1 ACROSS: faux __ __ __
(it always starts easy)
It’s my father’s fault. Or maybe I could trace it one step further back and say it’s his newspaper’s fault. It’s so full of small-town gossip and “blogging” -- which is what my father quite rightly, and uncannily (what does he know about blogs?), calls the ridiculously inappropriate and sentimental ramblings on personal and irrelevant subjects that constitute the local columnists’ sole contribution to the dissemenation of “news” in his area -- that the only thing he could find to sink his teeth into was… the crossword puzzle. It became a daily thing, first his, then mine.
At Christmas, we did a puzzle together everyday. Well, sort of together. He started calling me his closer, giving me a chance to work on it -- I’d usually close the deal -- only after he’d exhausted his own abilities. There was definitely a competitive aspect.
He still does his puzzle everyday. He informs me by email that Begonia (the cat) is not as good a closer as I was. He clips the columns that annoy him the most -- and sends thick stacks of them to me to annoy me too. He also sends me puzzles, really big ones, from Sundays. He says they’re duplicates (he keeps the smaller, more manageable weekday ones for himself), but I think he mostly wants to challenge me, to test my patience and resourcefulness exactly the way the puzzles test his.
And he knows I can’t resist the challenge. I work on the same puzzle for days. He never asks me how it’s going, or even if I bother. I know my obsession has more to do with me than him, but still, I don’t want to disappoint him. I don’t want him to think I’m stupid, or that I give up too soon. I don’t want to think these things about myself. Worse, I don’t want to be one of those shallow irrelevant blogger people that earn his scorn with their naïve and insignificant sentimentality. Not that he knows about this blog, or the other one. Not that I have anything to worry about. Like I said, it’s about me, not him.
P.S. I dedicate 102 DOWN to Steph.
The clue is “sell out.”
Here’s what I had to go on for the longest time: __ __ T O N.
It’s my father’s fault. Or maybe I could trace it one step further back and say it’s his newspaper’s fault. It’s so full of small-town gossip and “blogging” -- which is what my father quite rightly, and uncannily (what does he know about blogs?), calls the ridiculously inappropriate and sentimental ramblings on personal and irrelevant subjects that constitute the local columnists’ sole contribution to the dissemenation of “news” in his area -- that the only thing he could find to sink his teeth into was… the crossword puzzle. It became a daily thing, first his, then mine.
At Christmas, we did a puzzle together everyday. Well, sort of together. He started calling me his closer, giving me a chance to work on it -- I’d usually close the deal -- only after he’d exhausted his own abilities. There was definitely a competitive aspect.
He still does his puzzle everyday. He informs me by email that Begonia (the cat) is not as good a closer as I was. He clips the columns that annoy him the most -- and sends thick stacks of them to me to annoy me too. He also sends me puzzles, really big ones, from Sundays. He says they’re duplicates (he keeps the smaller, more manageable weekday ones for himself), but I think he mostly wants to challenge me, to test my patience and resourcefulness exactly the way the puzzles test his.
And he knows I can’t resist the challenge. I work on the same puzzle for days. He never asks me how it’s going, or even if I bother. I know my obsession has more to do with me than him, but still, I don’t want to disappoint him. I don’t want him to think I’m stupid, or that I give up too soon. I don’t want to think these things about myself. Worse, I don’t want to be one of those shallow irrelevant blogger people that earn his scorn with their naïve and insignificant sentimentality. Not that he knows about this blog, or the other one. Not that I have anything to worry about. Like I said, it’s about me, not him.
P.S. I dedicate 102 DOWN to Steph.
The clue is “sell out.”
Here’s what I had to go on for the longest time: __ __ T O N.
posted by soap at
5:50 PM
3 Comments:
Thanks, Sissy! I reciprocate with 14 down (you know...)
The dedication had only to do with the word (isn't it a cutie?), not the betrayal or anything bad. But I wonder, did you get the metaphor? I think I did, just last night.
The word is cute.
I didn't get the metaphor, I never do.
Just focus on 14 down.
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