The advent of daylight saving time this weekend can mean only one thing: spring is coming.  Warmer temperatures and fervent rains are sweeping in to release the northern lands from the snow that has choked them for the past several months.  Birds and other animals begin to return, suggesting that perhaps once again people can venture outside without bundling up in layers absurd enough to rival the turducken.  For those who enjoy a casual walk through the woods as a part of their daily routine, this is a good thing.

But even though it may be warm, that does not mean that it is safe.  For example, an unsuspecting pedestrian about to trek down a seemingly innocuous wooded path might encounter the following sign:

“‘Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.

“Beware the Jabb”

That can’t be good.

At this point, if I’m the humble pedestrian, I start freaking out.  I wasn’t expecting a warning sign at all, and now not only am I faced with one, but it’s one that appears to be written not so much in English as in a language resembling English, kind of like a CD resembles a record, but it’s not going to do you a lot of good if you try to play it with your phonograph.  I start to wonder: have I somehow walked all the way to Australia?  Ireland?  Or back in time?

Second, and even more frightening, the bottom of the sign appears to have fallen off the tree.  The message now cuts off in the middle of a word.  The “Jabb,” it seems, is perhaps only about a third of my problem.  I don’t know what it is, or why I should beware it, or what sort of effective countermeasures exist, though, frankly, given the nature of the portion of the sign still standing, I doubt that the rest would have been all that enlightening.

Panicking, I stumble around in the ever-increasing darkness (it stays light later these days, but not that much later) until I locate the section of the message that fell.  It turns out that the sign was not so much a warning as it was a story.  Still, I found the story educational, in that it taught me to stay the heck away from this particular forest.  So, for the sake of those who come after me, I translate it into English, abbreviate it (for the tree was clearly never capable of supporting such a long story in the first place), and reapply it.

It now reads something like this:

“Son, beware the Jabberwock, the Jubjub bird, and the Bandersnatch.  I recommend this vorpal sword.  Snicker-snack!  Did you kill it?  Great!”

Happy trails!

Tifa charged in, saw the Don
“Corneo!  Up you’ll fess!”
Aeris followed, looking sad
“Aww, Cloud took off his dress”

“I did what he wanted
I helped him his problem fix
Pointed him to Sector Seven
Oh thank God we’re here in Six”

And this week the Wandering Wordsman subtly criticizes the Academy Awards by offering a puzzle about a movie that should have won Best Picture but didn’t:

Two men try and fail to break up a holiday gathering at their workplace, and then they get in trouble with their boss for working to finish a matter that was supposed to have been taken care of already.  A fugitive known only by a fake name helps solve a mystery without lifting a finger.

Last week’s puzzle:

A former singer deals in fashion and misinformation until leaving town to take care of some unfinished business.  A man who works in the communications industry is arrested for acquiring valuable information, but then a man who once stole his most treasured possession gives him the greatest gift of his life.

And the answer is . . . ▼

The Rebs wanted to end the blockade
That was mucking up all of their trade
They sent the Merrimack
But the Union fought back
For they too had a ship iron-made

Event: USS Monitor faces CSS Virginia (formerly USS Merrimack) in the Battle of Hampton Roads
Year: 1862
Learn more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Hampton_Roads

I should have known.  I should have anticipated that writing about an extremely controversial topic like Paul Revere would land me in trouble.  I should have predicted that, shortly after posting the latest edition of Brevity=Wit, my inbox would be rent asunder by a veritable firestorm of enraged emails.  But, foolishly, I did not.  And this is what I got for it:

“Paul Revere never made it to Concord!”

“How could you not mention Samuel Prescott and William Dawes?”

“He never said, ‘The British are coming!’  Most Massachusetts residents at the time thought of themselves as British!  He actually said, ‘The Regulars are coming!’ . . . oh wait.  You did that.  Never mind.”

Personally, I think that these people should really take up their problems with Longfellow.  He wrote the poem.  I was just going off of his work (and, for the record, even Hank gave a nod to both tradition and accuracy by using the phrase “British Regulars.”)  But, since he’s been dead for approximately 130 years, I guess I’m the only one around who can do anything about it.  So, here goes.

Listen, my readers, with “oohs” and with “aahs”
To a tale of Sam Prescott, and poor William Dawes
In the middle of April, Seventeen-seven-five
Truly no one is still alive
To remember that famous time of year

It began with Doc Warren, who told his friend Bill
“You must spread now the news of the Regulars’ plot”
Said Dawes, “Do not worry.  I certainly will
And I’ll bring this guy Paul along with me.  Why not?”
They rode out of Boston, past the late-night tramps
And Paul wasted time messing ’round with some lamps
Soon they arrived in old Lexington
Warned Hancock and Adams that they’d better run
‘Fore the Regulars came and spoiled their fun

Now, Revere was not useless, as some’d have you believe
He was busy as he did to Lexington ride
Through fair Middlesex County he bobbed and did weave
And by time he was done they were fit to be tied
But to put him in Concord, where he didn’t belong
Longfellow, I am sorry to say, was quite wrong
And to leave out poor Prescott, and great Billy Dawes
Cheating them out of their highly deserved applause
Such a mighty affront should be against the laws

Aeris could not help but grin
And Tifa looked offended
Cloud piped: “Y-you mean this other girl
Yes, that’s what you intended!”

Corneo’s eyes narrowed
“That’s a funny thing to ask
So, are you the pretty face?
Or do you wear . . . a mask?”

“Sweet Jesus!  I was joking!
You . . . you’re actually a guy?”
Cloud savored his freedom
As he rearranged his fly

Continuing the tradition from last year, this week the Wandering Wordsman honors the Academy Awards by offering a puzzle for a Best Picture winner:

A former singer deals in fashion and misinformation until leaving town to take care of some unfinished business.  A man who works in the communications industry is arrested for acquiring valuable information, but then a man who once stole his most treasured possession gives him the greatest gift of his life.

Last week’s puzzle:

A former employee of an insurance firm gets into trouble because he can’t let go of his old job.  A trip to the tropics improves his mood but leaves him with some big problems to deal with when he gets home.

And the answer is . . . ▼

Oh the Grinch, he went on a mad spree
Reduced Christmas to piles of debris
But in Whoville, they say
That on that fateful day
His heart grew not just one size, but three

Event: Birth of Theodor Seuss Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss
Year: 1904
Learn more: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dr._Seuss

I normally like to start off these entries by mentioning my inspiration, describing the spark that led me to seek to improve each particular piece.  In this case, however, I will have to refrain.  There must have been some sort of catalyst, something that spurred me to this course of action, but I cannot for the life of me remember what.  So I’ll just say that we’re talking about Longfellow and leave it at that.

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.  Wow.  It takes an awful lot of characters just to get out this guy’s name.  I’ve got a bad feeling about this one.  But let’s go ahead and take a look anyway.  Here is perhaps his most famous poem, Paul Revere’s Ride:

“Listen my children and you shall hear:
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now”

Hardly a man is now awake sounds just about right to me.

Clearly, Longfellow has a thing or two to learn here.  First off, it’s generally not a good idea to start by calling your audience children.  A lot of people take offense at that.  Unless the ones he’s talking to really are his children, in which case I don’t think his poem is going to have a very broad appeal.  Call me a skeptic, but it seems unlikely that Longfellow got around like Genghis Khan got around, if you know what I mean (and no, I don’t mean “on a horse.”)

Then we’ve got this date.  Never spell out dates.  It’s such a blatant waste of characters.  But, worse than that, he doesn’t even finish it.  I mean, come on, Longfellow, how are you supposed to teach us kids about Paul Revere if we don’t even know which century he lived in?  Guess we have to do a little detective work on this one.

Hmm . . . Jimmy Hoffa, the Edmund Fitzgerald, Saturday Night Live, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, the Thrilla in Manila . . . and Paul Revere?  Nope, it’s not 1975.

Carmen, indoor ice hockey, first person swims the English Channel . . . and Paul Revere?  Not 1875 either.

Second Centaurian Invasion, polar ice caps refreeze . . . and Paul Revere?  He’s not talking about 2075.

Second Continental Congress, “Give me Liberty or give me Death,” Bunker/Breed’s Hill . . . okay, now I think we’re got it.  1775.  Whew.  Took long enough.

Anyway, now that we’ve got that sorted out, we can get down to writing a version that’s short enough for everyone to enjoy:

“4/18/1775: Revere rides.  12:00- Medford.  1:00- Lexington.  2:00- Concord.  He told the villages and farms the Regulars were coming.”

There.  Now you know exactly when everything happened.  And isn’t that what’s really important?