Thanks to a very nice (read: free) program, my department gets a class set of NY Times every day; consequently, I've made doing the puzzle a part of my morning ritual. I do it in pen not as a testament to my vocabulary skills, but rather a tribute to my grandmother, who would faithfully and flawlessly complete the puzzle in pen. Several decades as an English teacher give one certain powers and charms over words. UNtil that day arrives, I just scribble over my mistakes.

I like the meditative focus of the puzzle, the sort of caffeinated shift in perspective that I feel when speaking a foreign language for a long time. It is another language of sorts, one with an ever-changing cipher of rules whose sole purpose is wit. You can see the draw for us English teachers. I especially enjoy the thrill of uncovering what I call the "cross clues," the items that inform the themes and rules of the puzzle. I enjoy it even more when those clues include terrible puns or corny jokes.

Sometimes I wonder if there's a connexion between the contents and order of the puzzle and the world at large. Not a new idea, but I do like the idea that there's another level of code in the letter-grid, that something more deeply knowing has assembled (perhaps accidentally) a secret message that scries and foreshadows the day. What would you call that, I wonder? (Anyone thinking "sesquipedalomancy" right now, you can sit on a tack.)

Anyway, the original reason for this post was to express my dismay when I saw "SCUMBAG" was the answer to a clue the other day. I'm not against the word, or any word, but time-and-place, people! What's next--"46-Down: CROTCHROT?" My grandmother Would Not Approve, that's for damn sure. Then again, why shouldn't the Times have its slow, steady decline spread to the crossword?