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By Robert and Marlea Ellis
©2019 Tribune Content Agency, LLC
04/05/19

Los Angeles Times Daily Crossword Puzzle

Edited by Rich Norris and Joyce Nichols Lewis

04/05/19

ANSWER TO PREVIOUS PUZZLE:

Release Date: Friday, April 5, 2019

ACROSS
1 Triumphant 
exclamation
5 Illusion
11 “The good is __ 
interred with their 
bones”: “Julius 
Caesar”
14 Ostrich relatives
15 Payday lender, 
perhaps
16 Extract with effort
17 Suffers
18 Make some 
cote residents 
angry?
20 Singer Etheridge
22 One no longer 
working
23 Enjoy at a 
leisurely pace
24 Pikelike fish
25 Nihilistic art 
movement
26 Calf roper’s 
target?
31 Put away
32 Young one
33 Storm 
components?
37 Ranking suit
40 Giant Mel
42 Fund
43 2019 Grammy 
Awards host 
Keys
45 40-Acr. is in it
47 Savings plan 
acronym
48 Birdwatcher’s 
journal entry?
52 “Frozen” sister
55 “Live __”: Taco 
Bell slogan
56 Prop for Palmer
57 Valley element?
59 Embezzlers, e.g.
63 Borden, in the 
1870s?
65 Cloud of gloom
66 Golden __
67 Singer Grande
68 Biblical twin
69 Risk
70 Identified
71 Editor’s notation

DOWN
1 Group of 
playmates
2 Parisian love
3 Hardly inspiring

4 Good 
Samaritan’s offer
5 Persnickety one
6 “The Thin Man” 
canine
7 Help in the 
theater
8 Biblical mount
9 Unfavorable 
mark
10 In the past, in the 
past
11 Adams’ “Nixon in 
China,” e.g.
12 Let go
13 Far from 
laid-back
19 Out of sight
21 Work for parents
24 Juicy tidbit 
lead-in
26 Greek salad 
topper
27 Bowling great __ 
Anthony
28 Sewing case
29 “I can’t get no 
satisfaction!”
30 Farm mom
34 First name in 
the cast of “The 
Sopranos”
35 Sped

36 Christmas song 
swimmer
38 2008 presidential 
candidate
39 Actress Zadora
41 Heavy weight
44 Bedroom piece
46 Dimwit
49 Polish seaport, in 
Germany
50 Welcoming gift
51 Leaked slowly
52 Founded: Abbr.

53 Feudal subject
54 Reason for 
closed schools, 
perhaps
58 Show 
appreciation
59 Stabber
60 Still-life standard
61 Airline known for 
tight security
62 Turn on an axis
64 Half a slalom 
segment

FOR RENT

FOR RENT
SERVICES

Teenage girls have been the 
most 
misunderstood 
part 
of 
humanity since the beginning 
of 
time. 
Even 
their 
own 
understanding of alienation is 
made fun of, turned into memes 
of “mom, it’s just a phase” and 
a 
brand 
of 
self-deprecating 
humor that proliferates across 
teen and adult society, even 
infecting girls themselves. It’s 
no wonder this is true — our 
media consistently pushes those 
few teenage girls who are self-
confident and genuine down to 
join the rest of their age group 
through unrealistic standards for 
everything from their bodies to 
the colors they are supposed to 
wear. We all know this, and many 
of us (including myself) have 
channeled their frustration at that 
pressure into classic existential 
angst. We pierce our noses, we 
dye our hair, we pick up the guitar 
or the cigarette, sometimes all at 
once. In avoiding one stereotype, 
we slowly move into another. 
There’s no better example of 
this kind of response to society 
than the mere existence of 
singer Billie Eilish. Eilish is a 
veritable unicorn in the music 
industrial complex — she’s a 
teenage girl, yes, but she’s missed 
the 
expected 
transformation 
and hypersexualization by a 
thread. She’s in charge of her 
own songwriting, often done 
with her brother and producer 
Finneas. Eilish is partial to pairing 
incredibly oversized sweatshirts 
and pants and has developed a 
fashion sense that literally only she 
could pull off. She’s not dancing in 
the hallways of a Catholic school 
in miniskirts, she’s collaborating 
with 
hypebeast 
fashion 
icon 
Takashi Murakami on Hot Topic-
esque 
merchandise. 
Eilish’s 

trademark is a sense of angst that 
never makes it into eye-rolling 
territory, creating an enthralling 
case study in what the fusion 
of 2019’s feminist environment 
and the extant pressure of her 
industry can do. 
So it’s no wonder that the singer 
has accrued a devoted army of 
followers and fans, most of them 
teenagers like herself. Though 
it’s a surprise to remember 
after watching a few of Eilish’s 
interviews or music videos, she’s 
only 17 — and started making 
music four years ago. Despite her 
age, Eilish oozes a kind of beyond-
her-years understanding of the 
world that many modern girls do, 
too. In a world that plays to their 
insecurities constantly, Eilish’s 
main audience sees a light in her 
music, one that tells them their 
jaded perception of society is ok 
and even cool. In this, the singer 
is under tremendous pressure 
to maintain her image as a 
perpetually bored and depressed 
beauty, languid in the spotlight of 
her own creation.
This is why the cult of Billie 
Eilish is more complex than it may 
seem. The legions of supporters 
she has garnered through her 
first EP and now her recent studio 
album WHEN WE ALL FALL 
ASLEEP WHERE DO WE GO? 

expect a certain vibe from the 
performer at all times to mirror 
their own. Unfortunately for 
Eilish, that vibe is depressed and 
flippant. She’s real as hell, but at 
some point, that realness takes 
its toll. After all, the girl is only 
17. Eilish may have escaped the 
more classic markers of industry 
control, but instead of those, she 
has now fallen into a different sort 
of trap. Just like those of us who 
left bubblegum-pink lip gloss for 
fishnets, Eilish has broken the 
restraints of Ariana Grande-style 
pop-stardom only to find herself 
in another box: that of the emo 
princess.
There are dozens of examples 
that show there is a way out 
of this image, namely, that of 
Hayley Williams, the lead singer 
of Paramore. Now in her late 
twenties, Williams has managed 
to shed her early punk teenager 
image for that of a more balanced 
woman, one that still makes 
incredible music in the same 
alternative vein. This could be the 
path that Billie Eilish goes down, 
but for now, it’s up for debate. 
Watching her talk about how even 
the last year of her life has changed 
in the wake of fame, in a side-by-
side interview in Vanity Fair, it is 
worrying to see how Eilish’s dark 
stage persona has leeched into her 
real outlook on life. She represents 
a change in the industry towards 
a deeper understanding of the 
minds of teenage girls — but will 
that pressure to change drag her 
down? It’s hard to say right now, as 
she rides the wave of her album’s 
success this month. But in the next 
few years, I will keep a close eye 
on Eilish. She might transcend the 
constraints of her image, or delve 
deeper into their murky waters. 
Hopefully, she’ll swim.

DAILY GENDER & MEDIA COLUMN

CLARA 
SCOTT

The cult of Billie Eilish

The Daily Artz Punk Rockers ran the Probility Marathon relay 
last Sunday. We shockingly placed 14th, verified by the race’s rather 
impressive standardized results system. Writers can run, too. Ask John. 
He finished first in his leg.
The Probility Marathon, facilitated by Epic Races, held their first 
event in Ann Arbor in 2012. This event raised thousands of dollars 
for Ann Arbor Public Schools and various nonprofits. Recipients of 
this year’s race proceeds include Packard Health, Cancer Support 
Community, Ele’s Place and North Star Reach. Epic Races has raised a 
total of $205,000 for nonprofits since 2015. This number continues to 
grow through their events — which not only benefit charities, but the 
local runners who participate in them as well.
This year’s starting line began near Michigan Stadium, directly 
outside of Fingerle Lumber (RIP Fingerle). The course then proceeded 
into the Hill neighborhood, around Forest Hill Cemetery, through Gallop 
Park and, finally, through the Arboretum, which was arguably the worst 
leg of the run, thanks to its massive hill. The course then finished back 
at the start — outside of Fingerle, in view of Michigan Stadium in all its 
glory.
Cameron Trinh mastered the course and won the Marathon, with a 
time of 2:49:03. That’s a 6:27 pace! For 26.2 miles! Congrats from Daily 
Arts, Cameron. Most of us can’t run a mile that fast on a good day.
***
6:00 a.m. - Verity
I wake up on my couch to the tinny rattle of the iPhone alarm preset, 
computer still asleep on my stomach. My roommate and I have passed 
out perpendicular on the sectional again, feet kissing in the middle, 
up until three a.m. pounding out bad poetry analyses (sorry Marjorie). 
My lymph nodes are swollen for whatever reason; my mind is weak. I 
somehow peel myself out of the scene and fumble around in my bedroom 
for a minute or ten, tossing on a couple sweatshirts and throwing back 
various generic cold & flu pills in an effort to Feel Better. I’m moving 
slow. I can’t find my earbuds, and shake my roommate awake demanding 
she lend me hers.
When I look at my watch it’s somehow 6:45, and Fingerle Lumber is a 
30 minute walk away. I shamefully text the Punk Runners that I’m going 
to Uber to the start line, but then Emma offers to scoop me. Hell yeah. 
I lay back down on the couch for another five, willing my headache to 
abate, and then she texts me “Here.” I rise, anti-heroic, and my roommate 
stirs awake to murmur “you’re a champion, dude.” I almost fall down the 
stairs and then crawl into Emma’s Chevy. “I feel like shit,” I tell her. She 
hands me a CLIF bar. We roll out.
7:30 a.m. - Jenna, who ran the first leg and missed the rest of the marathon
Thankfully, I’m more awake now than I was 45 minutes before. I woke 
up late, inhaled oatmeal and spent the whole pre-race period praying that 
I wouldn’t vomit whilst running. The night before, I’d Googled “What to 
eat before running 7.05 miles,” but promptly ignored and subsequently 
forgot the Internet’s advice.
I also didn’t train whatsoever and hadn’t run all winter (because, 
honestly, who would want to). I wondered in between prayers if I could 
even run 7.05 miles. To chase the thought out of my head, I remember 
that, when Verity asked me if I could run 6 to 7 miles a week before the 
race, I responded with an enthusiastic “YES!” It was decided: whether 
or not I can run 7.05 miles, I’m going to run 7.05 miles.
Before I reluctantly leave my team to head toward the start line, John 
gives me a bandana, which I tie around my ponytail, and Emma and 
Verity hype me up for the race.
“I’m gonna win!” I say in response, knowing damn well that I am, in 

fact, not going to win.
“That’s the spirit!” they respond. Before I know it, the horn sounds 
and off I go, into an abyss of runners who are undoubtedly more ready 
for this than I am.
After fighting off the thought that I just might throw up, the miles 
seem to fly by. I’m perplexed by this the entire time I’m running, because 
usually I start dying around mile three. Conveniently, however, my 
boyfriend shows up with my dog and an adorable sign that says “Go 
Jenna” at the mile three marker. The thought of stopping then becomes 
impossible because stopping would fail both him and my dog, who not 
only woke up at the crack of dawn for me, but also made me a sign that 
I’ll keep until I actually die.
Another factor contributing to the rapid passage of miles might’ve 
been the fact that I’m listen to Queen’s “Fat Bottomed Girls” on repeat 
the entire time I’m running. Great choice in the context of running, bad 
choice in the context of contributing to a collaborative Punk Rockers 
playlist.
Who really knows how I finished my leg. The important thing is that I 
did. I round the corner in Gallop Park to see my loyal relay team hooting 
and hollering for me next to the giant bus that they missed earlier that 
morning just to see me start the race. I pass John the relay belt, wish him 
luck and watch him fade into the distance, his long strides looking a lot 
more graceful (and productive) than my short ones.
Though dead, I feel accomplished. I see my dad, my step-mom, my 
brother, his girlfriend and my dad’s so-ugly-she’s-cute bulldog waiting 
for me across the park. I kiss the dog before my dad tells me she just 
puked all over my brother’s girlfriend’s leg, and my brother’s girlfriend 
shows me the stain on her pants. I smile. I just ran 7.05 miles and not 
even dog puke can bring me down now.
I say goodbye to Emma and Verity, eat an omelet with my family and 
go straight to a three-and-a-half hour orientation for study abroad. I sit in 
an Angell Hall auditorium in my sweaty running clothes and “love” react 
to my relay team’s pre- and post-race selfies. My FOMO is overwhelming. 
I cheer aloud when I get the “we did it!” message a few hours later, and 
realize that, wow, we did do it. We ran a marathon.
7:31 a.m. - John
Preceding such a gentle passing-of-the-belt, Verity, Emma, Noah 
and I were meanwhile on the hunt for transportation to the hand-off 
point where I would take over from Jenna. Thankfully, Epic Races was 
providing a bus that would drive to the hand-off point. Unfortunately, 
we missed that bus. Granted, this was purposeful — the bus departed 
before the race began, and we wanted to see Jenna start. So, after she 
sped off, we were stuck at the finish line, race apparel doing little against 
the freezing weather, scrolling violently for a Lyft or an Uber that would 
pick us up.
Things didn’t look up much once we found a ride, though. Almost 
every road surrounding the race site was closed off. So, while we had 
succeeded in acquiring a Lyft, it was far away and struggling to come any 
closer. We huddled together for half an hour, watching the Lyft do circles 
on the map — all the while with Jenna approaching the hand-off point 
where no one waited for her.
At last our ride arrived. We crammed (certainly not illegally) and 
endured a fifteen-minute ride of near silence broken only by early 
morning jazz radio. Verity pulled out a copy of “Pride and Prejudice” 
from the dash, but it turned out to be an empty iPad case. It was silent 
and maybe a little awkward.
We arrived just on time to see Jenna making her way (galloping?) 
through Gallop Park.
8:30/40 a.m. - John encounters a woman holding a dixie cup
After Jenna handed me the belt (and Verity tightened it for me — yes, 
I am truly that incompetent) I was off. Unlike Jenna, I didn’t have a 
boyfriend or a dog awaiting me at mile three. Defeating, I know. All that 
expected me at such a checkpoint was an older woman hunched over, 
holding a cup of water and saying “good job.” Which is also fine.
The miles felt surprisingly short (which is emphatically not to 
say easy), and I guess I could say there seemed to be some sort of 
friendly ambience between all of the runners as we went along. Some 
understanding of mutual pain coupled with the fact that we all smelled 

revolting that made the movement easier. All the while I reveled in some 
good old Kero Kero Bonito and Polo and Pan which made me go faster 
(or so I’d like to believe).
The course twisted through U-M Medical Campus, through the Arb, 
and back down Central Campus to Hill Street where my very own abode 
lies. Things were feeling somewhat fantastic save a slight urge to vomit, 
and after my miles I finally crossed the second hand-off point, sweating 
violently, and I transferred the belt victoriously to Emma. Or, I would 
have transferred the belt victoriously to Emma, if she would have been 
there. She was not.
8:31 a.m. - Emma
After Verity and I watched John run off in all his glory, we made our 
way back to the start — this time with the wonderful (and free) help of a 
Michigan Flyer sponsored bus. It was as good as a chartered bus could be, 
which means it was pretty great. With its cushy seats and temperature 
control system, the bus provided a welcome respite from the morning 
cold. Verity and I spent the superlit ride back discussing everything from 
the race to high school crushes; it was an enlightening experience.
The bonding didn’t stop there, though. Once we arrived at the start, we 
talked to Eva Solomon, the event coordinator, about the race and started 
to explore the amenities offered to athletes. We eventually found Gabe 
Solomon, a human pancake making machine, and some scrumptious 
breakfast burritos. All the while John was trudging along through the 
second leg of the race, it truly was the best of both worlds. That said, 
Verity and I got sidetracked exploring the start line and ran into some 
problems finding the exchange point for the relay. We eventually got 
there (and John only had to wait for five minutes.)
9:15 a.m. - Emma listens to a podcast
Verity made a collaborative playlist so we could share what we all 
listened to while running and I contributed, like the team player I am. 
But I won’t lie: I wasn’t listening to the songs I put on there. My media of 
choice is a podcast and I’ve been called a psycho by one person several 
times because of it. I still stand by my choice – the podcast in question is 
Crooked Media’s “Keep it” and helps me keep up on all the pop-culture-
turned-political-drama I could ever ask for. The hosts are a funny trio 
(Ira Madison III, Louis Virtel and (my favorite) Kara Brown) and keep 
my mind off the fact that I am without a doubt dying while I run.
The actual run wasn’t too eventful. Did I know where I was supposed to 
go the whole time? Not particularly, but that’s why the other participants 
are there. I will admit that it took me at least four miles to remember that 
the plan wasn’t for me to circle back to the start, but rather end at Gallup. 
Pro tip for running a race: look at the race map before you head out.
There is something oddly satisfying about running through the streets 
of Ann Arbor; the roads are closed just for racers and you have the whole 
street to yourself. I timed it well enough, or maybe I was just that slow, 
where there were never too many people around me, and I didn’t have 
to share the street with anyone but the encouraging race volunteers. My 
heart was light, even if my legs weren’t.
On the point of the race volunteers, I had absolutely no clue how to 
interact with them. Was I supposed to smile? Did I have to make eye 
contact? What do I do when they’re shoving water in my face? Obviously, 
I appreciated the water and the encouragement, but when you’re the 
only one in the general vicinity and have no ability to chalk up your 
rudeness to the fact that they weren’t talking to you, it gets real. Most of 
the time, I gave a half-hearted smile or quickly averted my eyes and just 
pretended not to hear them. I had headphones in, so that’s fine, right? My 
manners may appall Emily Post, but my nerves applauded the decision.
By the last three miles of the race, I was in the middle of Ira, Louis and 
Kara’s interview with Busy Phillips and I just have one quote to leave 
you with: “I know that you think that I’m like the mom down the street, 
and that’s chill, but I’ve also worked my fucking ass off in Hollywood 
for 20 years and I have some nice shit.” Busy Phillips provided all the 
aspirational moods I needed to get through my last mile, and I may not 
have worked 20 years in Hollywood by the end, but I did run seven miles 
and it felt great. 

Daily Arts really ran a marathon. We nearly won.

NEW MEDIA: PHYSICAL ENDEAVORS

Read more at 
MichiganDaily.com

VERITY STURM
Daily Arts Runner

JOHN DECKER
Daily Arts Runner

EMMA CHANG
Daily Arts Runner

JENNA BARLAGE
Daily Arts Runner

6 — Friday, April 5, 2019
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com

