptors and Triceratops(es) freely roamed the Earth, it was a different time. They could be bigger and badder and rip each other apart without disrupting a larger order. But, just as the Suburban is a thing of the past and Poison is lucky to get a gig at a Harley Davidson dealership, the bubble must burst and a downsize is inevitable. It is for this reason that the modern day dino exists as a less conspicuous, gentrified version of his former self. But exist he certainly does.

As soon as the eye is trained to spot the dinosaurs of today, it becomes clear that they really are all around. My television set is filled with dinosaurs. Just look at that wily Geico Gecko. I may not be a scientist, but I do have eyeballs and and that scaly little specimen is undoubtedly carrying a torch for the Jurassic Age. Furthermore, I refuse to believe that an insurance giant like Geico would invest millions of dollars in an advertising campaign based on a creature with the evolutionary clout of a unicorn or a chimera or Splash. To question the integrity of big business is unnecessary and un-American. Insurance lenders have been nothing but pillars of moral rectitude and what they say goes. Read a newspaper.

Furthermore, to deny the existence of dinosaurs is to write off the undeniable footprint these prehistoric wonders have left on the English language. The commanding oratorical fireworks of the dinosaur are well documented in such films as The Land Before Time (v. I-IV) and Fern Gully. But these examples are superfluous, really. The real proof of the dino's profound lingual legacy rests no further than on your bookshelf, sir. It's called a thesaurus for a reason.

In short, I understand the lure of Creationism. Nothing makes me more uncomfortable than identifying with Jane Goodall's crowd of dirty apes. Yet, proof of the proud lineage of the dinosaur is overwhelming to the point of obvious and, as such, evolution simply cannot be denied.

Finally, if dinosaurs do not exist, then, Mr. Petherbridge, how do you explain this?:

ROAR!

AHF

World War Baseball Classic III

We at Smatter of Fact belive in the value of diverse opinions(unless we don't share them). So every now and then we like to outsource stories to those we believe are closest to them. These correspondents will join us a few times a month for everything from celebrity gossip to relationship advice, and all in the hard-hitting style you've come to expect from Smatteroffact.com

This week's column comes from our Sports Correspondent, Tones Masterson. With years of experience playing and writing in the baseball and sports world he has been left battered, literally and literally, and is just in the right state of mind to bring you the sports you crave.

With the economy in shambles and your 401(k) worth slightly more than a punch in the crotch, it’s easy to understand if Americans are a little preoccupied with their own problems.

But amidst these turbulent times of financial uncertainty, an international war is being waged. Like every other battle we, as a country, have fought since World War II, the combat is unconventional and the soldiers are once again battling to prove their country’s supremacy over their foreign oppressors. This war, however, is being fought under the clever guise of an international baseball competition. The bullets have been replaced by baseballs and wooden bats have once again become the weapon of choice for the men along the front lines

Yes, I am speaking of the World Baseball Classic. Or should I say, World War III? No? I should say World Baseball Classic? If I must.

The breadth of this battle extends far beyond anything we have ever seen in our history of foreign combat. USA vs. Germany? Please, ‘twas little more than a misunderstanding compared to our current situation.

Sixteen countries began the wartime campaign over a week ago and only eight remain. The attrition rate of once proud nations is absolutely staggering. Where only nine days ago they stood and proclaimed to the world that they would not go quietly into the good night, that they would not go down without a fight, the walking wounded of such cavalier countries as Italy, Australia, South Africa, Canada, Panama, China, and the Dominican Republic have quietly returned to their respective countries.

But there would be no parade for these fallen heroes, only shame and bitter disappointment at their failure to represent their nation in a war that, by definition, should end all wars.

As I stare out over the ghastly field that once held the dreams of so many earnest young men, I am left with only the consolation that America, the nation of my birth, still remains in the final field of eight. Joining these renegade patriots on the pasture of battle are Japan, Cuba, Puerto Rico, the Netherlands, Korea, Mexico, and Venezuela. Each nation believes their chances are strongest to emerge victorious from the smoky gunfire, but are their optimistic dispositions warranted? And how do they stack up against our fearless American fighters?

Japan: The Americans are hoping they will not have to react so strongly this time around with the Japanese. You can bet their last meeting will be in the back of the Japanese players’ minds when they step onto the field.

Cuba: A longtime nemesis of the United States, Cuba won’t need any outside help from the Russians to pull off this upset. A powerful lineup of relative unknowns could derail any hope the Americans possess, but with the battles being held in Miami and San Diego, don’t be surprised if some of the Cuban soldiers defect from their home country once they land on our shores and experience the wonders of the brand new Taco Bell value menu.

Puerto Rico: A protectorate of the United States (which they better not forget), these men are apparently still a bit miffed about their lack of representation in our highest levels of government. A defeat of the Americans, however, might leave the tiny island isolated from any outside aid in future battles.

The Netherlands: A surprise addition to the field of eight, the Netherlands showed grit and determination in knocking off the much more powerful Dominican nation in their initial assault. The question will be, will they have enough firepower left to take on the world’s most almighty republics?

Korea: Living in the shadow of Japan can have its advantages. On one hand, Japan’s might can overwhelm you in many areas (their mathematical precision is utterly astounding), but on the other hand, it can also lead other nations to underestimate the army your country has been forming since a crushing defeat at the hands of the United States in the mid-1950s.

Mexico: This country sure can use their lumber in an effective manner, but take away their big guns and el Dia de los Muertos could come early this year.

Venezuela: The only country to knock back the United States in the opening battle, this country’s will is strong. Look for them to take pages out of the book of their Columbian neighbors and attack their adversaries with guerilla-like advances.
My prediction?

Last time I checked baseball, like war, is America’s national pastime. We invented it. We perfected it. We dominated it.

Now, we just need to reclaim the fire our forefathers once possessed when they founded this great country. This international battle would never have been waged without America and it damn well will not end with us vanquished by an inferior foe. The United States shall rise and reclaim what is rightfully theirs.

Go America.

The Grapes of Math

(AP) There's an IBM commercial running these days that lauds the abilities "math" possesses to make the world a better place. From traffic improvements to fixing the economy, a series of smart-looking people presents the viewer with the idea that "math" can make everything better, even smarter. In fact "let's build a smarter planet" is the tag-line for the piece, and something I've been saying since MTV (that's MUSIC Television, for the lay-person) stopped playing music and instead turned its focus and finances to the ever-so-interesting lives of over-privileged West Coast youths. So I, for one, am ready to sign on the dotted line. But I don't see any queues being formed outside my local IBM, as eager hordes gather to get their first glimpse at "math's" wonders...

It could certainly be some combination of the facts that;

a) Traffic is horrible in any town with more than five cars,
b) The American economy makes Titanic look like an uplifting film
and, c) A sandwich costs 3 dollars more in NYC than in Pennsylvania

that leave most skeptic at the powers of "math." If the lofty claims IBM makes towards "math's" capabilities stand up to the truth test, then how come they have not been exploited as of yet? Why wait around to fix traffic, why tease the nation that financial ethics lost with the promise of "math" and reasonably priced lunches without actually putting the proverbial money where the proverbial mouth is? Someone must know something we Joe and Jane Schmoes don't or surely we would all be sitting high on our thrones drinking ice-cold "Math"onade. In fact, there seems to be a much more expansive agenda being pushed than a 30-second commercial is normally equipped for.

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I present exhibit A: George Orwell's 1984, the classic tale of the plight of the idealistic few against the dystopic many. A tale of a fictitious future in which everything has been "math"ed to a T, where there are no surprises and everyone operates in robot-like harmony towards the common goal of societal greatness. Everyone except for our heroes of course, who battle against this "math" society towards free will; after all, if it's good enough for God to allow...

A battle that exists in the psyche of the real world as well, after all it was IBM's Deep Blue computer that in 1997 beat World Chess Champion Garry Kasparov, proving for all time that machines are not only out to get us, but are indeed smarter than us already, probably waiting to ambush us at any moment so WATCH YOUR BACK!

But.

Is this really what is bothering us? Perhaps it is more accurate to say that most people don't like doing math and are therefore less apt to accept its merits. Perhaps IBM is trying to win back our trust(and I don't mean the trust lost after the 2001 book that accused IBM of supporting the Third Reich). Perhaps they are trying to pull us from the depths of Orwellian math illiteracy and in to the light of technology. Perhaps we have been trying so hard to avoid 1984 that we forgot the PC was made available to the public three years prior, in 1981.

So let's forget our differences and shake hands with technology, so that public transportation can run on time and our economy's ills can be cured with the click of a mouse

But most importantly, so that I can pay a reasonable price for Roast Beef on Rye.

Cross Your Heart and Hope to Die

Anthony Masterson has broken a promise for the last time.

In a moment he describes as "misguided," Masterson promised to join a group of college friends at Medieval Times, a Reformation-themed restaurant where diners are wowed by live jousting, dressage routines, and a hefty pile of salted meats.

The dinner outing marked a very special occasion, a (read: my) birthday, and attendance was mandatory. In an effort to discourage any last minute cancelations, the guests agreed to an unusual stipulation: All no-shows must retake the S.A.T.

"I knew I was in for it," Masterson admits in a phone interview on Thursday. The twenty-something's work schedule in Virginia delayed his arrival in New York by two hours; he did not stand a chance of making it to the joust. More than five years and one college degree later, and Masterson's fate was once again nestled in the hands of the College Board.

The test was administered the following morning; Masterson completed it in a little over two hours. "It was tougher this time around," he concedes. "Math is hard!"

The S.A.T is a roller coaster of emotional peaks and valleys for students of all ages. When the pencils are down and the battle is done, one timeless lesson still rings true: The S.A.T can change a man. When asked if he learned anything from his punishment, Masterson holds a long, thoughtful pause. "In many ways, I'm happy it happened. It made me think a lot about keeping my word. And, you know, about honor and justice and what it means to be a good human being. I'm thinking about becoming a teacher."

Luckily, he is not thinking about becoming a college freshman. Math and Verbal sections combined, Masterson scored a 960, well below the national average.

"Math is hard!"

AHF

Words, words, words

March 1, (AP)- 11:53 am: While the battle outside rages between the approaching spring and the bitter cold of the snowy city winter, in the Brooklyn Bridge Marriott I find myself in the throes of an equally fierce yet far more literal clash of titans.

The occasion is the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament, a two-day event in which the top 600-odd denizens of wordplay from the United States and the world thrust and parry along the x and y axes for a chance at trophies, cash prizes, and the respect and reverence of their fellow witcrackers. Today's menu consists of a three-course meal of division championships: the A, B, and C, in which the top three scorers from each division compete in front of the intellectually raucous crowd to complete a 60-word puzzle before the alotted 20 minutes are through. The same crossword is used for all three finals, the level of difficulty defined by the complexity of the clues(all edited by New York Times Crossword Editor Will Shortz, also the host of the ACPT).

As we wait for the doors to open, I talk with my step-sister, Katherine Bryant, 11-time participant at the ACPT. She has twice reached the finals, in the B and C divisions, and placed 10th overall and 1st in New England at this year's tournament. She explains the tournament system of points, tie-breakers, and timing while we mingle with some of her fellow contestants. I meet Dan Katz, this year's 5th overall and B division second place winner, and several other pilgrims to the verbal mecca that is ACPT. From age 14 to 86 every contestant is a character to behold. Some short, some tall, some quiet, some loud, some with glasses so thick they might be able to find new planets in our galaxy without the need for satellite images. Others are sporting the latest in Crossword Couture: scarves, hats, jackets, bags, all covered in crossword pattern print and begging to be filled in. I meet Kiran Kedlaya, with whom Katherine is year after year neck-in-neck with, or you might say word-for-word with, and Upstate division 2nd place winner Jennifer Turney and we head in to Salons C-E to behold the the main events and try our own hand at solving the final puzzle.

As we find seats close enough to the stage to follow along with the contestants and see who is making which mistake, I learn that although contestants compete with eachother every year, sometimes losing and sometimes winning, there is never animosity between them. Everyone is there to win through their own efforts, not because of another contestant's mistake or a grudge held over from a previous upset. Crosswords are a gentleman's game it seems, in which the ultimate outcome is nothing compared to the story that goes along with it.

Finally the contest begins, the C division finals first, and everyone in the audience is given copies of each puzzle. Katherine and Kiran grab A puzzles, Jennifer a B, while I reserve my efforts for the C puzzle, a Medium difficulty challenge. As papers are passed around like presents on Christmas morning, everyone is careful to keep them face down, lest they catch a glimpse of a clue early, skewing the results of their stopwatch timing. The start is called and the rustle of papers and pencils fills the room as everyone attacks their chosen puzzle with Hyena-like frenzy. On stage the three contestant begin, each holding the clues in one hand and a dry-erase marker in the others, careful not to erase the numbers in the squares as they double-check their entries. The cameras of Dinner: Impossible from the Food Network wander the room for reaction shots for the upcoming episode in which the chef is challenged with wordplay food items and an awards banquet to cater. Mark Dixon finishes first, followed closely by the only other woman in the top ten, Roberta Strauss, and third place honors go to Jerry Cordaro. In the crowd, Katherine has finished the A puzzle in 11 minutes and six seconds, and I finish my C-level puzzle in around 13 and a half minutes, not a shabby time I am led to believe by the more experienced puzzlers around me.

As each round advances, the crowd gets more and more involved, ooohing and aaahing at each answer the contestants write down. The contestants themselves listen to white noise tapes and wear noise-cancelling headphones as well to ensure they will not hear any answers from the crowd or be distracted from the task at hand. B division contestants Dan Katz, Dan Feyer, and Len Elliot attack the grid next, finishing with times of 7:08, 5:38, and 8:55, respectively. Mr. Feyer tied for first place with the three contestants in the A division finals, but was bumped to the B division through tie-breaker rules.

Had Boxing and Professional Wrestling announcer Michael Buffer been host, the entrance of Trip Payne, Tyler Hinman, and Francis Heaney would have been accompanied by loud music and "Let's get ready to rumbllllllllllle." Instead, the main event's commentary is supplied by the witty Neal Conan, recognizable by many as the host of NPR's Talk of the Nation. Tyler Hinman has won the competition 4 times in a row, and has a 40-game streak of perfection, not missing a single square in 5 years, unheard of at the ACPT. Trip is a crowd favorite, his huffs and puffs as he struggles Down and Across always good for a laugh or two. Francis, the relative new comer, has competed only once before in the A division finals.

As time begins, the crowd is transfixed on the puzzlers, who begin speeding around the grid, left to right, top to bottom, completing the clues with a speed that makes my completion of the C puzzle look like a square peg in a square hole accomplishment. At the 6:00 mark, Francis and Tyler are tied, and Trip is slightly behind, having not quite broken a section of the puzzle yet. At 9:00 Tyler corrects a mistake in the top right-hand corner, and the crowd breathes a sigh of relief along with the 24-year old defending champeen. At 9:31 Trip finishes first, and turns around just in time to see the gaping mouths of the audience that knows he has a mistake. He has written SLATE and ALLALONE rather than SKATE and ALKALINE. Oddly enough, Francis finished next at 12:50 with the same mistake, and now Tyler holds his destiny in his hands. If he makes one mistake he will be third, but if he can complete the puzzle before 20:00 runs up, he will be a 5-time champion; in the final round accuracy is first, time is second. Trip and Francis can only watch as Tyler struggles with two final squares, dancing around to ease the tension and hopefully jog his memory of words. At this point Tyler can see his competitors are finished, but being in a soundproof trance he has not heard the crowd noise of disappointment and the looks on the faces of the other two as they realize their mistakes. He thinks he has lost, and is trying only to finish the puzzle in the time alotted and avoid disqualification.

17:00 passes and the crowd begins to wonder if he will continue his perfect streak or fall at the mercy of Will Shortz's A-level clues. Finally, 18 seconds later, the light comes on in the attic and Tyler places his final letters. He turns around expecting a round of applause and the handshake of defeat, but is instead greeted with a standing ovation, and an excitement which I hear has not overtaken the crowd for the better part of 5 years, when Ellen Ripstein won after some 15-odd tries at the A finals. The formalities are taken care of as judges confirm the answers and review one last time the grids in front of them, and sure enough, Tyler Hinman is 5-time ACPT champion at age 24.

After lunch and the prize-awarding ceremony, at which the Katherine Bryant cheering squad made their presence known as she took the stage to receive her two trophies, I tell Katherine to make sure they hold the event in Brooklyn next year. "They're here for the long haul" she tells me.

Good news for me, because I am definitely Crossword crazy. See you next year, ACPT.

No Shirt? No Shoes? Big Problem.

The State of Maine has done it again.

CNN reports today that yet another sun-starved head case from the Great White North is making a mockery private enterprise. According to the news website, on Monday last, Donald Crabtree of Vassalboro, Maine opened Grand View, a coffee shop boasting topless male and female servers in the town of approximately 4,500 residents, none of whom should be seen naked. By anyone. Not even themselves. Ever.

I can only hope this is some sick publicity stunt concocted by the Kennebunkport outlet branch of Abercrombie & Fitch. My critique of this bombastic excuse for a business is three fold:

1. Why are people so stupid? 

Don't get me wrong, toplessness is great. With the right toxicity level and lighting, I can appreciate a good exposed peck/breast as much as the next person. Ain't no shame, baby, do your thing. But the naked torso/hot coffee combo makes me nervous for some reason. Oh, that's right. Common sense. Furthermore, I guess a lobster ate Crabtree's homework on the day his class learned about the infamously frivolous 1994 lawsuit of Liebeck v. McDonald's. The fast food chain was ordered to pay a disgruntled customer close to $3 million in damages after she spilled "excessively hot" McDonald's coffee on her hand. Her hand. How much do you think you get for a set of seared six pack abs or, better yet, two boobs?  One burned boob alone has to be worth at least three hands. Thus, according to my calculations, should any of Donald Crabtree Boy Genius' backcountry baristas take a pot of coffee to the knockers, he's looking at $18 million in compensation. Maine hasn't seen that kind of money since Ted Kennedy finally settled the family tab at the yacht club bar.

2. A rocky coastal outcropping does not a beach town make. 

Unlike the bronzed inhabitants of the opposite coast, Mainers are of hearty peasant stock. They are the descendants of fur trappers and the survivors of shipwrecks. I don't know about you, but I'm not dying to see some demi-nude, translucent-skinned relation of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow suggestively manipulating an espresso machine. I swear, you give Crabtree an inch and he becomes the Matthew McConaughey of breakfast drinks. Maine needs to keep her shirt on.

3. Finding a chest hair in my coffee would ruin me.

In conclusion, it seems that the crippling isolation of eternal winter has gotten to the citizens of Maine. Again. I only wish they would go back to logging or curling or whatever and leave the partial nudity to other, more evenly pigmented human beings.

Click to view the entirely unfortunate CNN report

AHF

A Pre-Post Post Ode

(AP) Something like this:

PoSt-pOsT

After this there will be no first posts, only subsequent posts, beginning with the number 2 and continuing in numerical order: 3,4,5,6.......
Posts will occur only when, and if, we feel they should.
We post for no man, man posts for us
These are not bedposts, fenceposts, or postmen
They are posts, prounounced p'oh-ss-t's

Ewing Posted Dream Team, Dream Team Post-Ewing
This is a post script, if you will, prescripts need not apply, though prescriptions are welcome
All posts are endorsed by the Right Reverend Stevie Nicks, until further notice

A Post Poem:
We host posts
posts we host we post post haste
posterboys for posts
most are joyed with posts
and we boast the most posts
Our posts are roasts
we will not coast through posts
A toast to posts

PP(Post Poem):
That poem was not a post.

*End Scene*