The New York Times Spelling Bee does 1 of 2 things for me:
- It makes me feel really really super clever like Doogie smart.
2. It makes me feel really really pitiful like Dumbo being mocked in a cage.
As of this writing, I’ve the nose of an elephant with ears to match.
But I keep going back to the Big Apple’s online games area.
Because finding words out of a collect of 7 letters with the middle one being a must-use, is a mind-massage spa treatment when I’m stuck on a database query, or locked in an arrayed code loop from hell.
In plain English? It’s a pleasant distraction from work whilst I’m tethered to my desk.
Also, about every 4th day or so, The NYTimes tells me that I’m a Genius.
A GENIUS they say!
Aww shucks – I’m not opposed to having my EGO stroked here and there. Not one bit.
Once I was told by a university classmate that I was “like a Genius.”
Never before had I heard anything more oddly spoken to describe the thing that, up until that point, had just been an oversized plug for my neck.
I can’t remember her name, but I sure haven’t forgotten how it made me feel. I even vividly recall where I was standing: Outside Young Hall, down from the Library, under the largest Magnolia tree I had ever seen then or since.
I’m not sure how qualified my classmate was to anoint me so far above average … and really, why quibble now?
My relationship with The New York Times Spelling Bee is a tilted roller coaster ride, for sure, and one that I have only myself to blame … as a bona fide annual subscriber.
Between you, me and this post? I’ve known worse.
And I’m not even talking about human beings either.
Duolingo kicked my rather persistent derrière after 249 days of attempting French … for the second time around.
Eh, I shouldn’t be too hard on myself just yet with today’s puzzle.
To be fair – I am doing GREAT at the moment.