The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
Arts
Monday, October 29, 2018 — 5A

By Paul Coulter
©2018 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
10/29/18

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

10/29/18

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

Release Date: Monday, October 29, 2018

ACROSS
1 Autos
5 Cutlass 
automaker
9 Stick-on design
14 Fever with chills
15 Hide, as a bone
16 100 bucks
17 Breadbasket 
item
18 Read bar codes 
on
19 “Wizard of __ 
Park”: Edison
20 Protective net 
above a cradle
23 __ Paulo, Brazil
24 Some tech sch. 
grads
25 Type of energy 
or reactor
29 ’60s-’70s 
quarterback 
Tarkenton
31 Content cat 
sound
33 Spanish gold
34 Government 
prosecutor
37 Philip of “Kung 
Fu”
38 Live and breathe
39 “Ich bin __ 
Berliner”: JFK
40 Reduced 
responsiveness 
to medication
45 “Casablanca” 
pianist
46 She sheep
47 Blues singer 
James
48 At first, second 
or third
50 Long __ of the 
law
51 Airline to 
Stockholm
54 Unexpected 
classroom 
announcement 
... and, initially, 
one hiding in 
each set of 
puzzle circles
58 Gorge
61 Aesop’s 
also-ran
62 “East of Eden” 
director Kazan
63 Blender button
64 Barely makes, 
with “out”
65 A short distance 
away
66 Accumulate

67 “Wild” frontier 
place
68 IRS form IDs

DOWN
1 King and queen
2 Greek 
marketplace
3 Hitchhiker’s 
principle?
4 Actress Ward
5 Lewd
6 “Star Wars” 
mastermind
7 “Dang!”
8 Lip-__: mouth the 
words
9 U.S. capital 
transit system
10 First month of 
el año
11 Pro’s opposite
12 Braves, on 
scoreboards
13 DiCaprio, in fan 
mags
21 Potatoes partner
22 “B.C.” cartoonist 
Johnny
26 Tennis great 
with nine Grand 
Slam singles 
titles
27 Goodnight 
woman of song
28 Coquettish

30 Tolled like Big 
Ben
31 Romeo’s rival
32 Salt Lake City 
team
34 Leftovers wrap
35 Postage-paid 
enc.
36 Cost of living?
40 Brit. military 
award
41 Job applicants’ 
preparations
42 Pretty pitcher

43 Most concise
44 “Don’t look __ like 
that!”
49 Beasts of burden
50 Buenos __
52 From China, say
53 Popular 
performers
55 “That was close!”
56 Leaves gatherer
57 Addition column
58 Auditing pro
59 Run smoothly
60 Altar in the sky

“Don’t Pass Cars / On Curve 

or Hill / If the Cops / Don’t 
Get You / Morticians Will.” 
“If Daisies Are Your / Favorite 
Flower / Keep Pushin’ Up / 
Those 
Miles-Per-Hour.” 
“If 

You / Don’t Know / Whose 
Signs / These Are / You Can’t 
Have / Driven Very Far.”

If none of these phrases are 

familiar to you, it likely has 
less to do with how far you’ve 
driven and more to do with the 
fact that this is 2018. From the 
late ’20s through the early ’60s, 
poems like these were painted 
on advertisements for Burma-
Shave, a company known for 
spacing out its iconic red, 
white-lettered signs along the 
sides of roads. Some had to do 
with shaving (“Shaving Brushes 
/ You’ll Soon See ‘Em / On the 
Shelf / In Some / Museum”), 
some with road safety (“It’s 
Best For / One Who Hits / 
The Bottle / To Let Another / 
Use the Throttle”). The main 
trademarks were their dry wit 
and funny, memorable rhymes.

Today I’m going to use this 

space to talk about an odd little 
corner of the literature world: 
signs. This column has always 
been about pieces of literature 
that 
aren’t 
often 
analyzed 

critically or sometimes even 
considered literature to begin 
with. I believe that the subject 
of signs is fitting and that 
signs, in all sorts of contexts, 
are indeed literature — and 
not only that, they also offer 
us windows into culture and 
humanity in a way that few 
other types of literature can.

To illustrate what I mean, 

here are two of my most recent, 
memorable experiences with 
signs. The first happened two 
weeks ago, when a few friends 
and I were on our way back to 
Ann Arbor after spending a long 
weekend in Washington, D.C., 
and Baltimore for fall break. 
The drive back was nearly 10 
hours, and a lot of it was spent 
in silence — we hadn’t slept 
much the night before, and all 
of us were anxious to get home 
and rest.

So, for about three continuous 

hours, we played the Alphabet 
Game. I’d played so many times 

before, on countless road trips 
with my parents and family 
and other friends, and the 
game was classic, familiar and 
fun. We’d taken a route that 
avoided tolls and therefore 
spent a lot of time on smaller, 
winding and uneventful roads, 

but even on these, when we did 
happen upon a town or a cluster 
of houses, we found so many 
unexpected gems: “Quarry.” 
“Quartz.” “Junction.” “Zeal.” 
And then, of course, there were 
the midterm election signs 
that peppered so many yards, 
beckoning locals to vote for 
Republicans 
and 
Democrats 

we’d never heard of.

The 
second 
experience 

was last weekend, when I ran 
the Detroit Free Press’ U.S.-
only half marathon. I pretty 
much hadn’t trained at all, and 
was feeling the weight of the 
distance as early as four or five 
miles in. But all along the way, 
people in Detroit had gathered 
— some in big block parties, 
some in small clusters — with 
signs: “Worst Parade Ever!” “I 
trained for MONTHS to hold 
this sign!” “That’s a lot of work 
for a free banana!” and “New 

mile who dis?”

Some were more creative 

than 
others, 
but 
in 
my 

struggle to keep getting the 
miles behind me, I smiled at 
almost all of them. I had also 
run the Chicago Marathon 
my sophomore year, a month 
ahead of the 2016 election, and 
seen a lot of similar signs back 
then. Some had the exact same 
phrases. The main difference 
was that in Chicago, I also saw 
political jokes everywhere I 
looked: “If Trump can run, so 
can you” and, “Run like Trump 
is trying to grab your p*ssy.”

I don’t usually think about 

or look at signs unless they’re 
right in front of my face. I 
think it’s fair to say I’m like 
most people in that regard. 
But in many ways, the signs 
we make are a bellwether for 
what we’re thinking and what 
we value. There are the ones 
made by companies, billboards 
and 
advertisements 
along 

highways, 
storefront 
signs, 

neon signs. And then there are 
the ones made by individuals — 
standing up for politicians they 
like, or against the politicians 
they dislike, or simply touting 
a funny joke meant to help 
another 
person 
along. 
The 

night before the half-marathon, 
my mom and I saw a crowd 
of people gathered outside a 
hotel in Detroit, chanting and 
picketing something for hours 
in the freezing sleet and snow, 
all holding signs.

Signs show us what humor we 

appreciate, what we’re willing 
to stand for and what we won’t 
tolerate. They show us what our 
culture values aesthetically, 
and what language we speak. 
The first time I left the U.S., 
the signs were the first thing 
that stood out to me: giving 
directions 
and 
information, 

simple and familiar things, in 
a language other than the one 
I’d never realized I always took 
for granted. Walking around 
airports and train stations, 
driving 
through 
cities 
and 

towns and walking down busy 
streets — I was in that country, 
Germany, for a week and a half, 
and I was still reading signs 
everywhere we went by the 

time we left. I 
never got tired 
of it.

A sign may 

not 
be 
much 

like a book, but 
I think it is at 
least 
possible 

to read a sign 
like 
a 
poem. 

I 
even 
think 

it’s poetic that 
a sign comes 
with so much 
surrounding it: 
the place and 
the context in 
which you saw 
it, the person 
showing 
it 

to you. Signs 
interact with us 
all the time, and 
not in purely 
functional 
ways: 
They 

keep 
us 

awake 
during 

long 
trips, 

they 
propel 

us 
through 

tough 
races 

and 
games 

because 
they 

remind us that 
people, 
even 

total strangers, 
are out there 
rooting 
for 

us, or looking 
out for us. We 
make 
signs 

for 
concerts, 

for 
picking 

people 
up 
at 

the 
airport, 

for 
parades 

and 
rallies. 

It’s funny that 
something 
designed 
to 

relay such little 
information 
can 
actually 

tell 
you 
so 

much, but there 
you have it.

What signs tell us 
about ourselves

DAILY LITERATURE COLUMN

LAURA 
DZUBAY

Signs, in all 

sorts of contexts, 

are indeed 

literature

Last weekend, I ventured 

down to a part of Ann Arbor I’ve 
never been to before. Another 
Daily Arts Writer joined me, and 
though it was tough to find, we 
were determined to watch “The 
Stone Witch” for its opening 
night at Ann Arbor’s new venue, 
Theatre Nova.

“The Stone Witch” by Shem 

Bitterman is about young artist 
Peter Chandler, who was hired to 
help the world’s most illustrious 
children’s book author, Simon 
Grindberg, finish his overdue 
book. I wasn’t familiar with this 
play before watching, but the plot 
was clear enough to follow along.

Theatre Nova is comprised 

of a simple, black box theater. It 
has been a long time since I’ve 
watched a performance in such 
an intimate space, and I enjoyed 
being close enough to actually 
see the actors’ facial expressions.

I was impressed by the high 

production value of the play. 
The space was well-used and 
the set was detailed, with many 
decorations 
that 
reflected 

Grindberg’s 
character. 
The 

lighting was used intentionally, 
which I appreciated because it 
can often become overwhelming, 
especially in smaller venues.

In 
particular, 
Dennis 

Kleinsmith’s 
performance 
as 

Grindberg stood out. He delivered 
his lines with power and seemed 
to capture the audience with all 
of his scenes. Because there are 
only three actors in the play, his 
death at the end makes us feel his 
physical loss, and the stage feels 
empty without him.

Though there were some sad 

moments in the play, a lot of 
humor balanced out these parts, 
and the audience could be heard 
laughing along enthusiastically. 
Watching the progression of 
Chandler’s 
relationship 
with 

Kleinsmith is endearing and 

sweet, and touches on how 
special the mentor and mentee 
relationship can be. It’s a story 
that 
anyone 
can 
relate 
to, 

regardless of age, gender or 
ethnicity.

Ethan Kankula’s performance 

of Chandler was also admirable, 
though 
there 
were 
a 
few 

times 
where 
Chandler 
had 

outbursts of surprise or anger 
that felt uncharacteristic for 
Kankula’s portrayal. Despite this 
spottiness, 
Kankula 
depicted 

Chandler’s 
character 
growth 

realistically and with charisma.

I found the scene when 

Chandler 
and 
Grindberg 
go 

swimming to be jarring because 
it started progressing towards 
nudity. Both actors ended up 
remaining in their boxers, but 
the choice to have them remove 
clothing didn’t add anything to 
the performance and felt slightly 
uncomfortable. This scene didn’t 
detract from my experience 
viewing the play, but it didn’t 
enhance it either.

My favorite part about the 

play was the idea of imagination. 
Chandler and Grindberg are 
incredibly curious and creative, 
and this was fleshed out through 
their dialogue and the props 
of their drawings. The use of a 
screen to portray the witch or a 
change in setting also conveyed 
the importance of strong visuals 
to the characters as they created 
illustrations for the book and 
sometimes got lost in them.

Overall, “The Stone Witch” 

was a relaxing and comical way 
to spend my Friday night. By the 
end of the play, I noticed many 
of the audience members were 
regular attendees of Theatre 
Nova’s 
productions, 
and 
I 

think that speaks highly to the 
quality and portrayals of their 
productions. They’ve figured out 
how to choose and direct plays 
that resonate with the majority 
of 
their 
audience 
members, 

allowing us to enjoy the simple 
beauty in their plays.

If you want to watch “The 

Stone Witch,” it will be running 
at Theatre Nova until Nov. 11.

Theatre Nova’s ‘The Stone
Witch’ portrays beauty in 
friendship & imagination

NITYA GUPTA
Daily Arts Writer

COMMUNITY CULTURE REVIEW

Courtesy of Shem Bitterman

Courtesy of Shem Bitterman

Courtesy of Shem Bitterman

In particular, 

Dennis 

Kleinsmith’s 

performance 

as Grindberg 

stood out. He 

delivered his lines 

with power and 

seemed to capture 

the audience with 

all of his scenes