ACROSS
1 Carpet thickness
5 Crowbar,
basically
10 Vanishing ski lift
14 Preemptive
rescue op
15 Wear down
16 MasterCard rival
17 *Boot camp
newbie
19 Not fer
20 Slap in the face
21 Play the hand
you were dealt
23 Smooth engine
sound
25 __-Locka, Florida
26 Aetna’s bus.
27 Michelin product
31 Ancient vase in a
museum, say
33 Fuel-efficient
Chevy
34 Physics work unit
36 Starts the kitty
39 Truth stretcher
40 Nebula Award
genre
43 Undiluted
44 Untrue
46 Acquired
47 __ Minor: Little
Bear
48 Chinese menu
promise
51 Company
co-founded by
J.P. Morgan
53 “The Simpsons”
disco guy
55 Sport-__: 4 x 4
56 90 deg. at the
North Pole, e.g.
57 Overly long and
generally
unproductive
activity
60 One of Santa’s
reindeer
65 “SOS” pop group
66 *Defensible alibi
68 Baked desserts
69 Latest craze
70 Ointment additive
71 Tortoise racer
72 Spiritual guardian
73 Identity hider
DOWN
1 Prefix with scope
2 Hall of Fame
catcher Rodriguez
3 Newton’s motion
trio
4 Color of raw silk
5 Professors’ talks
6 Boot the ball
7 “Parlez-__
français?”
8 Manuscript fixer
9 Make another
recording of
10 Promo on the
tube
11 *Grand scheme
of things
12 From China, say
13 Tirades
18 Pre-college,
briefly
22 Simba’s
playmate
24 Defunct Ford
division, for short
27 Baby whale
28 Sports shoe
brand
29 *It may be
rational, in math
30 Sculptor’s subject
32 Data to be
processed
35 Band tour
booking
37 Highland tongue
38 Close tightly
41 Basketball
transgression
42 “Agreed!” ... and
what can be said
about the start of
the answers to
starred clues
45 Grounded Aussie
birds
49 Mark of
disgrace
50 Columbus, by
birth
52 Lay’s chips-in-a-
can brand
53 Dangerous
bacterium
54 Knee-to-ankle
bone
58 Lessen, as pain
59 Skull Island ape
61 Rip-off
62 Island dance
63 Those, in Mexico
64 Cause serious
nose-wrinkling
67 Stop working, as
an engine
By Roland Huget
©2017 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
10/03/17
10/03/17
ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:
RELEASE DATE– Tuesday, October 3, 2017
Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle
Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis
xwordeditor@aol.com
6 — Tuesday, October 3, 2017
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
J
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E
Children, listen: The best
thing to read on the internet
is New York magazine’s Grub
Street Diet. Once a week, the
site publishes someone’s food
journal of the past few days — a
culinary diary from people who
range from minimally famous
to Kristen Bell.
Of course, the great secret
of the Grub Street Diet is that,
often, it’s the random author
you’ve never heard of or the
CEO of a company you didn’t
know
existed
that
writes
the best piece (spoiler alert,
Kristen
Bell’s
diet
sounds
atrocious). The best of these
diary entries read like the
world’s best food writing from
people who aren’t even food
writers; they’re ridiculously
entertaining vignettes of a
few days eating around New
York, San Francisco or LA.
The worst Grub Street Diets
are unfortunately bland, rote
descriptions
of
food.
And
sometimes you find one that
is, truly, impossible to explain
— a great sentence to take out
of context here is this: “I have
a lot of calls to do this morning,
so I pour a cold sugar-free Red
Bull into a hot large coffee and
gulp it.”
Obviously now, in honor of
my favorite weekly content
machine, I’ll try my best to
recreate a Grub Street Diet for
a couple of uneventful days.
Let’s all be mindful that I’m
in college, I was on the tail
end of my grocery supply and I
simply did not have the time to
cook that much. I apologize in
advance. (And now that I think
about it, I take back what I said
about New York Giants running
back Rashad Jennings writing
a shitty blog post. I’m sorry,
Rashad. Much like playing
with Eli Manning as your
quarterback, this was harder
than it looks.)
Monday, September 25
Keeping with the theme of
“harder than it looks,” I wake
up at 7:20, 10 minutes before
my alarm is supposed to go off
at 7:30. I hate that.
That’s a fitting omen: It’s
going to be a horrible week! I
have — and I believe this is the
metric unit used around the
world — a shit-ton of work, all
due before Thursday and with
no time to do it. But I must
eat, of course, so after a solid
shower, I head down to the
kitchen and make some coffee.
I look around for something,
anything, before I find some
honey. There’s yogurt in the
fridge, so I slap some into a
bowl and drizzle a bit of cheap,
Trader Joe’s honey on top. The
coffee tastes like ass. It’s fine.
This is good enough.
Hungry and tired, several
hours and a lot of hard work
later I realize I need to head
home to make myself a grilled
cheese. I’d like to say here
that, if nothing else, my grilled
cheeses are fantastic. Even if
I don’t have the ideal bread
(pullman loaf, of course), I
still always manage to put
together
a
solid
sandwich.
It takes a slightly unhealthy
amount of butter, that plastic
Kraft American Singles stuff
and, as I’ve learned, patience.
I down a quick one made with
multigrain bread, sliced into
triangles, and then I’m off to
the Espresso Royale.
Everyone calm down. Of
course it’s the one on State
Street; I don’t hate myself.
Despite a good 20 minutes
of actual work and two hours
of, well, not that, I feel in need
of a treat. I pick up a small
coffee and a blueberry muffin.
Espresso’s baked goods aren’t
the greatest, but they get the
job done. And they fill you up!
Alas, dinner that night is
a special one. I’m working
production at the University’s
most editorially and financially
independent newspaper, so we
all decide TK Wu is the way
to go. TK Wu, on E. Liberty, is
a staple of the last few years
I’ve been at the Daily. There’s
nowhere
else
on
campus
you can get such good shitty
Chinese food, and at such an
affordable price! And if you’re
going to go bad Chinese food,
you might as well go full bad
Chinese food: I order the
General Tso’s Chicken with
white rice. It’s incredible for
the first few bites, and then
once you realize all that murky,
red liquid at the bottom of the
container may not, in fact, be
actual food, you throw it out.
It’s glorious. I’m only slightly
embarrassed.
Tuesday, September 26
Mondays suck, of course, but
Tuesdays are a great day of the
week for me. I don’t have class
until four, but again, since this
is a week of endless papers and
math assignments, I get up
early in the hopes of getting it
all done. I make another cup of
really bad coffee (guys, don’t
worry, it’s just that my coffee
machine sucks), and then head
to the gym. I make it back an
hour later, shower, throw on a
dope outfit, eat a banana and
step outside. It’s still hot as
nuts.
Nevertheless, I make my
way over to my temple (the
Espresso on State Street), and,
sweaty and flustered, I order
another coffee. I hammer out
a couple essays of dubious
quality. Bruegger’s, which is
apparently the only place in
Ann Arbor you can get a bagel,
is across the street; I blurt out
the classic line — “Can you
watch my stuff real quick?” —
to no one in particular and trot
over.
My
take
on
Bruegger’s
fluctuates. It’s obviously not
the
greatest
restaurant
on
the planet (you’ll notice I’ve
lowered my standards for a
lot of things this week), but
they do serve smoked salmon.
I order the sandwich with lox,
cream cheese, tomatoes, red
onions and capers. It’s good,
and just filling enough.
Ethically, it wouldn’t be
right if I didn’t cook at least
one meal for this goddamn faux
Grub Street diet. I’ve realized
now that, again, I am in no
place to criticize New York
Giants running back Rashad
Jennings for the quality of his
internet writing. But I will say
this: This is a pretty boring
diary so far, to be sure, but I’m
a college student in Ann Arbor
with a limited budget. If you’re
an East Coast media elite-type
in New York City, you have no
excuses. Buy that $4 fucking
coffee and tell us how it tastes,
man.
As for my own meal: Today’s
dinner
will
be...
chicken
breasts! Ah, chicken breasts,
that famous dish we all know
and love. I’ve marinated them
in a quick solution of olive oil,
garlic powder, onion powder,
chilli powder, salt, pepper and
then whatever else I could
find in the spice cabinet. They
all taste the same. Except for
cinnamon. They do not all taste
like cinnamon.
The first thing I do is get a
good sear on these bad boys,
because that’s crucial. Don’t
let anyone tell you otherwise. I
pop them in the oven to finish
off, because you’ve got to cook
the meat, of course. Don’t let
anyone tell you otherwise. I
microwave a bag of that Trader
Joe’s frozen brown rice stuff,
because that’s what I had time
for. Don’t let anyone tell you
otherwise. After a quick sautee
of broccoli and mushrooms, I
carefully compose a plate of
one piece of chicken, a handful
of rice and some vegetables.
Nice! This is a good enough
image to end on.
What I ate last Monday
and Tuesday
FOOD COLUMN
NABEEL
CHOLLAMPAT
2017 Manhattan Short
Film Festival successful
COURTESY OF MANHATTAN SHORT FILM FESTIVAL
FESTIVAL REVIEW
For one week every year,
film lovers gather in over
250 cities across the globe
to simultaneously watch and
vote on the ten
short
films
of
the
Manhattan
Short
Film
Festival.
Highly
competitive,
prestigious
and
interactive,
Manhattan Short
Films seeks to showcase talent
from around the world and
enable viewers to determine
the merit of each screened
piece. This year, the 10 selected
films exhibited diversity in
both genre and nationality,
with compelling stories and
performances condensed in 15
minutes or less.
Selected from over 1,600
submissions, it is clear why
this year’s ten short films
made the cut. Though more
or less predictable, every film
was clean cut, entertaining
and well-paced. The strongest
films highlighted unique and
influential figures in history,
such as the Auschwitz prisoner
who cut the hair of a Nazi
general for four years in tense
silence (“Hope Dies Last”), and
the Italian woman who defied
the law that forced women to
marry their rapists (“Viola
Franca”).
The
most complex and
disturbing
film,
“Mare Nostrum,”
worked to dignify
Syrian
refugees
and
complicate
the act of risking
one’s
life
in
the name of hope. The only
animated piece, “In A Nutshell,”
was a visually stunning stream
of consciousness that linked
unlikely
objects
together.
The festival ended with “8
Minutes,” a moving piece set in
an apocalypse that strengthens
the bond between a magician
and his son.
Overall, the festival was a
fun and entertaining showcase
of diverse international talent.
The
viewing
and
voting
process is unique in its way
of connecting the viewer to a
global community of people
watching and voting on the
same pieces at the same time.
I really enjoyed the experience
and recommend it to anyone
who
enjoys
succinct
and
compelling film.
SYDNEY COHEN
Daily Arts Writer
Manhattan
Short Film
Festival
Michigan Theater
For one week
every year, film
lovers gather in
over 250 cities ...
to simultaneously
watch and vote on
the ten short films
of the Manhattan
Short Film
Festival
FILM REVIEW
‘I Am Blues’ gives lost
legends moment to shine
Before there was rock ‘n’ roll
or country or hip hop, there
were the blues.
Blues, the father
of
soul,
were
born in the deep
south, nursed in
the
swamplands
of Louisiana with
a
broken
piano
and cradled along
the Mississippi River with a
horsehair guitar. From the
smokehouses to the BBQ joints
to the churches to the cotton
fields, there was once a time
when blues were everywhere.
Documentarian Daniel Cross
(“Chairman
George”)
goes
back to the birthplace of blues
to take the audience on a tour
of the once-glittering world
of B.B. King and Jimmy Reed,
now a wasteland of neglect
fueled only by the few, devoted
players dedicated
to
keeping
the
blues alive.
Through
interviews
and
impromptu
jam
sessions
with
blues
masters
and key players,
now in their late 80s, “I Am The
Blues” illustrates the passion,
artistry and history behind
the art that lives on. The film
is grounded in the present, by
following blues legends like
Bobby Rush, Barbara Lynn,
Lazy Lester, Little Freddie
King, Henry Gray and more,
while expertly painting a vivid
picture of the lively past of the
genre solely through stories and
first-hand accounts (the only
archival footage is shown in
the credits). Despite their age,
these legends still have their
rhythm, but most importantly,
they still have their blues.
BECKY PORTMAN
Daily Arts Writer
“I Am The
Blues”
Film Movement
Michigan Theater
Before there was
rock ‘n’ roll or
country, there
were the blues