It involves a spoonerism, in which you reverse the initial consonant sounds in one phrase to make another phrase. For example, if you spoonerize "light rain," you get "right lane." Name part of a truck in two words; spoonerize it, and you'll name something FEMA uses. What is it?Ross got this one, which led to a very surreal conversation about a feature of UPS trucks. I'll see if I can get a photo of THAT by Thursday.
It's safe to predict that you managed to solve the puzzle without any surreal conversations, instead taking your answer straight to the NPR Contact Us form found here.
Someone asked for an update on my health. Happy to oblige, although it's not going to endear anyone to the medical profession. I am improving everyday--lung function, appetite, stamina. It's all good. I would love to get off the IV-antibiotics, especially before school starts. (I'm in a low-residency MFA course that requires me to be in Maine for ten days in July.) At the same time, I respect the concerns of my infectious disease specialist, who wants me to have another two weeks of the IV-antibiotics. After that, well, he'd like me to have another CT scan...only that's when I'm in Maine for school.
We saw this specialist on Friday. I pushed him to let me switch to oral antibiotics, just for the two weeks while I'm in school. His problem is that the remaining infection in my right lung is "loculated," a fancy word for a sort-of honeycomb structure that encases the infection. When I asked if that bit of the infection is shrinking, the specialist said he didn't know, and that a cardio-thoracic surgeon needs to assess that.
*sigh*
Ross and I got CDs loaded with my two CT scans, taken a month apart. Those CDs have been Fed-Ex'd to my primary care physician in Philadelphia, whom I trust to be sensible. He can ask a thoracic surgeon to review the scans and see if I need surgery. (There's a minimally-invasive procedure, VATS, that cleans out the honeycomb, in effect.)
Here's my theory about medical specialists: If you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail. The infectious disease specialist wants me to have more IV-antibiotics because that's his hammer. The thoracic surgeon will probably say I need VATS, which is his hammer. What I want to know is if the VATS can wait another three weeks so that I can go to school as planned. I'm counting on my PCP to be the sensible one--he doesn't have a hammer in this case.
That's where we are. If I have more news on Thursday, I'll share it. Then the blog will be on a school-related sabbatical until July 21, when I'll have yet more news. But the real story is that I am getting better. No worries there.
Photos: I typed FEMA into Flickr and found a lot of photos loaded by someone who goes by Smiteme. They all show post Hurricane Katrina damage. I'd forgotten the efforts many people made to rescue pets, so I have heart-warming dog and kitten photos as well. (I eschewed the anti-FEMA sentiment photos, not because the agency doesn't deserve that reaction but because some of the language is uh, a bit coarse.) You can click on the photos to get to their Flickr pages.
Time for
This is where we ask you how many entries you think NPR will get for the
challenge above. If you want to win, leave a comment with your guess
for the range of entries NPR will receive. First come first served, so
read existing comments before you guess. Or skip the comments and send
an email with your pick to Magdalen (at) Crosswordman (dot) com. Ross
and I guess last, just before we publish the Thursday post. After the
Thursday post is up, the entries are closed. The winner gets a puzzle
book of our choosing or a contribution to The One Fund Boston (or the American Red Cross, currently helping communities hit by tornadoes) in the winner's honor.
Over 900 correct entries this week. Joe Kupe, you are the winner! Let us know which prize you'd like. Everyone else can mop up their tears of defeat and guess again to have a chance to win.
Over 900 correct entries this week. Joe Kupe, you are the winner! Let us know which prize you'd like. Everyone else can mop up their tears of defeat and guess again to have a chance to win.
Here are the ranges:
Fewer than 50 51 - 100 101 - 150 151 - 200 201 - 250 251 - 300 301 - 350 351 - 400 401 - 450 451 - 500 501 - 550 551 - 600 601 - 650 651 - 700 701 - 750 751 - 800 801 - 850 851 - 900 901 - 950 951 - 1,000 | 1,001 - 1,050 1,051 - 1,100 1,101 - 1,150 1,151 - 1,200 1,201 - 1,250 1,251 - 1,300 1,301 - 1,350 1,351 - 1,400 1,401 - 1,450 1,451 - 1,500 1,501 - 1,550 1,551 - 1,600 1,601 - 1,650 1,651 - 1,700 1,701 - 1,750 1,751 - 1,800 1,801 - 1,850 1,851 - 1,900 1,901 - 1,950 1,951 - 2,000 | 2,001 - 2,050 2,051 - 2,100 2,101 - 2,150 2,151 - 2,200 2,201 - 2,250 2,251 - 2,300 2,301 - 2,350 2,351 - 2,400 2,401 - 2,450 2,451 - 2,500 2,501 - 2,750 2,751 - 3,000 3,001 - 3,250 3,251 - 3,500 3,501 - 4,000 4,001 - 4,500 4,501 - 5,000 More than 5,000 More than 5,000 and it sets a new record. |
Our tie-break rule: In the event that a single round number is announced with a qualifier such as "about" or "around" (e.g., "We received around 1,200 entries."), AND two separate people picked the ranges of numbers just before and just after that round number, the prize will be awarded to whichever entrant had not already won a prize, or in the event that both entrants had won a prize already or neither had, then to the earlier of the two entries on the famous judicial principle of "First Come First Serve," (or in technical legal jargon, "You Snooze, You Lose"). As of July 2012, this rule is officially no longer obsolete (and also I just like having fine print).