Posts Tagged ‘Contests’
February 16, 2016 | by Dylan Hicks
Ed. Note: The response to our last round of word puzzles was so overwhelming that puzzle correspondent Dylan Hicks has brought you thirty more! This time, we’re demanding total accuracy: the first three correct lists will win a year’s subscription to The Paris Review. You must solve all thirty riddles correctly. Send an e-mail with your answers to firstname.lastname@example.org. The deadline is Thursday, February 18, at noon EST, when we’ll post the answers. Good luck!
As a boy, I wasn’t alone in believing there to be a wonderful blue-eyed soul duo out of Philadelphia called Haulin’ Oats. Their music, we hoped, would provide solace during our imminent and futile battles against killer bees. Some of us grew up to be small-batch granolatiers and had to fend of lawsuits from Daryl and John themselves.
The answers to the following thirty puzzles are in a similar spirit—of word-bending, that is, not litigation. They employ antanaclasis, homophony, homonymy, rhyme, assonance, and other devices toward paronomasia—okay, they’re puns. The form, I realize, has a mixed reputation.
Maybe a few further words of explanation are required. The answers tweak, reframe, or link a variety of sources: titles of books, movies, and other artworks; proper names; famous lines of poetry or political rhetoric; clichés and other well-traveled terms. Many are paragrams—plays built on the alteration of a letter or letters, not always in service to rhyme. To foster challenge and competition, a few of the clues are oblique, but never deliberately obfuscatory, though anachronism and other breaches of logic have been tolerated or encouraged. Mostly the clues try to cover the bases without too much bold-face. For instance, “Ursine Frisco bandleader trucks off to buy bings and maraschinos” might cue “Cherry Garcia.” That one was judged to be off-limits, but the standard for innovation wasn’t set fussily high. Though none of the answers were wittingly plagiarized, a half hour on the leading search engine revealed, to little surprise, that I wasn’t the first or, in some cases, the fourth to arrive at several of these (ingenious) puns. My apologies, then, for that, and for everything.
- Federal Reserve stocks up massively on Stouffer’s.
- Boundless w/r/t Yeezy.
- And as in uffish thought he stood,
At peroration of his rap
With mimsy smile he cocked his head
And cued the crowd, “Please clap.”
- Sellout Marxist pitches for OxiClean.
- MacDougal Street corner spot where Peter Pastmaster, Paul Pennyfeather, and Lady Mary Lygon might have blown in the wind.
- Khakis coax truth.
- The Sun now rose upon the right,
And parched the sloping mast
The Mariner raised his skinny hand,
And spake the long forecast
- Melvillian scrivener conditionally favors Russian pop duo.
- Thatcher refuses butter-making shift.
- Shazam, Sergeant Carter, here you are managin’ a Bally Fitness while I’m right next door teachin’ Zumba at Snap. I reckon we’re:
- After Cunningham, Wright, Carter, Leaf, Stoerner, Hutchinson, Testaverde, Henson, and Bledsoe, Cowboys fan complains with a Yeatsian sigh:
- Babylonian beau, to minimize risk
Might have shunned holey walls for red flying disks
- Photo-album caption cleverly annotates sunken-eyed, death-defying actor’s trip to Yakushi-ji.
- Tennyson follows up pathbreaking collection with odes to mostly round, fleshy fruits.
- Steven Ellison remixes stage name while piloting Air Force One.
- The Belle of Amherst runs over Rogen.
- Spanglish bed sized for married grammarians—or serial monogamists.
- Coates and Steinman coauthor book by dashboard light.
- Starring opposite Cary Grant, Mae West misquotes “The Canonization” in this little-known Metaphysical romp.
- Bloodily horrific day at voluminous East Village bookstore.
- Kafka executor visits Wexler and Abrams.
- Habitat 67 mastermind takes the wheel of ice-cream truck.
- Wallace Stevens guides multifocal examination of Clinton e-mails.
- Edmund Wilson holes up in fortified residence with Symbolist library and truckload of GlaxoSmithKline SSRI.
- I met him at the concert hall
He plumbed the depths of Schubert songs—you get the picture?
(Ja, sehen wir)
That’s when I fell for:
- Sled provides key to ambitious biopic of Family Circus
- Early in ’61, a very young Declan MacManus sets his sights on Dominican dictator.
- Under Professor Boyd’s tutelage, Bonzo begins to act according to unconditional moral laws.
- Patricidal space meanie joins forces with Australian-born pop goddess.
- Weary of the spotlight, supporting-actor nominee quietly launches spicy-chicken stand.
January 28, 2016 | by Dylan Hicks
Ed. note: The contest has ended. Thanks to all who entered, and congratulations to our three clever winners: Connie McClung, from Atlanta, Georgia; and Maxine Anderson and Seth Christenfeld, both from New York, New York.
Read More »
January 25, 2016 | by Dylan Hicks
***UPDATE—The contest has ended! Thanks to all who entered. Click here for the answers—and the winners.***
Hink pink is a word game in which synonyms, circumlocution, and micronarratives provide clues for rhyming phrases. In the standard explanatory example, an “overweight feline” is a “fat cat.” Hink pinks on that babyish level aspire to lend vocabulary building an air of fun, but more sophisticated puzzles are sometimes mulled over on road trips, in trenches, and in other settings where boredom and tension might be mellowed, to paraphrase Dryden, by the dull sweets of rhyme.
Players aren’t restricted to monosyllables. A puzzle of disyllabic components is a hinky pinky, followed with decreasing dignity by hinkily pinkilies, hinklediddle pinklediddles, and hinklediddledoo pinklediddledoos. Even with longer puzzles, however, the goal, almost a mandate, is for each syllable to rhyme perfectly, though this perfection might depend on idiosyncratic stress. Many of the puzzles below are possessive constructions along the lines of “Bob’s jobs,” but where pluralization seemed cumbersome, nearly perfect rhymes were tolerated (“Bob’s job”). If you’re spurred to dream up hink pinks of your own, keep in mind that answers shouldn’t merely rhyme but also hold meaning as a unit, however whimsically. “Tree soda” might lead to “oak Coke,” but joylessly. “Naturalist’s soft drink” for “Zola’s cola” is more in the spirit.
Ed. note: The contest has ended.
These are really hard. In the spirit of our contest last month, we’re prepared to make things interesting. Solve half of these riddles—any thirty of them—and we’ll reward you with a one-year subscription to The Paris Review along with a copy of our new anthology, The Unprofessionals. (If you can solve all of them, we’ll throw something extra special into the bargain.) Send an e-mail with your answers to email@example.com; the first three correct lists will win. The deadline is Friday at noon EST, when we’ll post the answers. Good luck.
Read More »
October 5, 2015 | by Dan Piepenbring
This morning we made an exciting discovery: beneath a plaster bust of George Plimpton and a dog-eared copy of our short-lived magazine for children, we found a box of limited-edition dead-stock Paris Review T-shirts. Being nothing if not business-minded, we knew we had to get these on the market ASAP.—that’s why we’re giving them away.
Starting today, if you preorder a copy of our upcoming anthology The Unprofessionals for $15.99, we’ll throw in a Paris Review T-shirt free of charge. The shirts are available in men’s sizes small and medium and women’s sizes medium and large. But don’t dally: supplies are limited. (We really do have just one box.) Read More »
September 24, 2015 | by Dan Piepenbring
Remember this summer’s #ReadEverywhere contest, the one we went on and on about? It was a great success. We asked readers to submit pictures of themselves reading The Paris Review or the London Review of Books around the world, and you did, by the hundreds, from far and wide. Now the time has come to announce the winners, selected in an elaborate ritual not unlike the papal conclave.
(Have the rolling timpani in your head commence … now.) Read More »
August 31, 2015 | by Dan Piepenbring
We understand the urge to procrastinate. Two months ago, when we first announced our joint subscription deal—the one where you get a year of The Paris Review and the London Review of Books for just $70 U.S.—most of the summer was ahead of us. Sixty days of sunlight lay in store. We were in no rush to do anything.
But now the charcoals are extinguished, the clouds have descended, and this deal is about to vanish with the season. Today is your last day to sign up for the joint subscription. (If you’re already a Paris Review subscriber, we’ll extend your subscription for another year, and your LRB subscription will still begin immediately.)
It’s also your last chance to enter our contest: by the end of the day, post a photo of yourself reading The Paris Review or the London Review of Books on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, or Pinterest, and use the #ReadEverywhere hashtag and one of our magazines’ handles. Our favorite photographer will win an Astrohaus Freewrite, the hotly anticipated smart typewriter that lets you write virtually anywhere. Need some inspiration? Pinterest users can get a glimpse of the competition here.
Subscribe today! Because there is, in a sense, no tomorrow.