Dear Scrabby
A column idea rejected by the late, lamented CenterStar magazine, by Steve Bachman Dear Scrabby, My husband "Bill" (not his real name) is a really sweet guy. To his friends and acquaintences, "Lindy" (not his real nickname) can sometimes come across as a bit of a loudmouthed curmudgeon. But I know him better as a guy who can be reduced to tears by the beauty of a Mahler symphony. As a guy who is fond of singing Gilbert & Sullivan in the shower, and a guy who really knows how to make a girl feel special. What's the problem, then? The problem is that too much of a good thing is still ... too much. I used to to count on Tuesday night being "my night." A sanctuary from the non-stop "Billness" that is my loving hubby. A time for me. Since the new Scrabble dictionary was published, though, "Bill" refuses to play the game. He thinks that any word that wasn't good enough for William Shakespeare isn't good enough for him. "We've already got Zounds," he'll say, "what the hell do we need Shazam for? That's a word only a costard-headed whoreson dog like Gomer Pyle would use. But now gomer is a word too, so I guess anything goes!" He'll get going with "Bookoo? Bookoo? Now I'm supposed to learn how to misspell words?" You should hear him talk about qi and za. It just never ends. How can I get "Bill" to start attending Scrabble club on Tuesday nights again? How can I make him understand that the English language is still evolving and that these new words don't mean the end of civilizaton as we know it? I'm dying here! Sign me,Lost Under New Dictionary: Exasperated Gal's Absolutely Alone Restful Day
Dear Lost, Don't be to sure that we haven't reached the end of civilization as we know it. If the President doesn't get us there by the end of his term, there's always the spectre of his neologisms making it into the next edition of the OSPD. If qi and za don't bring fire and brimstone down from the sky, surely strategery, nukaler, and ekalectic will. Good luck.
Dear Scrabby, I need some legal advice. I suffered a great deal of pain and humiliation at the U.S. Scrabble Open when I was forced to play a blind player! In division four no less -- not division six! I mean, I thought this was America! How could this happen? I felt like Katerina Witt at the Olympics being told she had to skate against teenagers! I mean, how humiliating. How was I supposed to play my best against a handicapped person? Yes, I did complain to my division leader. Did he do anything about it? No he did not! Of course, I knew as soon as I saw him and his swarthy complexion that he wasn't the type of person who could be trusted. So I went ahead and played her. Twice! And you can probably guess what happened. Yes, that's right, she cheated! I got to play first, but of course I drew an unplayable mess (IIICDOT) and had to exchange. My opponent then played a bingo: DIPTYCH. Must be nice not to draw three I's! Yeah, I bet she didn't braille those tiles before she pulled them out of the bag! She acted real nice and all, but I know how she won that game. Our second game was more of the same. I drew ICMNOOR (oh boy, O's this time!) and because I didn't want to exchange I played MIRN. She held on the play, and then played a bingo from the "M" I put on the center star right down to the triple word square: MAIASAUR. Great draw again "Ms. Touchy-Feely Hands!" I could go on and on. But the bottom line is this: It was humiliating and degrading to have to play this person. Losing twice to a cheater was even worse. Who can I sue? Signed, Sue M. Issay
Dear Ms. Issay, Don't wet yourself.
Dear Scrabby, My husband has lost interest in lovemaking since the new dictionary fouled up his favorite anamonic. He tells me that he used to remember AEINORT as "AIR-TONE* = Bach's plan: razz dad." I don't get what "air-tone" has to do with Bach, but he says that it reminds him of "hair on his g-string" or something. I don't get it, and it sounds gross. Anyway, he says that "TENTORIA" has ruined everything and that he just can't get his mind off of it (the head of an insect?). He says he can't even think of playing snuggly spoons with me until he works it out. Can you help? Yours,
Spoonless in Schenectady
Dear SIS, Tell him to try "NPR Czar: Bach stands tall." And, by the way, you might try brushing your teeth once in awhile.
Dear Scrabby, My dear sweet mother is the problem. She taught me to play Scrabble around the kitchen table when I was just a little lad. Oh how I used to love to be with her in the kitchen (and everywhere else!). But now, I've had to move her to an assisted-care facility. It got to where she hardly had the strength to iron my clothes anymore, and frankly, her cooking wasn't what it used to be. So I got her into a very affordable facility, and now I'm able to order out most nights for pizza. But it's not the free maid service, the casseroles, and the haircuts that I miss. It's the coffeehousing! Mother had this really cute way of giving away her rack to me (oh, don't even go there!). She'd complain about having an "Old McDonald Rack," or say in her cute little motherly voice "I've got a hand like a foot over here!" ("Mummy, we're not playing cards! You don't have a `hand' you have a `rack' dear one," I would say.) Everytime Mother would draw a blank she'd turn it over and upside down about three times. With the help of these little "tells" I was able to compile a pretty good record against Mother over the years (18,134 wins and 17,005 losses). I'm not doing nearly so well at the Scrabble club that I'm attending these days. What should I do?
Norman
Dear Norman, You should redeploy one or two of those wireless fisheye-lens cameras that you've hidden in various department store changing rooms around town. Or the one hidden in the toe of your wingtips. Mount a couple of those babies in strategic locations in your Scrabble club's playing room, and have live video feeds streamed to a tiny video monitor mounted inside the frame of your eyeglasses. You'll feel like you've never left the kitchen. You won't even have to track anymore. Good luck, Norm.