3.05.2009

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

3.01.2009

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.


AHF