Who'll Stop the Rain?

The New York Times doesn’t run a comics page, but that doesn’t mean it offers no chuckles to the serious-minded reader. The other day it featured an article entitled “Who’ll Stop the Rain? At Some Weddings, the Answer is a Shaman.” The sub-head explains, “For high-end destination weddings, couples are increasingly hiring rain-stoppers to keep precipitation away.” 

As evidence The Times cites Swank Wong, who

arranged a Dom Pérignon champagne tower, fireworks, and multicolored smoke cannons that exploded as she and her husband, ZiGo Ng, 35, said “I do.” She invested in bouquets of orchids and roses, multiple outfit changes and Chanel and Chaumet jewelry. 

But perhaps her most critical investment? The rain-stopping shaman who Ms. Wong hired to guarantee sunshine on her wedding day. (1)

I asked my local shaman, Sherman, about couples who want protection from rain on their wedding day. “The advice I always give them,” he told me, “is to hire a hall.”

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Craziness about weddings is not limited to hiring witch doctors and such for ceremonies at exotic locations. New York magazine ran a piece shortly before The Times article about the increasing practice of the groom smashing his bride's face into the wedding cake. 

[I]n the past few years, viral “cake smashing” videos, in which one-half of the couple, usually the groom, enthusiastically hammers wedding cake into his bride’s face, have become a popular form of rage-inducing content. (2) 

I suppose, to some deranged minds, this action can be seen as a major Valentine’s statement. But even on the lowly plane of economics, the act of destroying a costly, specially-designed confectionary creation can be seen as a stupidly wasteful endeavor—not to mention a crass, demeaning action in and of itself. 

I am happy to report that the comments by the readers were uniformly indignant, many of the women stating that if it had happened to them, they would have started divorce proceedings the next day.

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Then again, I imagine that cake smashing is a minor irritant compared to the action of a woman in 1944:

A wife in Trenton bequeathed two dollars to her husband on condition that he use half of it to buy a rope to hang himself. (3)

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(1)  https://www.nytimes.com/2025/08/12/travel/wedding-shaman-witch-rain-stopping-rituals.html?campaign_id=9&emc=edit_nn_20250816&instance_id=160670&nl=the-morning&regi_id=92908560&segment_id=204013&user_id=4610757384ecaf1ad328813857abb8ad

(2)  https://www.thecut.com/article/grooms-smashing-wedding-cake-brides-faces.html?_gl=1*1w2v3un*FPAU*MTA3NDYyNDAzOC4xNzUwNzk1MDQ3*_ga*NTYwNDg1Nzg1LjE2OTU4NTE2MzI.*_ga_DNE38RK1HX*czE3NTU0NzAxNzMkbzY2NSRnMSR0MTc1NTQ3MDE4OCRqNDUkbDAkaDg3NDg4MTc0Mg..*_fplc*VEJRN0tnSjBwZWJGVWc4ak1MYW1FVmw5SUthaFhpd2g5Tmh6RXlIckUwdTBRQVFkVkhGZ1BBY1d6aVpkZ05NS2swa1prREdzNExoZFZrNDNJaHA4YU9IMWp1RGlNYk9iT21HOSUyRjlMaThYTnlhTEE5RVF3YUhEdUZHeTlBemclM0QlM0Q.

(3)  The New Yorker, Sept. 23, 1944.

 

Children

HCA

The other day, the New York Times published an article by Sadie Stein entitled “My Love-Hate Relationship With Hans Christian Andersen.” (1) “When I was 7 years old, I disgraced myself,” Ms. Stein admits. The cause was Andersen’s story of the Little Match Girl, which caused the young Stein to break into a fit of tears.

As I sat in class, I started thinking about the friendless urchin, burning her last match in order to warm herself and conjure memories of her late grandmother — only to be found, frozen, on the streets of Copenhagen on New Year’s Day. And, well, I bawled.

Other young children had similar reactions to other HCA stories:

I was in 3rd grade, I believe, when the teacher read us the story of “The Fir Tree”. I had to be sent home because I couldn’t stop crying.

I also found myself randomly bursting into tears over one or another of HCA's stories. 

My HCA story is The Little Mermaid. I have vivid memories of reading it as a child and sobbing and reading it so I would sob.

I don’t believe that as a child I was introduced to Andersen’s stories. Over time I have learned about some of them—much to my surprise. I did not know of the morbidity of his stories, that, for example, the Little Mermaid has her tongue cut out. I learned from Ms. Stein’s article that “The Emperor’s New Clothes” was an Andersen work. In that work a child doesn’t suffer, but with the clearsightedness of youth speaks the truth and destroys the illusions of the adults. It is a master work of satire, exposing gullibility, venality, and sycophancy. (2)

The story that frightened me as a child was another Scandinavian product—the Norwegian tale of “The Three Billy Goats Gruff.” It was the troll, who was hiding under the bridge, that got me. I’m not sure I’m over him to this day.

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 Names

A) I haven’t been able to hunt down the original New Yorker cartoon (from circa 40 years ago, I guess), but let me describe it for you.

It’s a picture of a third or fourth year elementary school class. The students are identified beneath the photo as follows: 

Scott, Jennifer, Jennifer, Scott, Scott, Scott, Jennifer, Scott, Jennifer, Jennifer (or in some other order).

B) Johnny Cash’s famous hit song “A Boy Named Sue.”

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When parents name their children they are doing it for themselves. If they were naming the child for the child’s sake they would wait. For example, if they found after a few months that the child is happy most of the time, then it would make sense to call him Felix. But, instead, we get the Scotts and the Jennifers (or whatever the fashion is that year). Or the opposite, the parents going overboard to be outré—a boy named Sue or Moon Unit or a girl named Apple. 

The children have, of course, no say in the matter (they can’t even talk yet) and they’re stuck with their name.

I propose a solution for all those children who despise the name inflicted on them. Let there be a law which allows a child, upon reaching 14 years of age, to shed its old name and adopt one that he/she feels comfortable with. 

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First Day of School 

From The New Yorker Oct. 9, 1943:

We saw our daughter off on the school bus for her first day at kindergarten—a serious child, braced for the unknown, her nose running a little with excitement. Her eight-year-old brother, an upper-classman, sat beside her, wearing a strained and rather distant expression. He was, we knew, very conscious of his responsibility for the public behavior of this most unpredictable member of the family. "Don't get the idea you can go whooping around at school the way you do here," he had told her severely at breakfast and, because he seemed concerned about her nose, we had pinned an extra handkerchief to her blouse.

Now she was sitting as close to him as she could, but she had her hands in her own lap, having been instructed on this point and being anxious not to offend.

The bus pulled away from the door and we waved, admiring her dignity and wishing her well. We went back to our own breakfast, touched by all the profound and immemorial banalities of the occasion. We'd found nothing to say except goodbye when the bus left, and even now we could think of nothing that might have been helpful to a little girl on her way to school, to her first experience with the gathering perplexities that beset a lady on her own. Just try to take it easy, kid, was really the only advice we had to give her on such a solemn moment in her life, but somehow it didn't seem quite suitable.

It was wonderful advice, but as we knew from experience it had never been much use to anybody in a crisis.

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(1)  https://www.nytimes.com/2025/08/01/books/review/hans-christian-andersen-150-anniversary.html?searchResultPosition=1

(2)  It’s really a rebuttal to the authoritarian’s demand: “Are you going to believe me or your lying eyes?”  

Introducing the "Natasha"

Where have all the Karens gone? For a while you couldn’t visit a news website without reading of another unmasking of a Karen—that is, a white woman (usually) who went bananas over something that another person (usually a minority) did to offend her. 

Today I wish to advise you of another type of being: the Natasha. I actually did introduce the prototype Natasha to you in an earlier post: https://drnormalvision.blogspot.com/2025/06/two-families.html

A character in Anton Chekhov”s “The Three Sisters,” she is a jumped-up descendent of peasants, married into a gentle household, who maneuvers herself into a position of power. She is disdainful of the servants, at one point complaining that long-time servant, eighty-year-old Anfisa sits in her presence. 

I have two prominent present-day Natashas to point to today. The first is Stephen Miller, who serves as White House Deputy Chief of Staff. Miller grew up in Santa Monica, California, where, as a teenager,

[r]unning for student government in high school, he campaigned on the platform that the school’s janitors weren’t doing enough work. (“Am I the only one who is sick and tired of being told to pick up my trash when we have plenty of janitors who are paid to do it for us?” he asked in his campaign speech.)*

Here is displayed the essence of Natashaism: he is angered by having to pickup his own litter; surely an underling can clear up the mess Miller makes. Personal responsibility is replaced by the travail of another. “I am above it all.”

The second Natasha I bring to you today is Miller’s boss, the mustard Mussolini. It was revealed that on his latest trip to Scotland (how much did it cost the US taxpayer?) when he went golfing, Trump violated one of the rules of the sport’s etiquette. After holing out a putt, he didn’t pick up the ball himself, but left it for his caddie (or other flunky) to do so. Here are some readers’ comments:

"Is he too good...to pick up his own ball," one person asked.

"Doesn’t even get his own ball," a second person wrote on X.

"Arrogant dude just walks away. Go pickup your ball," a social media user commented.

"Go get your ball Trump," another social media user wrote. "Why are you so lazy?"

"Having someone else pick up his ball. Bad golf etiquette," a fifth person said.**

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Now that you have a name (Natasha) for this type of person and a description of their type of behavior—they are too grand to bend, while others are too lowly to sit—don’t be reluctant to call them out. 

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*https://www.nytimes.com/2025/07/07/opinion/stephen-miller.html?searchResultPosition=1

**https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/articles/lazy-president-trump-taking-heat-175312248.html

 

Language Follies 23 (With what language do you address trees?)

We are happy to report that the busses in Montreal are now permitted in hockey season to urge on the Canadiens with “Go! Habs! Go!” signs. (1) 

 

Quebec’s mercurial and controversial language police have decided that using the word “go” is a legitimate way to cheer on sports teams in the province, paving the way for excited fans – and Montreal’s transit agency - to celebrate without fear of recrimination. (2)

If that was one step forward in the cause of multilingualism, there was one step back across the Atlantic. 

A complaint against a Belgian ticket inspector who gave passengers a bilingual greeting in Dutch-speaking Flanders has been upheld, shedding light on the country’s strict language laws.

The conductor, Ilyass Alba, said Belgium’s Permanent Commission for Linguistic Control had upheld a complaint made by a commuter in 2024. The passenger had objected to Alba’s use of the French word “bonjour” while the train was in Dutch-speaking Flanders.

Alba said he had greeted the carriage with “Goeiedag, bonjour” (good day in Dutch and French), as the train approached Vilvoorde (Vilvorde), near the outskirts of Brussels, which is officially bilingual. 

The commission upheld the passenger’s complaint that Alba should not have used French in the Dutch-speaking part of the country, unless approached by a passenger speaking French. (3)

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Marriage Misery—Then and Now

The New Yorker 1942:

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Circuitously, we have learned of a wistful note received by one of the local draft boards. "I just heard that you have classified John K— in 3-A, because he is living with his wife," the note said. "I believe he should be reclassified and put into 1-A, because he isn't living with his wife. He is living with my wife.”

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yahoo.com 2025:

My husband moved his mistress into our house. Can our marriage be saved?

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On the Commercial Front

True North frozen Patagonian sea scallops

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Do you like babka?

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Are you smart enough to play a musical instrument?

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When having too much money goes to your head:

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Summer's Lease Hath All Too Short a Date:

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Implement of Destruction

There was also the Trump, a hollow tube packed with explosives and fixed to a lance. ‘When you light the Trump, it continues a long time snorting and belching vivid, furious flames ... several yards long.’ (4)

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And if it’s sport you’re after:

World Axe Throwing League

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Arboreal Cupid

And finally, to make you all feel better, Jim at Slate reported that Trump’s pick for Surgeon General (who no longer holds a medical license), Casey Means, “has a newsletter in which she discusses topics such as how she used to go on solo hikes and ask the trees to help her find a romantic partner.”

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1. We reported on the dispute here: https://drnormalvision.blogspot.com/2025/04/no-go.html
2. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/jul/04/quebec-canada-english-language
3. https://www.theguardian.com/world/2025/jul/16/complaint-upheld-against-belgian-ticket-inspector-who-said-bonjour-in-flanders
4. https://www.lrb.co.uk/the-paper/v47/n06/ferdinand-mount/this-is-the-day